Книга - Marooned with the Maverick

Marooned with the Maverick
Christine Rimmer


Sweet Willa had tried hard not to hold a grudge, but she was sure bad boy Collin Traub didn’t even remember the kiss they’d shared so many years ago.Now they were stranded in a storm together and she was scared, soaking wet and…attracted. Resisting his sweet talk was easy. Resisting his strong arms and those deep dark eyes was another story…










“Get real, Willa. You go up the mountain with me and spend the night, the whole town will be talking when you come back down. The Traub bad boy and the kindergarten teacher. I can hear them all now.”

She laughed. As if it was funny. “I’m sure they’re already talking. We’ve practically been joined at the hip since the flood. And in case you’ve forgotten, we spent a whole night together in my dad’s barn and the world didn’t come to an end.”

In case he’d forgotten? He would never forget. Especially not what had happened in the morning. “We had no choice then. It was the barn or drowning. This—you and me, up the mountain together? That’s a clear choice.”

“What is going on with you? Suddenly you’re acting like it’s 1955 or something. Like you’re worried about my reputation, which is excellent and unimpeachable, thank you very much.”

Unimpeachable? She really did talk like a schoolteacher sometimes.

Which got him hot. Real hot. But he wasn’t going to think about that.




About the Author


CHRISTINE RIMMER came to her profession the long way around. Before settling down to write about the magic of romance, she’d been everything from an actress to a salesclerk to a waitress. Now that she’s finally found work that suits her perfectly, she insists she never had a problem keeping a job—she was merely gaining “life experience” for her future as a novelist. Christine is grateful not only for the joy she finds in writing, but for what waits when the day’s work is through: a man she loves who loves her right back, and the privilege of watching their children grow and change day to day. She lives with her family in Oregon. Visit Christine at www.christinerimmer.com.




Marooned with the Maverick

Christine Rimmer







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For my dad.

I love you, Dad.

And miss you so much!




Chapter One


At 2:10 in the afternoon on the Fourth of July, Collin Traub glanced out the great room window of his house on Falls Mountain and could not believe what he saw in the town down below.

He stopped stock-still and swore under his breath. How could the situation have gotten so bad so fast? He probably should have been keeping an eye on it.

But he’d been busy, his mind on work. And it was later than usual when he stopped for lunch and came upstairs.

To this.

He could kick his own ass for not paying more attention. It had to be about the wettest day on record in Rust Creek Falls, Montana. The rain had been coming down in buckets since yesterday morning. And Rust Creek, which ran northeast to southwest through the center of town, had been steadily rising.

Collin had told himself it was no big deal. The creek had good, high levees on either side, levees that had held without a break for more than a hundred years. He’d never doubted that they would hold for another hundred.

And yet somehow, impossibly, sections of the levee on the south bank were crumbling. Through the thick, steady veil of rain that streamed down the windows, he watched it happen.

The levee just … dissolved, sending foaming, silvery swaths of water pouring through more than one breach. It was a lot of water and it was flowing fast and furious onto the lower-elevation south side of town.

People were going to lose their homes. Or worse.

And the water wouldn’t be stopping on the edge of town, either. South of town lay Rust Creek Falls Valley, a fertile, rolling landscape of small farms and ranches—and any number of smaller creeks and streams that would no doubt also be overflowing their banks.

The Triple T, his family’s ranch, was down there in the path of all that water.

He grabbed the phone off the table.

Deader than a hammer.

He dug his cell from his pocket. No signal.

The useless cell still clutched in his hand, Collin grabbed his hat and his keys and headed out into the downpour.

It was a hell of a ride down the mountain.

One-third of the way down, the road skirted close to the falls for which the mountain was named. The roar was deafening, and the pounding silver width of the falling water was twice what he was used to seeing. He made it past without incident. But if the rain kept on like this, the road could easily be washed out. He’d have himself a real adventure getting back home.

But now was not the time to worry over coming back. He needed to get down there and do what he could to help. He focused his mind on that, keeping his boot light on the brake, giving the steering wheel a workout, as he dodged his 4×4 F-150 around mudslides and uprooted trees, with the rain coming down so thick and fast he could hardly see through the windshield. Now and then, lightning lit up the gray sky and thunder boomed out, the sound echoing off in the distance, over the valley below.

Lightning could be damned dangerous on a mountain thick with tall trees. But with the rain coming down like the end of the world and everything drenched and dripping, a lightning strike causing a forest fire was probably the last thing he needed to get anxious over today.

Water. Rivers of it. That was the problem.

There were way too many spots where the streams and overflowing ditches had shed their contents across the narrow, twisty mountain road. He was lucky to make it through a few of those spots. But he did it.

Fifteen endless minutes after sliding in behind the wheel, he reached Sawmill Street on the north edge of town. He debated: go right to North Main and see what he could do in town, or go left over the Sawmill Street Bridge, skirt the east side of town and make tracks for the Triple T.

The rest of his family was three hundred miles away for the holiday, down in Thunder Canyon attending a wedding and a reunion. That made him the only Traub around.

His obligation to the family holdings won out. He swung left and crossed the Sawmill Street Bridge, which was still several feet above the raging water. With a little luck and the Almighty in a generous mood, that bridge might hold.

The Triple T was southeast of town, so he turned south at Falls Street until he caught sight of the miniature lake that had formed at Commercial and Falls. He saw a couple of swamped vehicles, but they were empty. He swung left again. Having been raised in the valley, he knew every rutted dirt road like he knew the face he saw when he looked in the mirror to shave. Collin used that knowledge now, taking the higher roads, the ones less likely to be flooded in the troughs and dips, working his way steadily toward the ranch.

About a mile from the long driveway that led to the barns and houses on the Triple T, he crested a rise and, through the heavy curtain of pouring rain, saw another vehicle on the road ahead of him: a red Subaru Forester moving at a dead crawl.

He knew that Subaru. And he knew who was behind the wheel: Willa Christensen, the kindergarten teacher.

In spite of everything, the pounding, relentless rain and the flooded road and the pretty-damned-imminent danger, Collin grinned. Since a certain evening a little more than four years before, Willa had been running away from him—and no, he hadn’t been chasing her.

Yeah, he had something of a reputation. People called him a skirt chaser, a player, the Traub family bad boy. But come on. He had better things to do with his time than sniff around after a woman who wanted nothing to do with him. And since that night four years ago, Willa took off like a shot whenever she saw him coming. Collin found her frantic efforts to get away from him pretty comical, if the truth were known.

His grin faded. She shouldn’t be out in this mess. The way she drove—so cautious, like some nervous old lady—she was way too likely to misjudge a flooded spot, to get all flustered and stomp the brake and end up trapped in the waters that swamped the low sections of the road.

He knew where she was headed. The turnoff to the Christensen Ranch wasn’t far past the one to the Triple T. But the way she was handling her vehicle, he didn’t like her odds for getting there in one piece.

Collin readjusted his priorities, skipping the turn to the Triple T, staying on her tail.

The rain came down harder—if that was possible. He had the wipers on high, beating fast and hard across the windshield. Thwack thwack thwack thwack. Even on high, they could hardly keep up with the sheer volume of water falling out of the gunmetal-gray sky.

Lightning flashed, a jagged spear of it striking a twisted oak on a rise up ahead. The red Subaru in front of him lurched to a stop as the old oak crashed to the ground, smoke trailing up in a shower of sparks. Thunder boomed across the valley as the Subaru inched forward once again.

Every dip in the road held a churning miniflood. Each time Willa drove that little red station wagon down into a trough, Collin held his breath, sure she wouldn’t make it through the swirling waters streaming across the road. But each time, she surprised him. She drove steadily forward at a safe, even crawl. And each time, the swirling water had to surrender her to higher ground. He went through in her wake, gritting his teeth, letting out a long breath of relief when he made it clear, too.

The sick ball of dread in his gut tightened to a knot when she suddenly hit the gas—no doubt because she’d finally realized that he was the guy in the pickup behind her. Instead of taking it slow and steady as she had been, watching the bad spots on the streaming, rutted road in front of her, suddenly she was all about getting the hell away from him.

