Totally fine by Peter if the critter ate the apples on the ground, but if the porcupine went after the bark on Maude’s precious apple trees, he and Brat would need to have a serious conversation about appropriate boundaries.
He lowered the binoculars and swiped again at the sweat making pathways through the soot that covered every exposed inch on his body. Summertime brought folks out of the city to camp along the Maidu River—the sudden influx of tourists was nice for the local economy of Meadowview, but tourists brought campfires, and campfires brought forest fires. Three days ago a blaze had started at one of the campsites, and for the majority of those three days, Peter and his crew worked on the front lines. He was wiped out and smelled like an ashtray.
He looked and smelled like his father.
Anger spiked his chest. Damn that man. Damn his own incompetence, too. Hell, damn everyone and everything. He couldn’t wait to get out of this town.
The wind kicked up, sending dust into the air. For days, rain clouds had hung heavy in the air, so pristinely white and billowy on top but grey and ominous below, trapping the smoke-filled air. Once the rain hit, the area would cool down—and quick—but until then, Peter and everyone else in the northern California foothills would be eating dust.
He needed a shower. Needed to get to bed. And under no circumstances did he need to stare at his new neighbor’s ass any longer.
No matter how tempting of an ass she had.
Neva tugged off her hiking shoes, loosely rolled her Levi’s up to just below her knees, and hanging onto the lockbox, she twisted around until she could flop down onto her stomach. Scooting backward, she lowered her feet into the ditch and then gasped, surprised by how freaking cold the water was and how strong the current tugged at her feet.
How could the water be so freezing cold? And so strong? The rush of water tugged at her jeans, unrolling them down to her ankles—not that the fabric helped ward off the chill. Shivering, she eased herself even further into the water, inch by inch, feeling around with her feet but finding only water and—
“There!” she shouted.
With the tip of her toe, she could feel something hard jutting out from the bank. She lowered herself farther, and when the waterline hit the level of her boobs, she gasped, but felt again for whatever it was her toes had just encountered. Was that…?
Disappointment dampened her mood when she deduced (with her toes) that the thing she’d felt
was a root, not a lever. What had she been thinking, jumping into a ditch? Why was she still, after all these years, following her father’s directive to push herself in the opposite direction of her fancy-pants twin? Carla never would have allowed herself into this freezing cold water. She’d have batted her eyelashes and some man would have come running.
High time for her to get out. She tightened her grip and started to pull herself out. Except… “Rats!”
Her jeans were caught by the root she’d thought was a release valve. She tugged her leg, but the root held tight. So did her jeans. She yanked her leg again and then jerked it back and forth. There was no give.
Now what? She could undo her button-fly and wriggle out of her jeans, but that would mean the risk of losing her favorite pants. Losing her jeans over a stupid decision to toe-feel for a release valve that clearly didn’t exist seemed so…well, like something her irresponsible sister would do.
And Neva would do anything to avoid acting like Carla.
Fine. If she wasn’t going to lose her pants, then her only option was to go all the way underwater to dislodge her jeans. She sucked in a deep breath and plunged underwater, feeling for the root. She’d accounted for the chilly temperature of the water, but what she hadn’t accounted for was the strength of the current. Now, with her body no longer braced against the current by holding onto the metal box, the rushing water grabbed her and, in an instant, yanked her away from the bank.
Sputtering, she reached the surface, but her jeans remained trapped. Which meant she remained trapped. And the water wasn’t getting any warmer. Shivers jolted her body and her teeth chattered. How easily the cold water had sucked the energy and strength from her limbs.
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.”
Read what happens between Peter and Neva—and a porcupine named Brat with a tendency for trouble—by clicking to purchase Charming the One, available now. Hope you enjoy!
Copyright © May, 2015 by Rochelle Davisson
Bloomfield Publishing
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the copyright owner. This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away in any manner.
Publisher’s note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
ISBN: 978-1-62517-688-2
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Always the One: (Meadowview Heroes # 2) (The Meadowview Series Book 6) (Meadowview Heat) Page 21