Charming the One: (Meadowview Heroes # 3) (The Meadowview Series Book 7)

by Rochelle French

  It wasn’t as if she would drown, but hypothermia was a possibility, which she doubted would be a nice experience. Time to catch her breath, then divest herself of her jeans and pull herself out of the ditch.

  Her farming endeavor was so not off to a good start.

  Peter jolted. He’d shucked his shirt and was about to turn on the outdoor shower to rinse of the worst of the soot when he’d glanced back at his neighbor one last time. What on earth was she doing?

  Nobody, but nobody willingly crawled into one of the ditches—that water came from melted snowpack high in the Sierra Nevada mountains and was ball-shrinkingly cold.

  He stared as she lowered herself fully into the water. And then he stared longer, waiting for her to come out of the canal. Only…

  Nothing. No movement. No pretty blond head popping up over the bank.

  The hair on the back of his neck stood on end and instinct kicked him into overdrive. He leapt off the porch and ran hard and fast, pumping his arms and stretching his legs, feeling the bite of aching muscles tired from three days of fighting the badass forest fire. He had to get to her in time.

  He crossed the width of the apple orchard and was almost to the bank in under a minute. All he saw was the water box and the ditch, the water high and flowing fast. “Hey! Lady!” he yelled. “Are you there?”

  “Hello? Um, yeah. I’m stuck over here. In the ditch.” Her voice was firm and in command instead of freaked out. Good.

  He charged up the bank and froze when he reached the top and got a good look at the woman.

  She floated on her back, arms outstretched, one leg on the surface and the other lower, under her body. Her blond hair fanned out in a halo. The emerald green T-shirt she wore clung to her breasts and reflected the green of her eyes.

  Recognition washed over him.

  She looked like a pure angel, exactly as she’d appeared the first moment he’d laid eyes on her, ten years before. Beautiful. Ethereal. Effervescent, as if she were made of iridescent bubbles that would float away if the breeze were too strong. Beauty-queen perfection. Ten years earlier, Carla Tipton, daughter of Senator Bartholomew Tipton, had been the epitome of every high school boy’s dreams, including Peter’s. For a while, at any rate. Then he’d come to his senses.

  “Carla?” His mouth had opened and her name had floated out, soft and airy. His body, however, hadn’t moved, as if frozen in space and time.

  She frowned. Scowled, actually. Then said, “Oh, no. No way. Not you.”

  Wow, Peter thought. He’d never gotten the Tipton twins identity wrong before, but this time he sure had. Because the beautiful and sexy woman in polka-dot undies floating in the canal was most definitely not Carla. Nope. His heart warmed with memories. For almost four years, Neva Tipton had been his best friend. Then he’d gone and said something wrong and she’d dumped their friendship like a load of bricks, never speaking to him again. Well, until now, that is.

  “Hey, Neva,” he said, coming closer to stare at his former best friend. Ten years had passed since he’d seen her, and yet she looked the same. Well, except the long hair she now wore. No wonder he’d been confused. In high school, Neva had worn an adorable pixie cut that framed her delicate features. Her identical twin sister, on the other hand, wore her hair long and usually full of hair spray. Emotions jumbled around in his chest as he gazed down on the person he’d once thought would always be by his side. Questions tangled up in his head, but he brushed them aside.

  “Thought you were your twin,” he added.

  “Obviously.”

  “Whatcha doing?”

  “Do you seriously think I’m taking a swim? In a freezing cold irrigation canal?”

  Damned same type of response his father used to give him time and time again. Sarcasm and rejection. And yet Neva used to be sweet, kind, and slightly snarky. He had to wonder what the last ten years had done to make her so bitter. “Need a hand?” he asked.

  “No!” She bit her lip. Shook her head. But then her head continued to shake and her teeth chattered and he realized—Neva Tipton was in trouble.

  “It’s clear you do need help.” He ripped open the fly on his jeans and simultaneously toed off his boots. Clad only in his black boxer-briefs, he jumped into the water.