“Damn it, Willa,” he muttered under his breath, as if she might actually hear him. “Slow the hell down….” He leaned on the horn to get her to ease off the accelerator and watch the next dip. It looked pretty deep down there.

But the honking only seemed to freak her out all the more. She must have lead-footed it right to the floorboards. The Forester shot forward—and then took a nosedive into the water rushing across the low spot in the road.

It was bad. Deeper than he’d realized. As the vehicle leveled out, she was up to her side windows in churning brown floodwater.

And going nowhere. She’d swamped it.

Collin hit the brakes. The pickup came to a stop several feet above the flood. He shoved it into Park, turned off the engine, kicked down the parking brake and jumped out, hitting the rain-slick road at a run. Instantly drenched to the skin, with the rain beating down like it wanted to flatten him, he reached the churning water and waded in.

The Subaru was already drifting, picked up by the current and, half-floating, pushed toward the lower side of the road. The water was too high to see the danger there, but Collin knew that the bank at that spot dropped off into a ditch. A deep ditch. If the Subaru went over the edge, he’d have a hell of a time getting Willa out before she drowned.

She’d been raised in the valley, too. She knew what waited at the edge of the road. Inside the station wagon, she was working the door latch, trying to get it to open. She shouted something at him and beat on the window.

He kept slogging toward her, though the water seemed to grab at him, to drag him back. It was like those dreams you have where you have to get somewhere fast and suddenly your legs are made of lead. It seemed to be getting deeper, the pull of the swirling current more powerful, second by second.

Half stumbling, half swimming, while the Subaru slowly rotated away from him as it drifted ever closer to the shoulder and the ditch beyond, Collin bent at the knees and launched himself at the driver’s door.

He made it. His fingers closed around the door handle. He used it to pull his feet under him again.

“You push, I’ll pull!” he yelled good and loud.

She just kept pounding on the window, her brown eyes wide with fright.

He hollered even louder than before, “Push, Willa! Count of three.”

She must have heard him, must have finally understood. Because she pressed her lips together and nodded, her dark, pulled-back hair coming loose, the soft curls bouncing around her fear-white cheeks. She put her shoulder into the door.

“One, two, three!” He pulled. She pushed. The door didn’t budge.

“Again! One, two, three!”

The miracle happened. The Subaru rotated just enough that the current caught the door as he yanked the handle and she threw her shoulder against it. The damn thing came open with such force it knocked him over.

He went under. The door hit him in the side of the head. Not all that hard. But still.

Trying to be a hero? Not the most fun he’d ever had.

Somehow, he managed to get his waterlogged boots under him and pushed himself upright, breaking the surface in time to see his hat spinning away on the current and Willa flailing, still inside the Subaru as the water poured in on her through the now-open driver’s door.

Wonderful.

He went for her, diving through the open door, grabbing for her and catching her arm. He heard her scream—or she tried to. The water cut off most of the high-pitched sound. It kept pouring in, beating at them as it filled the cab.

They had to get out and get out now.

He pulled on her arm until he’d turned her, faceup, and then he caught her in a headlock. Okay, it wasn’t delicate. It wasn’t nice and it sure wasn’t gentle. But with his arm around her neck, at least he could turn and throw himself out the door. She grabbed his arm in both her hands, but by then, she seemed to have caught on to what he was trying to do. She wasn’t fighting him anymore. She was only holding on as tight as he was.

He squirmed around to face the open door. The water shoved him back, but at least the rotation of the vehicle kept the door from swinging shut and trapping them inside. He got his free hand on the door frame, knees bent, boots braced on the side of the seat. Another hard push and they were out just as the Subaru went over the bank into the ditch.

The weight of the vehicle going under sucked at them, but Willa slipped free of his hold and started swimming. Since she seemed to be making it on her own steam, he concentrated on doing the same.

Side by side, they swam for the place where the road rose up out of the ditch. His boots touched ground. Beside him, she found her footing, too—for an instant. Then she staggered and went under.

He grabbed her again, hauling her up, getting one arm around her waist. Lightning tore another hole in the sky and thunder boomed as he half carried, half dragged her up and out of the racing water.

She coughed and sputtered, but she kept her feet moving. The woman had grit. He had to give her that. He kept hold of her, half-supporting her, urging her to the high side of the road and up the hill far enough that they were well above the water and reasonably safe.

They collapsed side by side onto the streaming ground as the rain continued to beat down on them, hard and heavy, never ending. She turned over, got up on her hands and knees and started hacking and coughing, spitting up water. He dragged in one long, hungry breath after another and pounded her back for her, helping her clear her airways so she could breathe. When she was finally doing more breathing than hacking, he fell back on the ground and concentrated on catching his own breath.

Lucky for him, he just happened to turn his head and glance in the direction of his truck about then. The water had risen. Considerably. It was maybe two feet from his front wheels now.

He turned to the waterlogged woman gasping beside him. “Stay here. Do not move. I’ll be right back.”

Swearing low and with feeling, he lurched upright and beat feet on a parallel track with the road. When he got even with his truck, he half ran, half slid down the hill, raced around the rear of the pickup and hauled himself up into the cab. The key was still in the ignition—and the water was lapping around his front wheel wells by then.

He turned it over, released the brake, put it in Reverse and backed to the top of the last rise. Once there, he slammed it in Park again and jumped out to see how things looked behind him.

Not good. The road was flooded in the previous trough. Water in front of him, water behind. The truck was going nowhere until the water receded.

Fair enough. He got back in and parked on the shoulder. Taking his keys with him that time, he left the truck and locked it up.

Then he looked for Willa.

She was gone.




Chapter Two


A moment later, Collin spotted her.

She was on her feet and slogging up the long slope of the hill. He knew then where she was headed. There was a big, weathered, rambling structure way at the top—the Christensen barn.

“Willa, what the hell?” he yelled good and loud. “Hold on a minute!”

She didn’t pause, she didn’t turn. Her hair plastered to her head, and her little white T-shirt and snug jeans covered with mud and debris, she just kept on putting one boot in front of the other, heading up that hill.

He was powerfully tempted to let her go.

But who knew what trouble she’d get herself into next? If something happened to her, he’d end up with a guilty conscience for leaving her all by her lonesome. Plus, well, he didn’t have a lot of options himself, at the moment. The floodwaters were all around.

And it might be July, but the rain was a cold rain and the wind was up, too. He needed shelter to wait out the storm and the barn had walls and a roof. It was better than nothing. Willa was going to have to get over her aversion to him, at least until there was somewhere else he could go.

With a grunt of resignation, he climbed the hill after her, tucking his head down, putting one foot in front of the other, as the water streamed over him and his boots made sucking sounds with each step he took.

He caught up to her maybe twenty yards from the barn. She must have heard the sloshing of his boots at last.

She stopped, her arms wrapped around herself to control the shivers that racked her, and whirled to confront him. “Collin.” She tipped her head up and drew her slim shoulders back. Water ran down her cheeks, into her wide mouth and over her chin.

He could see her nipples, hard as rocks, right through her T-shirt and her bra. “What, Willa?”

“Thank you for saving my life.”

“Hey.” He swiped water off his nose. Not that it did any good. “No problem. Can we move it along? It’s pretty damn wet out here. I’d like to get in that barn.”

She gripped her arms tighter around herself. “I would like for you to go away and leave me alone.”

“Oh, you would, would you?”

“Yes. Please.”

He raised his arms out wide, indicating all of it—the never-ending storm, the floodwaters surrounding them, the cold wind and the flash of bright lightning that lit up the sky again right at that moment. The thunder rumbled. He waited for the sound to die away. “Exactly where do you suggest I go, Willa?”

She flung out a hand. “What about your truck?”

He folded his arms across his chest and simply looked at her.

Her shoulders sagged and she let out a low cry. “Oh, fine. All right. You can come in the barn. Just … fine. Okay.” And she turned around again and continued walking.

He fell in behind her.

The barn loomed ahead. When they reached it, she undid the latch and slipped in. He went in after her, pulling the door to, latching it from within.

The barn had another door on the far wall. Someone must have left the latch undone, because that door stood wide-open. It was probably not a bad thing in this situation. The Christensen livestock needed more than a run-in shed on a day like today and the animals had found what they needed through that wide-open door.

