She just wouldn’t stop. “You’ve started to expect more of yourself and that is a wonderful thing. Why can’t you admit that?”
It was the tipping point. He couldn’t stop himself. He reached out and grabbed her by the shoulders good and tight. And then he growled at her with all the frustrated heat and hunger he was trying so hard to deny. “I don’t need you telling me how I feel or where I’m going.”
She blinked at him and her big eyes got bigger and her mouth looked so soft and surprised he only wanted to cover it with his and stick his tongue inside. “But, Collin. I was only—”
“Don’t, all right? Just don’t.” With great care, he straightened his arms, pushing her away from him. Then he let her go.
“Collin, I...”
He stood up. That was pretty damn stupid. He was as hard as a teenage kid caught thumbing through Playboy. All she had to do was look and she would see it.
Too bad. He wasn’t hanging around to watch her reaction. He mounted the top step, hauled the door wide and went in, pulling it firmly shut behind him.
Chapter Seven
Willa had trouble getting to sleep that night. She felt awful. She knew that she’d gone too far. Yes, she did honestly believe she’d only told Collin the truth about himself.
And really, not a thing she’d said to him had been bad. Some men wouldn’t mind being called a born leader. Some men would be pleased to hear how wonderful they were.
But not Collin, apparently.
And all right, well, maybe she’d laid it on a bit heavy. She’d turned her inner schoolmarm loose on him—and not the good, patient, understanding and gentle schoolmarm.
The other one. The bossy one who knew what was good for you and was bound to tell you all about yourself whether you wanted to hear it or not.
Had she wrecked their new friendship?
Oh, she did hope not. Because she really, really liked being his friend. She liked it more than she should, probably. With a guy like Collin, well, a girl could get really confused as to where she stood with him.
On the floor by her cot, Buster whined in his sleep. She reached her hand down to him, ran her fingers over the smooth, warm crown of his big head. He woke enough to press his wet nose against her palm and then settled back to sleep with a sweet chuffing sound.
She thought of all the good things Collin had done for her since the flood, of the way he’d held her that afternoon, so tenderly, so kindly, in the muddy ruin that had once been her home.
No. He was a real friend to her now. Too good a friend for her to lose him just because she’d presumed to lecture him about his life.
In the morning, she would apologize. And everything would be all right.
* * *
He wasn’t there for the community breakfast in the morning and he didn’t come to the church service after the meal.
Willa sat with Paige and wished he was there. She worried that he wasn’t there because she had pushed his buttons and made it necessary, somehow, for him to prove what a tough, bad guy he was—too bad to show up for Sunday services and give Willa a chance to say she was sorry.
The choir sang of sweet comfort and the pastor quoted inspirational sections of scripture, verses meant to be uplifting in hard times. He gave a sermon on sacrifice and the meaning of community. He talked about how the Lord was with them and that each and every one of them was proving their worth and their goodness by their deeds in this time of trial.
And finally, when the sermon was over, Pastor Alderson led them in a prayer for Mayor McGee and the service became a farewell for Thelma’s only son.
People stepped up with vases full of flowers, picked wild or from their own gardens. The choir sang the songs that Hunter had liked best, a couple of country-and-western love songs, “Red River Valley,” a Bob Dylan ballad and some other songs Willa hadn’t heard before.
It was during one of those other songs that she sensed movement at the end of the pew. She glanced that way.
Collin.
He wore clean jeans and a white shirt and his face was smooth from a recent shave. Had he made it up to his house on the mountain, then? He caught her eye, just for a moment. He didn’t smile. But he wasn’t scowling, either. She could have stared at him forever.
But she didn’t. She forced her eyes front again while he made his way along the pew toward her. He muttered soft apologies as their neighbors slid their legs to the side, giving room for him to pass. Shelby Jenkins, a friend who sometimes worked as a substitute teacher at the elementary school, was sitting on her left.
She heard Collin whisper, “S’cuse me, Shelby...”
Shelby slid over and he took the empty space next to Willa. He smelled of soap and aftershave and her heart just lifted up when he settled in beside her. She couldn’t even look at him right then, there were so many strange and powerful emotions chasing themselves around inside her. She had a dopey smile on her face, she just knew it, a totally inappropriate expression for a funeral.
He did that thing—that thing they’d started when they sat out on the town hall steps in the evening—leaning to the side in her direction, nudging her so gently with his shoulder.
She had to press her lips together to keep from letting out a silly squeak of pure joy. Because he wasn’t all that mad at her, after all, evidently.
Because now she knew that everything between them would be all right.
The service continued. Pastor Alderson invited folks to stand and a say a word or two, to speak their testimony on the life of Hunter McGee.
In the front pew, Thelma stood first. Her voice only shook a little as she spoke of how proud she was to be Hunter’s mom, as she told a little story about his boyhood, about his dreams for Rust Creek Falls, about how his one true love had died too young and he’d never known the joy of fatherhood, but he had loved Rust Creek Falls. It had meant the world to him that the people of his town had elected him their mayor.
When Thelma was finished, others stood, one at a time, taking turns, telling about growing up with Hunter, about the many ways that he’d helped them or made their lives richer, somehow. Each of the town council members took a turn, with Nathan Crawford going first. Willa had thought she might speak, but then it turned out that the things she would have shared were already said. She felt content to let it be.
The testimonies went on for over an hour. Until finally, one of the older Daltons sat back down after speaking of how Hunter had pitched in to help repair the Masonic Hall. There was a silence in the chapel. Willa thought that the sharing was done.
But then Collin shifted at her side. She blinked and looked over at him as he rose to his feet. He looked a little nervous, she thought, and so very handsome and dear.
Everyone turned and watched him expectantly. As a rule, Collin Traub didn’t speak out in public, but Willa knew they all had to be remembering his impassioned arguments in the town hall the other day and eager to hear whatever he might contribute now.