  His nuts ran and hid.

  “Damn, it’s cold!” he bellowed when he came to the surface. Two strokes against the strong current had him next to where Neva semi-floated. That’s when he noticed how pale she’d become and the fact her teeth were chattering. “Pant leg caught down below?” he asked tightly, quickly assessing her.

  Her teeth chattered too violently for her to form an answer, but he knew all he needed to know. Time to get Neva to safety. He did a quick surface dive, holding onto the water box with one hand as he felt around for Neva’s pant leg with the other. Her efforts to free herself had muddied the water and he couldn’t see worth shit.

  He’d have to feel his way. A sturdy root had somehow become entwined through a hole in her jeans, holding her in place. He kicked back up to the surface. His bare legs brushed against hers and she flinched.

  “Slide out of those jeans, and let’s get you out of this water.”

  “I w-w-was about to do that when you appeared. I can get myself out of this mess. I d-d-don’t need your help.”

  He worked his jaw to keep from throwing a smart-ass retort back at her. “Still the same, I see.”

  “What are you t-t-talking about?”

  “You won’t ask for help. I’d think you’d have outgrown that by now.”

  She blinked water out of her eyes and frowned. “People don’t change.”

  “Of course they do.” As he spoke, he reached out and grabbed the waistband of her jeans.

  “No, they don’t.”

  “Quiet, Neva. We’re not debating at the moment, we’re rescuing you. Well, I’m rescuing you, whether you want my help or not.”

  She didn’t respond, and instead opened her green eyes wide and breathed out, the sound shaky and jagged. Brave, the way she’d always been. He’d missed that attitude.

  He’d missed Neva.

  She obviously hadn’t missed him, though. Not with the attitude he was getting.

  Fighting the current, he braced himself against the bank, and protecting Neva from the strength of the water, he ripped her jeans open. She slid out of her pants and awkwardly scrambled up the muddy embankment. Then she slipped and fell halfway down again.

  He put a hand under her pink polka-dotted panty-clad ass and gave her a heave. She squeaked, and then let out a loud oomph when she made it fully to the top of the bank, where she collapsed on her tummy.

  “Peter?” she called out, her voice muffled.

  “Be right there.” He dove back under the water. Without Neva’s weight pulling against the jeans, they came free in his hand. He rose to the surface and made his way out of the ditch, covering himself in mud as he wormed his way up the bank.

  Then, doubly exhausted and panting (not because he was a wuss, but because he’d had a fricking hard day), he collapsed on the grassy bank beside a supine Neva. It took a moment for him to get his breath back. When he did, he wanted to say something important, something to convey all his emotions and desires and hopes and dreams now that he’d seen her again.

  Something like, “God, I’ve missed you.”

  Or, “Let’s start over.”

  Possibly even, “I’m still crazy attracted to you and want you in my bed. Now.”

  Or even one of the multitudes of questions he’d had earlier, like why was she stealing water? Why was she in Meadowview? Had she ever married? Did she go to college the way she’d planned? Why hadn’t she ever called him? Why had she stopped talking to him all those years ago?

  Ultimately, though, he settled on something he figured would segue into polite conversation. “So, uh…how’s your sister?”

  Of course Peter would ask about her sister, Neva mentally griped. Ten years had gone by, and yet nothing had changed. P
eter Leary was still gaga over her twin.

  Still shivering, Neva sat upright and grabbed the pants Peter rescued. She had no desire to sit around in her undies, especially in front of a guy she hadn’t seen in ten years (and had hoped she’d never see again—damn her luck).

  Back in high school, Peter had been her best friend. Then…he wasn’t. He’d crushed her heart—her soul—so badly she’d distanced herself from him permanently. Or so she’d thought. “Y-y-you go and rescue me and my pants and the first thing you do is ask about my sister?” she managed to get out through her chattering teeth.

  “What should I say?”