The rambling space was wall-to-wall critters. There were cattle, goats, some chickens and several cooing pigeons. Carping blackbirds perched in the rafters. A couple of pigs snorted beneath one of the two windows and somewhere nearby a barn cat hissed and then yowled.

A dog barked. Collin spotted a muddy white Labrador retriever. The dog was headed for Willa.

She let out a happy little cry. “Buster! There you are!” She dropped to a crouch and opened her arms. The dog reared up and put his front paws on her shoulders. Whining with excitement, he licked her face with his sloppy pink tongue. “You are such a bad, bad dog,” she crooned in a tone that communicated no criticism whatsoever. “Hey, now. Eww.” She turned her head away from Buster’s slobbery attentions and saw Collin watching her.

“Nice dog.” He’d had a great dog named Libby who’d died the winter before. She’d been sixteen, with him since he was eleven and she was an ugly pup, the runt of the litter wanted by no one—but him.

“Down, Buster.” She rose again and tried to brush the mud and water off her soaking wet shirt and muddy jeans. It did zero good. “Technically, he’s my dog,” she explained, “but he’s always loved it here on the ranch, so he lives here more than with me. He was supposed to be staying with me in town, though, while my parents and Gage are in Livingston for the big rodeo.” Gage Christensen, her brother, was the town sheriff. “That dog just will not stay put. He keeps running off to get back here.” A shiver went through her. She wrapped her arms around herself again.

“You’re freezing,” he said. It came out sounding like an accusation, though he didn’t mean it that way.

“I am fine.” She shivered some more. Her hair was plastered on her cheeks and down her neck. She swiped at a soggy hunk of it, shoving it back behind her ear. “Just fine.” She scowled at him.

Whoa. For a minute there, she’d almost seemed friendly—but then she must have remembered that she hated his ass. She turned her back on him and started weaving her way through the crush of horses and cattle. The Lab followed her, panting happily, wagging his muddy tail.

It should have been warmer in there, with all the steaming, milling livestock. But it really wasn’t. How could it be, with that far door wide-open and both of them soaking wet? He slapped the bony butt of a little red heifer who’d backed in too close. She let out a cranky “moo,” and ambled away—not far, though. There wasn’t really anywhere to go.

He found a hay bale against the wall and sat on it as he pondered what he ought to do to make things a little more comfortable. He hesitated to go over and shut the other door. The smell of wet livestock and manure would get pretty strong if he did that.

As he considered what to do next, he watched the dripping brown-haired woman who had spent the past four years avoiding him and now happened to be stuck with him until the rain ended and the floodwaters receded.

Willa was keeping busy shivering and ignoring him, wandering from steer to goat to barn cat to bay mare, petting them all and talking to them low and soft, as though she had a personal relationship with each and every four-legged creature on her family’s place. And maybe she did.

She’d always been a fanciful type, even way back when they were kids. He knew this from actual observation.

Collin had run wild as a kid. He was the youngest, sixth of six boys, and his mom was worn-out by the time he came along. She didn’t have the energy to keep after him. He went where he wanted and came home when he felt like it. He wandered far and wide. Often, he found himself on Christensen land. Now and then, he’d run into Willa. She would be singing little songs to herself, or making crowns out of wildflowers, or reading fairy-tale books.

She’d never seemed to like him much, even then. Once she’d yelled at him to stop spying on her.

He hadn’t been spying. A kid wasn’t spying just because he stretched out in the tall grass and watched a neighbor girl talking to herself as she walked her big-haired brunette Barbie doll around in a circle.

Collin tried to get more comfortable on the hay bale. He scooted to the wall, leaned his head back against the rough boards, closed his eyes and tried not to think how cold he was, tried not to wish he’d grabbed a snack to take with him when he’d run out of the house. His stomach grumbled. He ignored it.

It would have been nice if he could drop off to sleep for a little and forget everything. But no such luck. He would just start to doze when a fit of shivering would snap him awake and he would realize anew that they were smack-dab in the middle of one hell of a disaster. He hoped that no one in town had drowned, that the hands and the animals on the Triple T were safe. He couldn’t help wondering how much of both the town or his family’s ranch would be left standing when the floodwaters receded.

And how much of the state was affected? What about Thunder Canyon, where his family had gone? Were they underwater, too?

Eventually, he gave up trying to sleep and opened his eyes. Willa stood at the window that faced southwest, the one not far from where two spotted pigs were snorting over an upturned bucket of feed. With the white Lab at her feet, she stared out through the endless curtain of the rain. He rubbed his arms to try and warm up a little and knew she must be staring at her parents’ place. The Christensen house was about level with the barn, on high ground, atop the next hill over.

He knew he was asking for more rejection to try and talk to her, but he was just tired and dejected enough to do it anyway. “The house should be safe,” he said. He didn’t mention her brother Gage’s house, which was down the slope of the hill behind her parents’ place. It wouldn’t be visible from Willa’s vantage point, which was just as well. As Collin remembered, it was a ways down the hill and probably already below the rising waterline.

She surprised him by replying. “Yes. I can see it. It’s okay, for now….” She sounded strange, he thought. Kind of dreamy and far away. She had a few scratches on her arms. And a bruise on her cheekbone. But like him, no serious injuries. They’d been very fortunate. So far. She added, “It’s all so unbelievable, don’t you think? Like maybe this isn’t even actually happening. Maybe I’m just dreaming it.”

“Sorry, Willa.” He meant that. He was sorry. “I think it’s really happening.”

She sent him a glance. For once, her mouth didn’t pinch up at the sight of him. “I lost my phone.” A shiver went through her and her teeth chattered together. “Do you happen to have yours with you?”

“It’s in my truck, I think. But there must be towers down. I was getting no signal when I tried using it at a little after two.”

Willa sighed and turned back to the window. “Life is so … fragile, really, isn’t it? I mean, you go along, doing what you need to do, thinking you’re taking care of business, that you’re in control. But you’re not in control, not really.” Outside, lightning flared. Thunder rolled out. “Anything could happen,” she said. “It could rain and rain and never stop….” Her lips looked kind of blue, he thought.

He really needed to come up with a way to warm her up a little. Rising, he began to work his way around the barn, looking for a blanket or a tarp or something.

Willa kept talking. “Oh, Collin. I keep thinking of the children in my class last year. And the ones in our summer school program. I can just close my eyes and see each one of their sweet, smiling faces. I hope they’re all safe and dry. Our school, the elementary school? It’s on the south side of town. That’s not good news. And my house is on the south side, too….”

He pushed a goat out of the way as he came to a spot where the wall jogged at a ninety-degree angle. Around that corner was a door. He opened it. “Willa, there’s a tack room here.”

She sighed again. “Yes. That’s right. And a feed room over there.” She put out a hand in the general direction of the other shut door farther down the wall. And then she started in again, about life and the flood and the safety of her friends, her neighbors and her students.

Collin took a look around the tack room. There were the usual rows of hooks holding ropes and bridles and bits. He was a saddle maker by trade and he grinned at the sight of one of his own saddles racked nice and neat, lined up with several others on the wall. There was a window. And another door, allowing outside access.

The floor in there was wood, not mixed clay and sand as it was out in the main part of the barn. And the walls were paneled in pine.

And then he saw the stack of saddle blankets atop a big cedar storage trunk. He went over and grabbed one. Shooing out the goat that had followed him in there, he shut the door and made his way through the milling animals to Willa.

She didn’t even flinch when he wrapped the blanket around her. “Thank you.”

He took her by the shoulders. “Come on. Let’s go….” She went where he guided her, back through the cattle and horses and goats, with the dog right behind them. He let the dog in the tack room with them, and then shut the door to keep the rest of the animals out. There were a few hay bales. He sat her down on one and knelt in front of her.

She frowned down at him. “What are you doing?”

He held her gaze. “Don’t get freaky on me, okay?”

She looked at him in that pinched, suspicious way again. “Why not?”

“You need to get out of those wet clothes. There are plenty of blankets. You can wrap yourself up in them and get dry.”

“But … my clothes won’t dry.”

“It doesn’t matter. Right now, you need to get dry.”

She considered that idea—and shook her head. “I’ll take off my boots and socks. I’ll be all right.”

