Paul Tate
Camping with daddy
CHAPTER ONE
The campfire in front of the small camper pick-up truck crackled and spit, sending orange sparks of light flying through the air to land on the dew moistened earth and die. Two silhouettes, a man and a girl, outlined in the reddish pink of the fire sat by it, the small piles of their food and cooking utensils stacked next to them.
"Good to have you with me again, baby," the man, slightly greying at the temples, but ruggedly handsome, said to the blonde girl looking admiringly over at him.
"Oh Daddy, you don't know how good it is to be back with you again too," she answered, closing her eyes and shaking her beautiful head as if she couldn't believe it. Then her face saddened for a moment. "If-if only Mom could have been here too," she finally said softly, as if it were a forbidden subject.
The man's eyes hardened, then immediately softened again. "Now honey, you know we don't talk about her. I know the divorce between your mother and I was as hard on you as me, but it's something we've got to forget. I've got custody of you for the next two weeks and we're going to see every part of the Louisiana Bayous there are to see before you have to go back to her."
Sally Grover ran her fingers through her sand-gritty scalp, brushing a baby-fine wisp back into the long mane of fine, blonde hair that waved and cascaded down her shoulders to her waist. She smiled apologetically across the fire at her father, Brad. He took another bite of his barbecued steak. The corners of his deep liquid eyes flashing yellow from the campfire, wrinkled up happily. He took in the shadowy vision of loveliness before him: smooth ivory skin, uptilting deep blue eyes with a tendency to turn green, high slanting cheekbones that gave a slightly exotic wicked-looking cast to her otherwise classically sculpted face.
The path of his gaze stopped abruptly at her well-formed delicately, curving neck now sunburned from the day in the rowboat they had brought along with them for fishing. Sally shuddered against the approaching evening cold, her bikini-covered body burning the lushly curving outlines of her well-developed body in her father's brain. Hot damn! But she had one of the most sensuous bodies he had ever seen: high lifted, huge, closely placed tits, a sudden hourglass waist that blossomed again into smooth moon-shaped hips, firm, full swelling little ass-cheeks and thighs that flowed down over small beautifully shaped calves into tiny ankles. Why the hell did she have to be his own daughter?
Brad swallowed the last mouthful of his steak, and setting his metal survival kit plate on the log beside him, reached down to twirl the end of the half-burned stick that supported a whitely foaming marshmallow on the tilting end.
"What about a couple of marshmallows for dessert?" Brad's blue eyes flashed orange in the fire's light. "I know this isn't exactly like dinner at MacDonald's, but damn, I'm hungry from rowing all day."
"Me too," mumbled Sally through her choking swallows. The approaching evening cold was causing goose bumps over her scantily clad body and she reached down for her sweat shirt that lay in a brown heap beside her.
Brad watched her, and for a brief moment their eyes locked. "I sure am glad to have you with me, honey. I've missed you being around."