  “What about something like, ‘Hey, Neva, what are you doing in Meadowview?’ Or maybe, ‘Hey, Neva, why were you in a ditch?’ Or even, ‘Hey, Neva, are you holding up okay after f-f-freezing your butt off?” She glanced over at him and gulped. When had Peter Leary become a hunk? His boxer-briefs, sopping wet, clung to his manly bits, leaving nothing to the imagination. Even as cold as she was, her body responded. A familiar warmth fanned out between her legs. Oh, good lord. Peter had grown up into quite a man. Just great.

  “You’re okay—cold, sure—but you weren’t exposed to that low of a temperature and we got you out quickly. And I already know you’re in Meadowview to start an organic farming business.”

  “You d-d-do?”

  “Of course. Everyone in town knows about you. And you were in the canal because you were stealing my water. Well, technically, my aunt’s water. See? Already asked and answered. Why’d you grow your hair out?”

  Peter and his perpetual non-sequiturs. The kids in high school thought he was weird and the teachers assumed he was stupid the way random questions and ideas popped out of his mouth.

  Neva had him pegged early on, though. Peter’s mind simply worked faster than most. While others might be processing information, his brain had already analyzed, synthesized, concluded, and then moved on to whatever external stimuli grabbed his attention next. Clearly, her hair style had caught his eye. “I ditched the super short hair back in college. No regrets,” she said. The chattering began to subside.

  Beside her, Peter tugged his jeans back over his hips. His very sexy hips. She shook her head. Back in high school she’d found him almost breathtakingly beautiful—strong cheekbones, lanky body, shoulders that went on for days, a smile destined to take over the world. Now? The man he’d grown into held all the same details as the boy he’d once been…only in an adult form.

  Long story short, the man was delicious. And she had no business lusting after him, whatsoever.

  She gave up on putting her pants back on. They were too wet, too heavy, and she was still too cold to make the attempt. She’d have to walk back to the house in her undies. Great. Humiliation on top of her withering crops. Could things be any worse?

  “You look different,” he said, still staring at her as he shoved his feet into his boots. “I really like long hair on you.”

  “I look like Carla,” she said flatly.

  “You look like you. I like it.”

  She flushed, and quickly reminded herself that Peter’s feelings about her appearance should hold no interest to her. But the reason he was here, on her property, did interest her—and greatly.

  “So, um…why are you here? In Meadowview, I mean?” she asked. “And more specifically, how’d you come to be on my land and on this ditch, of all places?”

  He gestured to the neighboring property. “I live right over there.”

  Peter Leary was her neighbor?

  Of all the small towns in all of the world, she had to go buy property right next to the former friend who’d once caused her heart to break. The universe had a sick sense of humor.

  He added, “I’m taking care of my great-aunt Maude’s place for two more weeks until she returns. Then I head out, taking off for destinations unknown, in pursuit of my grand adventure.”

  She knew about his big plans to travel the world. She’d helped him dream it all up, after all. So he was finally going after that dream. Good for him. And good he was leaving town almost immediately. Silver linings and all that.

  “What’s with the water theft?” Peter asked, shoving his arms into his shirt but leaving it distractedly unbuttoned.

  “I was stealing my own water, for your information,” she grumbled. She stood, only to realize how close they were…and how muscular Peter’s chest had become since high school. Tingles shot up her spine. Yowzers.

  Back then she’d thought he was cute—adorable, really. But they’d been friends and he’d been so into her twin sister, besides the fact Neva wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize their friendship. Still, though, toward the end, he’d made her pulse race and her heart pitter pat and…well…and other things.

  But that was before.

  “Why would you do such a thing?” Peter reached out and grabbed her arm when she wobbled. He held her steady with his warm, firm grip.

  “Why do you keep calling it your water? I paid for it. The water district hasn’t sent anyone out to unlock the box so I was trying to do it myself before my crops die.”

  “It’s about to rain,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “And not enough. I need that water I bought.”

  “Your water box is on the other side of your property. This box is one of mine. If you’d succeeded at opening the water flow, you would have sent water straight into my pond, not into your holding tank.”