He decided not to argue with her. “Fine. You need help?”

“No, thank you.” All prim and proper and so polite. “I’ll manage.”

“Are you thirsty?”

She gaped at him. “Thirsty?” And then she let out a wild little laugh. “In this?” She stuck out a hand toward the water streaming down the lone window.

“Are you?”

And she frowned again. “Well, yes. Now that you mention it, I suppose I am.”

He rose. “I’ll see if I can find some clean containers in the barn. We can catch some of the rainwater, so we won’t get dehydrated.”

She blinked up at him. “Yes. That makes sense. I’ll help.” She started to rise.

He took her shoulders again and gently pushed her back down. “Get out of your boots and shoes—and wrap this around your feet.” He held out another blanket.

She took it, her gaze colliding with his. Holding. “What about you?”

“Let me see about setting out containers for water. Then I’ll grab a few blankets and try and warm up a little, too.”

Half an hour later, he had his boots and socks off. They’d pushed four hay bales together and spread a blanket over them. Side by side, wrapped in more blankets, they passed a bucket of water back and forth.

When they’d both drunk their fill, there was still plenty left in the bucket. He set it on the floor, where Buster promptly stuck his nose in it and started lapping. “You don’t happen to have a nice T-bone handy, do you, Willa?”

She chuckled. There wasn’t a lot of humor in the sound, but he took heart that at least she wasn’t staring blindly into space anymore. “Plenty on the hoof right outside that door.” She pointed her thumb over her shoulder at the door that led into the barn.

He scooted back to the wall for something to lean against. “Not that hungry yet.”

“I didn’t think so.” She scooted back, too, settling alongside him, and then spent a moment readjusting the blanket she’d wrapped around her feet. “There.” She leaned back and let out a long breath. “I believe I am actually beginning to thaw out.”

“That was the plan.” Outside, the rain kept falling. The sky remained that same dim gray it had been all day. “Got any idea what time it is?”

“I don’t know. Six, maybe? Seven?” She sounded … softer. A little sleepy. That was good. Rest wouldn’t hurt either of them. “Won’t be dark for hours yet….”

He was feeling kind of drowsy, too, now that he wasn’t chilled to the bone anymore and most of the adrenaline rush from the various near-death events of the day had faded a little. He let his eyelids droop shut.

But then she spoke again. “It’s really very strange, Collin, being here with you like this.”

He grunted. “This whole day has been pretty strange.”

“Yes, it has. And scary. And awful. But, well, that’s not what I meant.”

He knew exactly what she meant. And why was it women always had to dig up stuff that was better left alone? He kept nice and quiet and hoped she wasn’t going there.

But she was. “Maybe this is a good chance to clear the air a little between us.”

“The air is plenty clear from where I’m sitting.”

“Well, Collin, for me, it’s just not.”

“Willa, I—”

“No. Wait. I would like a chance to say what’s on my mind.”

He didn’t let out a groan of protest, but he wanted to.

And she kept right on. “It was very … humiliating for me, that night at the Ace in the Hole.” The Ace was on Sawmill Street. It was the only bar in town. People went there to forget their troubles and usually only ended up creating a whole new set of them. “It was my first time there, did you know? My twenty-first birthday.” She sounded all sad and wistful.

He’d known. “I think you mentioned that at the time, yeah.”

“Derek had just dumped me for a Delta Gamma.” Straight-arrow Derek Andrews was her high school sweetheart. They’d graduated the same year and headed off to the University of Idaho together. “Collin, did you hear me?”

“Every word,” he muttered.

“Did you know it was over between me and Derek?”

“Well, Willa, I kinda had a feeling something might have gone wrong with your love life, yeah.”

“You led me on,” she accused. “You know that you did.” He’d seen her coming a mile away. Good-girl Willa Christensen, out to find a bad boy just for the night. “And then you …” Her voice got all wobbly. “You turned me down flat.”

“Come on, Willa. It wasn’t a good idea. You know that as well as I do.”

“Then why did you dance with me all those times? Why did you flirt with me and buy me two beers? You acted like you were interested. More than interested. And then, when I tried to kiss you, you laughed at me. You said I wasn’t your type. You said I should go home and behave myself.”

He’d had some crazy idea at the time that he was doing her a favor, keeping her from doing something she wouldn’t be happy about later. But with Willa, no good deed of his ever went unpunished. And was she going to start crying? He hated it when a woman started crying.

She sniffled in her blankets, a small, lost little sound. “I still can’t believe I did that—made a pass at you. I mean, you never liked me and I never cared much for you and we both know that.” That wasn’t true—not on his part anyway. Far from it. But he wasn’t in the mood to dispute the point at the moment. He only wanted her not to start crying—and he thought maybe he was getting his wish when she squirmed in her blankets and grumbled, “Everyone knows how you are. You’ll sleep with anyone—except me, apparently.”

Mad. Now she was getting mad. As far as he was concerned, mad was good. Mad was great. Anything but weepy worked for him.

She huffed, “I just don’t know what got into me that night.”

He couldn’t resist. “Well, Willa, we both know it wasn’t me.”

She made another huffing sound. “Oh, you think you’re so funny. And you’re not. You’re very annoying and you always have been.”

“Always?” he taunted.

“Always,” she humphed.

He scoffed at her. “How would you know a thing about me the last four years? Since that night at the Ace, all I see is the backside of you. I come in a room—and you turn tail and run.”

“And why shouldn’t I? You are a complete tool and you never cared about anything or anyone in your whole life but yourself.”

“Which is girl talk for ‘You didn’t sleep with me,’“ he said in his slowest, laziest, most insolent tone.

“You are not the least bit clever, you know that?”

“You don’t think so, huh?”

“No, I do not. And it just so happens that I’m glad we never hooked up that night. You’re the last person in the world I should ever be sleeping with.”

He tried not to grin. “No argument there. Because I’m not having sex with you no matter how hard you beg me.”

“Oh, please. I mean just, simply, please.” She sat up straight then. Dragging her blankets along with her, she scooted to the edge of the hay bales, as far from him as she could get without swinging her bare feet to the floor. Once there, she snapped, “You do not have worry. I want nothing to do with you.”

He freed a hand from his blankets and made a show of wiping his brow—even though she wasn’t looking at him. “Whew.”

“In case you didn’t know, it just so happens that I have a fiancé, thank you very much.”

“A fiancé?” That was news to Collin. The information bothered him. A lot—and that it bothered him bugged him to no end.

“Yes,” she said. “Well. Sort of.”

“Willa, get real. You do or you don’t.”

“His name is Dane Everhart and he’s an assistant coach at the University of Colorado. We met at UI. We’ve been dating on and off for three years. Dane loves me and knows I’m the one for him and wants only to marry me and, er, give me the world.”

“Hold on just a minute. Answer the question. You’re saying you’re engaged?”

She fiddled with her blankets and refused to turn around and look at him. “Well, no. Not exactly. But I could be. I promised to give Dane an answer by the end of the summer.”

He stared at the back of her head. Her hair was a tangle of wild, muddy curls from her dip in the floodwaters. It should have looked like crap. But it didn’t. It looked like she’d been having crazy good sex with someone—and then fallen asleep all loose and soft and satisfied.

And why the hell was he thinking about sex right now? Was he losing his mind? Probably. A few hours trapped in a barn with Willa Christensen could do that to a man, could drive him clean out of his head.

He sat up, too, then, and sneered, “You’re in love with this guy, and you’re not going to see him until September?”

“So? What’s wrong with that?”

“Well, I mean, if you’re in love with him, how can you stand to be apart from him? How can he stand to be away from you?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Are you in love with him, Willa?”

She squared her slim shoulders. “I just told you that you wouldn’t understand.”

“That’s right. I wouldn’t. If I loved a woman, I’d want her with me. Where I could touch her and be with her and hold her all night long.”

Willa gasped. She tried to hide the small, sharp sound, but he heard it. “Oh, please. As if you know anything about being in love, Collin Traub.”

“I said if I was in love.”

“Well. Humph. As it happens, Dane has gone to Australia until the end of the month. He gets only a short summer break before practice begins again. And do you know how he’s spending his limited free time? I will tell you how he’s spending it. At a special sports camp. He’s helping Australian children learn about American football. Because he’s a good man, a man who cares about other people. That’s how he is. That’s who he is …”

There was more. Lots more.

