Marooned with the Maverick

by Christine Rimmer

  “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 ther
e.” 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.”