  “What…?” Oh. Rats. Here she’d gone and gotten herself into a pickle—a freezing cold pickle—over the wrong water box. “I’m so sorry,” she said, tugging her arm away.

  “No harm done. Well, except for…” He gestured to her bare legs, his gaze lingering longer than necessary. He cleared his throat. “So, uh, why were you in the ditch? All you had to do was pop the lock off—appears you were successful,” he added, noting the picked lock in the dirt by the box.

  “I couldn’t find the release valve.”

  “Release valve?” He stared at her quizzically for a moment, then laughed. “There isn’t one. You pull the wooden slat out, flip it upside down, and reinsert it. There’s a hole at the bottom of the slat. Right side up, no water releases. Upside down, and you have”—he made a swishing motion with his hand—“water.”

  Neva groaned. “I could I have known that?”

  “You should have asked for help.”

  Wind gusted, bringing with it the sting of rain sprinkles. They had only moments before a deluge would hit. They needed the rain, but she didn’t need to be any colder. She took a step forward and then stopped, surprised at how hard her legs were shaking.

  The clouds opened up suddenly, dropping buckets of cold rain down to pelt her skin. The shivers increased in intensity and her knees buckled.

  “Neva. You’re freezing. Let’s get you warmed up.” He flung her jeans over his shoulder and reached for her when she wavered. Grabbed her. Hefted her into his muscled arms. He looked down into her eyes, a soft smile forming, and her stomach fluttered.

  Her breath caught in her throat. For a really, really odd moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. With a thump, her heart leaped in her chest. Butterflies dashed around in her tummy, and her eyelids drifted shut…

  “You really should eat more,” he said roughly, taking a step forward. “You’re as light as an armful of firewood.”

  Steel replaced the butterflies in her stomach. Her eyelids flipped back open. Oh, yeah, she’d read that moment wrong. So totally wrong. But instead of feeling snarky and put-out, inside all she could feel was a sense of longing. Had she wanted him to kiss her?

  Peter tightened his grip and her gaze drifted to the black smudges on his neck. He was covered in…was that dirt?…and smelled like a campfire doused by a bucket of water, but his arms were strong and his body warm even though he’d been in the same cold water as she. His hazel eyes caught the light in flecks of gold the way they did when he was young.

  Neva shivered. Then she realized what he’d said.
>
  Her jaw tightened. “Did you just compare me to firewood?”

  “Let’s get your core temperature heated up.” He took a step forward.

  “Wait! My ring!” She jabbed a finger down at the bank, where her emerald ring barely showed. “I didn’t want to lose it in the ditch,” she explained.

  Peter responded by turning back. In a few short strides he stood where she’d dropped her ring. Still holding her in his arms, he dipped low, scooped up the ring, and then straightened. Wow. The man was strong. And agile. And so sweet to save her and her ring.

  “I wouldn’t have asked, but it means a lot to me,” she said. She took it from his hand and shoved it back on her finger, but her hands shook. “You know I can walk.”

  He hefted her higher in his arms instead of letting her down to her feet. He took off again, heading in a direction opposite of her house. “Your knees have a way of dumping you. I’d rather not risk it.”

  “T-t-take me home. I can jump in a hot shower.”

  Peter continued charging forward, away from her place. “I have something better. We’ll go to my house.”

  “Your house. That’s so weird.”

  “That I have a home?”

  “No, that you’re my neighbor,” she said, clinging to his neck. “You’re the last person I’d ever have thought would end up in a dot-on-the-map town like Meadowview.”

  He frowned. “Why?”

  “I figured by now you would be gallivanting around the world, out on your grand adventure, as you called it.”

  “Stop talking. You’re wasting calories.”

  As Peter jogged through his apple orchard, with her in his arms, Neva ducked, avoiding branches heavy with fruit. Her fruit, she realized. The former owners of her property had leased the orchard for years, and the lease had transferred to her as part of the purchase.

  A memory jostled in her mind and broke free, swimming to the surface. “Is this where you used to come to stay every summer?”

  “What did I say about talking?”