Collin let her heated words wash over him. The point, as far as he saw it, was that she hadn’t answered the main question. She hadn’t come out and said, “Yes. I’m in love with Dane Everhart.”

He felt absurdly satisfied with what she hadn’t said. She could rant all night about the wonderfulness of this Dane character while talking trash about him. At least she was acting like the Willa he’d always known. At least she was full of fire and vinegar and not shaking with cold, shock and fear anymore.

Collin smiled to himself, settled back against the wall and closed his eyes.




Chapter Three


Willa felt Collin’s presence behind her acutely.

But she didn’t turn to him. She sat on the edge of the pushed-together hay bales and stared resolutely out the tack room’s one window as waves of never-ending rain flowed down the glass.

She finished what she had to say about Dane. “It just so happens that Dane would have liked to have taken me with him. But he was going to be very busy with the Australian children and I had things I could be doing here at home. We have summer school at Rust Creek Falls Elementary, in case you didn’t know and I …” Her voice trailed off.

Collin hadn’t said a word for a couple of minutes, maybe more. Had he fallen asleep, for heaven’s sake?

She wouldn’t put it past him. He was such an exasperating, impossible man. Always had been. And no doubt always would be.

So why am I starting to feel ashamed of myself?

Willa’s cheeks were flaming. She tucked her chin down into the scratchy saddle blanket he’d wrapped around her. At least he couldn’t see her embarrassment at her own behavior—not as long as she didn’t turn and face him.

Which she was not going to do right now, thank you very much.

Stretched out on the floor by the hay bales, Buster huffed out a long sigh. Willa bent down and scratched him on the head. His tail bounced happily against the rough plank floor.

She gathered her blankets close again. All right, she probably shouldn’t have gone off on Collin like that. No matter how humiliating her history with the guy, he’d been there when she desperately needed him. He’d saved her life a few hours ago, at no small risk to himself.

Plus, well, she hadn’t really been honest while she was getting all up in his face just now, had she? She hadn’t bothered to mention that she had serious reservations about her and Dane. Dane was the greatest guy in the world and he did want to marry her, very much. But Rust Creek Falls was her home and he wasn’t about to give up his wonderful career at CU. And more important than geography, Dane somehow didn’t quite feel like her guy.

Whatever her guy should feel like. She wasn’t sure. She just had a certain intuition that Dane wasn’t it.

And worse than her doubts about her future with an ideal man like Dane, well, there was that longtime thing she’d had for Collin—oh, not anymore. Of course not. That night at the Ace in the Hole had put an end to her ridiculous schoolgirl crush on the town bad boy. But before that night she used to fantasize about him now and then.

Or maybe even more often than now and then.

She used to wonder what it would be like if bad-boy Collin were to kiss her. Or do more than kiss her …

Not that it mattered now. None of her past silliness over Collin mattered to anyone. It had been a fantasy, that was all. Her fantasy. He’d never been the least interested in her. He’d made that painfully clear on the night he led her on and then laughed in her face.

And really, after all that had happened today, her four-year grudge against him for not having sex with her was beginning to seem nothing short of petty. She really needed to let the past go. She needed to be … a bigger person than she’d been so far about this. She needed to be a better person.

And she needed to start doing that now.

Willa cleared her throat. “Um. Collin?”

He shifted a little, back there against the wall. “What now, Willa?” His voice was scratchy and deep. Lazy. What was it about him? He just always made her think of wrinkled sheets and forbidden passion.

In a purely impersonal, objective way, of course.

“I, um, well …”

“Come on. Spit it out.”

She made herself say it. “I’m sorry, okay?” She hauled her blanket-wrapped legs back up on the hay bales and wiggled around until she was facing him again. He lay sprawled under his blankets, his head propped against the wall, his eyes shut, his eyelashes black as coal, thicker than any girl’s, his full mouth lax and lazy, just like his voice had been, the shadow of a beard on his cheeks. A curl of that impossibly thick black hair of his hung over his forehead. She clutched her blankets tighter to keep from reaching out and smoothing it back. “I shouldn’t have jumped all over you like that. I shouldn’t have called you a tool. That was … small-minded and mean-spirited of me, especially after all you’ve done for me today.”

He didn’t say anything for a minute. And he didn’t open his eyes. Again, she wondered if he’d dropped off to sleep and she had to resist the urge to reach out and shake him. But then those bad-boy lips curved upward in a slow smile. “So you don’t think I’m a tool, then?”

“Um. No. No, of course not. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry. I am.”

“And you think maybe you could stop racing off like your hair’s on fire every time you see me coming?”

A fresh wave of embarrassment had her cheeks flaming all over again. But what did it matter? He couldn’t see her blush. His eyes were shut. Also, she truly wanted to make amends. “Ahem. Yes. Fair enough. I will do that. I will stop avoiding you.”

“Well, all right then. I accept your apology.” He patted the empty space beside him. “Stretch out. Try and get some sleep. I’m thinking we’re going to be busy when the rain stops and the water goes down.”

His words brought reality crashing back down on her. She hung her head. “Oh, Collin. It seems like it’s never going to stop. I know my brother’s house is already underwater. And what if it just keeps rising, what if we—?”

“Shh.” He reached out and clasped her arm through the thick wool of the blanket. His grip was strong. Sure. It made her so very glad that he was here with her, that she wasn’t huddled in the family barn all alone, waiting out the endless storm. “Don’t go there.” His voice was calm and firm. “There’s no point.”

She lifted her head. His eyes were open now, steady on hers. Shamelessly, she pleaded, “Tell me that we’re going to be okay, that Rust Creek Falls will be okay, that we’ll make it through this, come back better and stronger than ever.”

He didn’t even hesitate. He told her what she needed to hear. “We will. Just watch. Now come here. Come on …” He lifted the blanket that covered him.

She didn’t think twice. She went down into the shelter of his offered arm, resting her head on his shoulder. He was so warm and big and solid. He smelled of mud and man, which at that moment she found wonderfully reassuring. He fiddled with the blankets, smoothing them over both of them.

Willa smiled to herself. All those crazy teenage dreams she’d had about him. And here she was, damp and dirty, bruised and scratched up, lying practically on top of him, grateful beyond measure to share a pile of saddle blankets with him. The world seemed to have gone crazy in the space of a day. But right now, in Collin’s arms, she felt safe.

Protected.

She closed her eyes. “I didn’t realize until now how tired I am….”

He touched her hair, gently. Lightly. “Rest, then.”

She started to answer him, but then she found she didn’t have the energy to make a sound. Sleep closed over her. She surrendered to it with a grateful sigh.

When she woke, the light was different.

Sun. It was sun slanting in the window—and the window faced east. That meant it had to be morning, didn’t it?

Also …

She was lying on a man. Collin. He had both arms wrapped around her and his cheek against her dirty, snarled hair. Her head was on his shoulder, one arm tucked in against her side.

Her other arm rested on Collin, which was perfectly acceptable, given the circumstances. But the hand that was attached to that arm? That hand was exactly where it shouldn’t be.

And where it shouldn’t be was hard.

Blinking, not quite putting it all together as reality yet, Willa lifted her head from his shoulder and blearily squinted at the morning light. Outside, faintly, she could hear birds singing.

Without moving her hand away from his very definite, very thick and large hardness, she looked down at him. Because, seriously. Could this actually be happening?

It was.

And he was awake. He gazed up at her with the strangest, laziest, sexiest expression. “Mornin’.”

She puffed out her cheeks as she blew out a slow breath. And then, with great care, she removed her hand from his private parts and whispered, “The sun’s out.”

He nodded. “The rain’s stopped. It stopped hours ago.” He was playing along with her, pretending the contact between her hand and his fly had not occurred. Which was great. Perfect. Wonderful of him.

She backed off him onto her knees, dragging the blankets with her, and shoved her hair out of her eyes. “You, uh, should have woken me.”

“Uh-uh.” He reached out and clasped her shoulder, a companionable, reassuring sort of gesture that made tears clog her throat. She swallowed them down. And he said, “You needed your sleep and so did I. I woke up in the middle of the night and it was quiet. I knew the rain had finally stopped. I thought about getting up, but then I just closed my eyes and went back to sleep.”

Buster was up, making whining noises, scratching at the door that led outside. “I should let him out….” He took his hand from her shoulder. She wished he hadn’t, that he would touch her again, hold on tight and never, ever let go. But he didn’t. And she pushed the blankets aside, swung her legs over the edge of the hay bales and stood up. Barefoot, she went and pulled the door open. Buster went out and she scolded, “Don’t run off, now.” And then she lingered in the open doorway, staring up at the sky. Blue as a newborn baby’s eyes. She glanced back over her shoulder at Collin.

He was sitting up, bare feet on the floor. He had a case of bed head every bit as bad as hers, and he was kind of hunched over, his elbows on his knees. “Come on,” he said gruffly. “Put your boots on,” He raked his fingers back through all that thick, every-which-way hair. “We’ll see if the water’s gone down enough that we can get across the ravine to your folks’ house.”

They put on their damp socks and boots and pulled open the door that led into the main part of the barn.

“Needs a good mucking out in here,” Collin said. Did it ever. Most of the animals had wandered off, out into the morning sunshine, leaving a whole lot of fresh manure behind. “You supposed to be taking care of the place all by your lonesome while your folks and your brother are off at the rodeo?”

She shook her head and named off the neighbors who’d agreed to look after things and feed the stock until the family returned. “But I’m guessing they probably all have their own problems about now.” At least it was summer and grazing was good. The animals wouldn’t starve if left to their own devices for a few days.

Instead of slogging through the mess on the barn floor to one of the outer doors, they ducked back into the tack room and went out through the exterior door there. Buster was waiting for them, sitting right outside the door, acting as though he’d actually listened when she told him not to wander off.

Willa scratched his head and called him a good dog and tried to tell herself that the jittery feeling in her stomach was because she hadn’t eaten since lunch the day before— not rising dread at the prospect of how bad the damage was behind the barn on the next rise over, and along the roads that crisscrossed the valley. And in town …

“It’s a beautiful day,” she said, tipping her head up again to the clear sky. “You’d almost think yesterday never even happened.”

“Hey.”

She lowered her gaze to him. Even with his hair sticking up on one side and a smudge of dirt at his temple, he still looked like every well-behaved girl’s naughty, forbidden fantasy. “Hmm?”

His dark eyes searched hers. “You okay?”

And she nodded and forced her mouth to form a smile.

On the other side of the barn, the two pigs from the night before were rooting around near the water trough. A rooster stood on a section of busted-down fence and crowed as Willa stared across the ravine at her parents’ house.

The house was untouched by the flood, though the water had gotten halfway up the front walk that was lined with her mother’s prized roses. Her dad’s minitractor lay on its side at the base of that walk. And a couple of steers had somehow gotten through the fence and were snacking on the vegetable garden in the side yard.

Below, in the ravine, the water had receded, leaving debris strewn down the sides of the hill and up the one on which the house sat. There were tree trunks and lawn chairs down there, boulders and a bicycle, a shade umbrella and any number of other items that looked bizarre, scary and all wrong, soggy and busted up, trailing across the pasture. Willa turned her eyes away, toward the road.

And saw her red Subaru. It had drifted past the ditch and lay on its side in the pasture there. It was covered in mud.

“Guess I’ll be needing a new car.” She tried to sound philosophical about it, but knew that she didn’t exactly succeed.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go check out the house. Watch where you put your feet in that ravine.”

Buster and the two pigs followed them down there. They picked their way with care through all the soggy junk and knotted tree roots. It was going to be quite a job, cleaning up. And she knew that all the other ranches in the valley had to be in a similar state, if not worse. Her family still had a barn and the house, at least. And as far as she could see, there were no animals or—God forbid—people lying broken amid the wreckage down there.

When they reached the house, they skirted the downed tractor and went up the front steps. She’d lost her keys. They were probably still stuck in the ignition of her poor Subaru. But her mom had left a house key where she always did, in the mouth of the ceramic frog by the porch swing.

They went inside. The power and phone were both out, but still, it all looked just as it had the last time she’d been there, the white refrigerator covered with those silly smiling-flower magnets her mother liked, some of them holding reminders to pick up this or that at the store. There were also pictures of her and her brother and a few recipes her mom was meaning to try. In the living room, the remote sat on the magazine table by her dad’s recliner and her mother’s knitting bag waited in its usual place at the end of the fat blue sofa.

Her childhood home. Intact. It seemed a miracle to her right then. And she wanted to cry all over again—with a desperate, hot sort of joy.

Collin turned on the water in the kitchen. It ran clear, but they both knew that the flood could have caused contamination of any wells in its path.

She said, “We have wells for the stock. But for this house and Gage’s place, we have a water tank that taps an underground spring higher up on this hill. The floodwaters wouldn’t have reached that far. So the water here, in the house, is safe.”

“That’s good. A lot of valley wells are going to need disinfecting. Any source of clean water is great news.”

She nodded. “And in town, they get water from above the falls. So they should be all right, too, shouldn’t they, at least on the north side of the creek?” He shrugged. She knew what he was thinking. Who could say what they would find in town? And what about his family’s place? “I know you probably want to head over to the Triple T….”

“Yeah. But let’s check out your brother’s house first, and then see about getting something to eat.”

Gage’s house. She realized she didn’t want to go there.

But she did it anyway. And she was glad, again, for Collin’s presence at her side. The house was locked up. They looked in the windows. It was bad. The waterline went three feet up the walls, but the moisture had wicked higher still in ugly, muddy little spikes. Gage’s furniture was beyond saving, soggy and stained, the stuffing popping out.

“Can we get to the propane tank?” Collin asked. “Better to be safe than sorry when it comes to a possible gas leak.” She showed him the way. They were able to turn it off from outside. Then he said, “Come on. There’s nothing more we can do here right now.”

They went back to her parents’ house and found plenty to eat in the pantry. She filled Buster’s food bowl and the hungry dog quickly emptied it. After the meal, she took the perishables out of the fridge and put them in a bucket in the front yard. The two pigs went right to work on the treat.

By then it was still early, a little after seven. Collin suggested they make use of the safe water source and take showers before they left. There was just no way to guess the next time they’d have a chance to clean up a little. As at Gage’s place, the tank was heated by propane, so they even had hot water.

Willa chose from some of her own old clothes that her mom had stored for her in a box under the stairs. She got clean jeans, a fresh T-shirt and a pair of worn but sturdy lace-up work boots to wear. For Collin, she found an ancient purple Jimi Hendrix Experience shirt that belonged to her dad, a pair of her dad’s boots that were a pretty decent fit, and some trusty bib overalls. She also gave him a towel, a toothbrush, shave cream and a disposable razor. He took the guest bathroom. She used the master bath, and she made it quick.

Still, as she stood before the steamy bathroom mirror wrapped in one of her mother’s fluffy towels, combing the tangles out of her wet hair, she couldn’t help but think that Collin was just down the hall in the other bathroom, possibly naked.

Or if he wasn’t by now, he had been a few minutes ago.

She caught her lower lip between her teeth and glared at her own reflection. “Get your mind off Collin naked,” she told her steamy image in an angry whisper. “Seriously. You should get help, Willa Christensen.”

And that struck her as funny, for some reason. The idea that she needed counseling over Collin Traub. She laughed. And then she pulled herself together and pinned her still-wet hair into a knot at the back of her head.

A few minutes later, they were out in the kitchen again, deciding what to take with them when they left.

She didn’t tell him so, but he looked sexy even in overalls. He’d used the razor she’d given him and his dark stubble was gone, his hair still wet, but minus the dried mud from the flood.

Before they left, they filled a couple of gallon-size plastic containers with water. She stuffed a backpack with a few personal items. Her mom had a key to Willa’s house in town and she took that, since hers was lost somewhere in her mud-filled car. She also grabbed a leash and a plastic container of food for Buster. She would have grabbed her dad’s first aid kit, but Collin said he had one in his pickup.

“You want to wade out to your car?” Collin asked her. “See if maybe we can find your purse or your keys?”

It was way out there in the middle of that muddy field. And it didn’t look promising to her. “We just got dry boots,” she reminded him. “Let it go.”

Collin didn’t argue. She figured he was probably anxious to get to the Triple T.

They locked up the house again and headed for his truck, which waited at the top of the road where he’d left it. Buster hopped in the back and they climbed in the cab.

His cell was stuck in one of the cup holders. He tried it. “Still no signal.”

Willa hooked her seat belt. He started the engine, pulled a U-turn and off they went.

It took them over an hour to get to the Triple T. The roads were washed out in several places and they had to find a way around the trouble spots. There was soggy, broken stuff strewn randomly wherever the water had risen, not to mention swamped, abandoned vehicles. Willa tried to take heart that they were all only things.

Collin played the truck’s radio for news. Roads and bridges were out everywhere. Any number of small towns on the western side of the state from Butte north had sustained serious damage. A third of the state had been designated a disaster area and there were constant warnings—about staying off the roads as much as possible, about exercising caution in flooded buildings, about the danger of snakes and the hazards of rats. About steering clear of downed power lines.

At the Triple T, all the buildings were above the waterline and undamaged, but there would still be one heck of a cleanup to deal with. The hands who’d been taking care of the place were there and safe. Willa told them how to get into her parents’ house to get fresh water for the next day or so, until they could disinfect the wells. They said they would check the stock for her as soon as they’d dealt with the animals on the Triple T.

Once Collin seemed satisfied that the hands had things under control, he said, “We should get going, go on into town.”

She caught his arm before they got in the cab.

He stopped and turned to look at her. “Yeah?” His skin was so warm under her hand. Smooth flesh, hard muscles beneath. She felt suddenly shy with him and jerked her hand away. He frowned. “What’s the matter?”

“I, well, I was just thinking that I’ll bet you really want to go back up the mountain to check on things at your place. You could just drop me off when we get to Falls Street and I can hitch a ride in.”

He stuck his fists into the front pockets of her dad’s overalls and tipped his head to the side. “What the hell, Willa? I’m not leaving you alone on the street.”

His words warmed her. But still. She really did need to stop taking advantage of his kindness to her.

Kindness.

Incredible. She’d been so busy judging him as a heartless, undisciplined sex maniac for all these years, she’d never had a clue what a softy he really was. She shook her head. “Oh, come on now. It’s Rust Creek Falls. We both know I’ll be perfectly safe.”

“We don’t know what’s going on since last night. And I don’t want you wandering around alone.”

“Collin, I would hardly wander. And I know everyone in town, so I won’t by any stretch of the imagination be alone.”

“I’m coming with you. I want to be with you when you check on your house.” He said the words in a cautious tone. They both knew where her house was: directly in the path of the water. She was already resigned to the fact that it had to be flooded and was hoping that at least some of her clothing and furniture might be salvageable.

“Honestly, I can handle it. I was pretty shell-shocked yesterday, I know. But I’m over that. I’m ready to face whatever comes. You don’t have to worry about me.”

He was scowling now. “Why are you trying to get rid of me?”

She fell back a step. “But I’m not. I just thought …”

He caught her arm with his calloused hand. It felt so good, his touch. And his grip was so strong. “What?” he demanded. “You thought what?”

She looked up at him, at his smoldering dark eyes and those lips that seemed like they were made for kissing a woman and she wondered what he would do if she kissed him. The idea made her feel both embarrassed and giddy. She almost giggled.

“Willa,” he demanded. “What is going on with you all of a sudden?”

Now she was thinking about earlier that morning. About waking up with her hand where it shouldn’t have been—about how he’d been turned on.

Get real, Willa. Just because he became aroused didn’t mean he was dying to have sex with her in particular. It was simple biology, and she needed to remember that.

And if he wanted to keep on being kind to her, well, maybe she’d just let him. Maybe she’d just go right on taking advantage of Collin Traub and enjoying every minute of it. “Nothing is ‘going on’ with me. I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t taking advantage of you.”

“You’re not.”

“So … you don’t mind going into town, then?”

“It’s not about minding. It’s what I planned to do. People will need help. They’ll need every able-bodied man.”

“And woman,” she reminded him.

“Right.” He had the good sense to agree.

She pressed her lips together to keep from grinning up at him like some addled fool and said, “Well, fair enough, then. I was just, um, checking.”

He seemed to realize suddenly that he was gripping her arm—and let go. “Checking.” Now he looked suspicious.

She put on her most innocent expression. “Uh-huh. Nothing wrong with checking, making sure you’re okay with what’s going on.”

“If I’m not okay, you’ll know it.”

“Well, then, I’ll stop checking.”

“Good. Can we go now?”

She had that silly urge to grin again. Must be the stress of all she’d been through since yesterday. Yeah. Right. That must be it.

The trip into Rust Creek Falls was as booby-trapped with obstacles as the ride to the Triple T had been.

There was the smell of smoke in the air. It wasn’t just from wood fires in stoves and fireplaces. They heard the sirens, saw the roiling smoke in the distance. On the south side of town, some homes had caught fire. Willa prayed her house wasn’t one of them—and then she put her house out of her mind and prayed that no lives were endangered by the fires.

Other travelers were on the road by then, most of whom they recognized. Everyone seemed to have somewhere important to go. People waved and honked, but nobody pulled over to talk about what they’d been through or exchange information about the disaster. Collin had the radio on. All the way there, they listened to advice on how to deal with the aftermath of the Great Independence Day Flood.

When they finally got to Falls Street on the southeastern edge of town, they had to circle around and take other roads farther east and then work their way back in. It was nothing but mud, pools of water, swamped, abandoned vehicles and way too much debris south of the creek. The buildings they saw before they turned east were still standing, but bore the telltale signs of water damage within.

Eventually, they reached Sawmill Street and turned west again. The water level was way down from flood stage and the bridge appeared intact. Collin pulled the pickup to the shoulder before they crossed it. They both got out to have a look, to make sure that crossing would be safe. Buster jumped out to follow them.

But then a couple of pickups came rolling across from the town side. Behind the wheel of the second truck was a rancher they both recognized, Hank Garmond. Hank owned a nice little spread at the southwestern edge of the valley.

He pulled to a stop. “Willa. Collin. I see you’re both in one piece and still breathing. Could be worse, eh? I’m headin’ back to my place. We still got a house, but we lost the barn and sheds. Haven’t started counting cattle yet. I just stopped in at Crawford’s to try and get a few supplies to tide us over.” Crawford’s General Store, on North Main, was a town landmark. The store sold everything from basic foodstuffs to farm supplies, hardware and clothing. “Shelves are already lookin’ pretty bare in there.”

Collin asked, “How bad is it?”

“In town? Power’s out, and all the phones. North of the creek is okay, from what I heard. No flooding, the water supply unaffected. South is not lookin’ good. Commercial Street Bridge is washed out. There’s damage to the Main Street Bridge. People are bypassing it. We still got this bridge though.” He pointed a thumb back over his shoulder. “Praise the Lord for small favors.” Very small favors, Willa couldn’t help thinking. True, it was pretty much what she and Collin had thought it would be, but somehow, to hear Hank confirm their suspicions made it all the more horribly real. “And then there’s what happened to Hunter McGee.” Hunter McGee was the mayor.

“What?” Willa demanded.

“Tree fell on that old SUV of his. So happened he was in the SUV at the time.”

Willa respected Mayor McGee. He was a born leader, a real booster of education and had planned and promoted several school-related fund-raising events. “My Lord,” she cried. “Was he hurt?”

“The tree fell on the hood. Not a scratch on him.” Hank resettled his hat on his head and Willa felt relief. But then Hank added, “Must have scared the you-know-what right out of him. He had a heart attack.”

Willa put her hand over her mouth. “Oh, no …”

“Oh, yeah. It was over real quick for Mayor McGee.”

“Over?” Willa’s heart sank. “You—you mean he’s …?”

Hank nodded. An SUV and another pickup came across the bridge. The occupants waved as they drove by. Hank said somberly, “They took him to Emmet’s house. Emmet pronounced him DOA.” Emmet dePaulo, a nurse-practitioner, ran the town clinic. “Clinic’s flooded, in case you were wondering.”

Willa and Collin exchanged grim glances. They weren’t surprised. The clinic was south of Main. “Emmet and a couple of his neighbors waded in there and saved what equipment and supplies they could first thing this morning. Luckily, Emmet had a lot of his medical stuff stored on the second floor and the water didn’t make it that high. He’s set up an emergency clinic at his house, for now.”

“They got the volunteer fire guys out on search and rescue?” Collin asked.

Hank shrugged. “Can’t say. I ain’t heard of anybody dead, hurt bad or stranded …’ceptin’ Mayor McGee, I mean. Rest his soul. But I did hear that some county trucks brought in salvage-and-rescue equipment and sandbags yesterday before the levee broke. This morning, the town council put together an emergency crew to patch up the places where the water got through. So that’s taken care of for now. And you can just have a look at the creek. Water level’s back to normal range.”

Collin gave a humorless chuckle. “Yeah, one good thing about breaks in the levee. They tend to bring the water level way down.”

“That they do,” Hank concurred. “Plus, there’s no rain in the forecast for at least the next week. So we’re unlikely to have a repeat of what happened yesterday—oh, and the town council called a meeting at noon in the town hall to talk cleanup and such. Wish I could be there, but I got way too much cleanup of my own out at my place and I need to get after it. Bought the bleach I needed, at least. I can disinfect my well.” Hank tipped his hat.

“You stay safe and take it slow on the road, Hank,” Collin said.

“Will do. You keep the faith, now.” The rancher rolled on by.

Collin put his arm around her. “You’re lookin’ kind of stricken, Willa.”

She leaned into him, because she could. She needed someone to lean on at that moment. And Collin was so solid. So warm. So very much alive. “I’d been letting myself hope that at least no one had died—and I really liked Mayor McGee.”

“I hear you. Hunter was a good man and this town could sure use him about now.” He pulled her a little closer in the shelter of his arm and turned them both back to the pickup, Buster at their heels. The dog jumped in back again and they got in the cab.

As they drove across the bridge, Willa tried not to dread what might be waiting for them on the other side.




Chapter Four


It didn’t look so awfully bad, Willa told herself as they drove along Sawmill Street. In fact, there on the northern edge of town, things seemed almost normal. Willa spotted a couple of downed trees and some flattened fences, but nothing like the devastation they’d witnessed coming in.

When they turned onto Main Street going south, they saw that the Crawford store parking lot was packed, people going in—and coming out mostly empty-handed. She supposed she shouldn’t be all that surprised. It wouldn’t take long to clear out the shelves of emergency supplies if everyone in town and most of the valley’s ranchers showed up all at once and grabbed whatever they could fit in a cart.

The Community Church had its doors wide open. People sat on the steps there or stood out under the trees in front. Most of them looked confused. And lost.

“Shouldn’t the Red Cross be showing up any minute?” she asked hopefully. “And what about FEMA and the National Guard?”

Collin grunted. “With a lot of the state in this condition, the phones out and the roads blocked, we’ll be real lucky if a few supply trucks get to us in the next day or two.” And then he swore low. “Isn’t that the mayor’s SUV?” The old brown 4×4 was half in, half out of the town hall parking lot. It had definitely come out the loser in the encounter with the downed elm tree. The tree lay square across what was left of the hood. The driver’s door gaped open. A couple of boys in their early teens were peering in the windows.

“That’s just too sad,” Willa said low. “You’d think they’d want it off the street.”

“Damn right.” Collin muttered. “A sight like that is not encouraging.” He hit the brake—and then swung a U-turn in front of the library, pulling in at the curb.

“Collin!” Willa cried, surprised. “What in the …?”

He shouted out the window at the two boys. “Hey, you two. Get over here.”

Both boys froze. They wore guilty expressions. But then they put on their best tough-guy scowls and sauntered to Collin’s side of the truck. They were the older brothers of a couple of Willa’s former students and when they spotted her in the passenger seat, they dropped some of the attitude and mumbled in unison, “‘Lo, Ms. Christensen.”

She gave them both a slow nod.

One of them raked his shaggy hair off his forehead and met Collin’s eyes. “Yeah?”

As he’d already done several times in the past eighteen hours or so, Collin surprised her. He knew their names. “Jesse. Franklin. Show a little respect, huh?”

Jesse, who was fourteen if Willa remembered correctly, cleared his throat. “We are, Mr. Traub.” Mr. Traub. So strange. To hear anybody call the youngest, wildest Traub mister. But then again, well, the Traubs were pillars of the Rust Creek Falls community. Some of that probably rubbed off, even on the family bad boy—especially to a couple of impressionable teenagers.

Franklin, who was thirteen, added, “We were just, you know, checkin’ things out.”

Collin leaned out the window and suggested in a just-between-us-men kind of voice, “You two could make yourselves useful, do this town a real big favor …”

The two boys perked up considerably. “Well, yeah. Sure,” said Jesse.

“How?” asked Franklin.

“Head on up to the garage. See if Clovis has a tow truck he can spare.” Clovis Hart had owned and run the garage and gas station at Sawmill and North Buckskin for as long as Willa could remember. “Tell him the mayor’s SUV is still sitting in the middle of Main Street with a tree trunk buried in its hood and lots of folks would appreciate it if Clovis could tow it away.”

The boys shared a wide-eyed look. And then Franklin said, “Yeah. We could do that.”

“You want me to take you up there?”

“Naw,” said Jesse, puffing out his skinny chest. “We can handle it ourselves.”

“Good enough, then. Thanks, boys—and tell Clovis he probably ought to bring a chain saw for that tree.”

“We will.” The two took off up Main at a run.

“That was well done,” Willa said, and didn’t even bother to try and hide the admiration in her voice.

Collin grunted. “Maybe, but do you think they’ll make it happen?”

“You know, I kind of do. They’re good kids. And this is a way for them to help. And you know Clovis.”

“Yes, I do. Clovis Hart respected Hunter McGee and he won’t like it that the car Hunter died in is sitting on Main with the hood smashed in for everyone to stare and point at.”

She glanced toward the dashboard clock. It was 10:45 a.m. “So what do we do now?”

“I was thinking we could go and see how your house made out….”

She glanced over her shoulder, out the back window, past a happily panting Buster, at the Main Street Bridge. Someone had put a row of orange traffic cones in front of it to warn people off trying to use it. And one of her brother’s deputies was standing, arms folded, in front of the pedestrian walk that spanned one side. “It doesn’t look like they’re letting folks cross the bridge.”

Connor glanced over his shoulder, too. “We could try heading back to the Sawmill Street Bridge, then going on foot along the top of the levee until we get to your street.”

“That could be dangerous … I mean, with the breaks in the levee and all. We would have to go carefully, and we don’t know what we’ll find if we manage to get to my house. It could take hours and we would miss the noon meeting Hank mentioned. I do think we should go to that.”

Collin faced front again, his big shoulders slumping, and stared broodingly out the windshield back the way they had come. “You know who’ll be running that meeting now Hunter’s gone, don’t you?”

She did. “Nathan Crawford.” Nathan was in his early thirties, a member of the town council. Everyone expected him to be mayor himself someday. He and Collin had never liked each other. It was as if the two had been born to be enemies. Nathan was as handsome and dynamic as Collin was brooding and magnetic. Collin had always been a rebel and Nathan considered himself a community leader.

Rumor had it that five or six years back, Nathan’s girlfriend, Anita, had gone out on him—with Collin. Word was Anita had told Collin that she and Nathan were through. But apparently, she’d failed to inform Nathan of that fact. There’d been a fight, a nasty one, between the two men. Some claimed Collin had won, others insisted Nathan had come out the victor. After that, the two had hated each other more than ever.

Plus, there was the old rivalry between their two families. Nathan was a Crawford to the core. The Crawfords not only owned the general store, they were also as influential in the community as the Traubs. And for as long as anyone could remember, Crawfords and Traubs had been at odds. Willa didn’t really know the origin of the feud, but it seemed to be bred in the bone now between the town’s two most important families. Traubs didn’t think much of Crawfords. And the Crawfords returned the favor.





Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Получить полную версию книги.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/christine-rimmer/marooned-with-the-maverick/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.