Collin cleared his throat. “I just want to say that Hunter McGee was a man we all thought of as a friend. He had a way about him. He was wise and he was patient, too. But he had a killer sense of humor and that gleam in his eye that let you know he didn’t judge you and he wanted only the best for you, no matter how big a troublemaker you might happen to be.” Collin paused then, and glanced around with an abashed sort of expression.
People grinned and a few even chuckled.
Collin continued, “Somehow, Hunter always managed to get to the heart of an issue without ever choosing sides. He had a rare sort of fairness in him and a willingness to help. Yes, he’s gone to a better place now. But at the same time, it seems to me that he’s still here with us in spirit, that he’s working beside us now, in this tough time when we need men like him the most. We haven’t really lost him.” Collin fisted his hand and laid it against his heart. “He’s right here.” He raised his hand and touched his temple. “And he’s in here, too, in all of us. We can remember all he showed us about
how to live and work together. And we can be grateful that we have his fine example to carry us forward as we work side by side to rebuild this town.”
Collin sat back down.
There was a silence. Somebody murmured, “Oh, yeah.”
And someone else said, “Tell it, Collin.”
Several more “Oh, yeahs” and one or two “Praise Gods” followed.
Collin turned and looked at Willa, which was when she realized she was staring at him. He gave her a scowl, mouthed, What?
She only shrugged and faced front again and tried not to feel smug that he had just proved the truth in what she’d said to him the night before.
* * *
Outside after the service, Thelma embraced Collin and laid her hand gently on the side of his face. “Such a fine young man,” she told him softly. And then she raised her lacy handkerchief to dab at her wet eyes.
A couple of the Dalton men clasped his shoulder as they filed out of the chapel. Willa observed all this and tried really hard not to feel too self-righteous about the things she’d said the night before. He really was a born leader, but what he did with that talent had to be of his own choosing.
Paige touched her arm. “I’d ask you to come sit with me for lunch, but I have a feeling you’ve got plans.”
Willa gave her a hug and they parted. Buster whined at her, eager to be released from the iron bench where she’d leashed him. She went over and got him, crouching to pet him and make a fuss over him for being so good during the long church service.
“Rumor has it the church ladies are serving pizza for lunch today,” Collin said from behind her.
Buster whined and wagged his tail in greeting and Willa’s heart seemed to do a sort of forward roll under her breastbone. She asked, without turning, “Does the rumor mention pepperoni?”
“Yeah. Pepperoni and sausage, too.” He dropped to a crouch at her side. Buster wiggled closer to him and head-butted his hand. Collin scratched the dog behind both ears and Buster lolled his tongue in doggy bliss.
Willa felt terribly shy suddenly. She stared at his hands as he petted her dog. “I, um, should walk Buster first....”
“Hey.”
Her throat had a big lump in it. She gulped it down and made herself meet those low-lidded black eyes. “Hmm?”
“We okay, you and me?”
She remembered that she was going to apologize. “I lectured you. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.”
“You got nothing to be sorry for.” His voice was low and more than a little rough. The sound of it sent a warm, lovely shiver running underneath her skin. He added, “You got a right to your opinion.”
“But, well, you did get mad.”
He smiled then, one of those slow smiles of his, the kind that used to make all the girls back in high school sigh and fan themselves. “So then, I’m sorry. I had no right at all to jump all over you for telling the truth as you see it.” He kept on looking at her, a deep look that made her whole body feel sensitized, excited. Wonderfully alive. “Forgive me?”
That lump was back in her throat again. She gulped a second time to clear it. “I do. And yes. We’re okay.”
“Whew.”
She felt her mouth tremble into a smile that answered his. “Did you go up to your house, then?”
“No. I’m hoping I’ll get to that tomorrow. This morning, I went out to the Triple T and had breakfast with the hands. They got the wells in working order, so I had a shower, too.” He swept upward and she stood, too. “Let’s walk this dog,” he said.
“Good idea.”
“The park? We can let him run.”
“Perfect.”
* * *
After lunch, the governor dropped in—literally—in a helicopter.
The chopper landed in the middle of Main Street and the governor emerged, waving and smiling, trailed by a guy in a FEMA vest and another, more muscular fellow in dark glasses. Waving as he went, the governor ran up and stood on the town hall steps, where the town council members waited. He shook hands with each of them.
And then he gave a little speech—more of a pep talk, really. He said the same things Nathan was always saying: that road crews and the power and telephone companies were working around-the-clock to get the roads open and services back online. He asked everyone to sit tight until services were restored and, whenever possible, to stay in the Rust Creek Falls Valley until the roads were declared safe for travel.
He praised their spirit of independence, their ability to roll up their sleeves and do for themselves. Since the good people of Rust Creek Falls seemed to be managing better than most in the stricken areas, he could see that the Red Cross and the National Guard wouldn’t be needed there—not at that point anyway.
After the governor spoke, the FEMA guy talked about the services FEMA offered and the progress of the cleanup. And then, with more smiling and waving, the three visitors ran back and boarded the helicopter and off they went.
Collin leaned close and said in her ear, “Wasn’t that inspiring?” She gave him a look and left it at that. And then he said, “I was thinking we could try and see what we can salvage from Gage’s house.”
She wanted to grab him and hug him—for being so generous, for thinking of her poor brother, who had to be worried sick about now and was no doubt moving heaven and earth to get back to town. “Yes. Please. Let’s do that.”
The church ladies had several boxes they could spare. So she and Collin put them in the back of his pickup and headed for the ranch, where they worked until after five packing up things at Gage’s and putting them with Willa’s boxes in her father’s work shed.
They made it back to town in time for dinner at the church. As they ate beans and rice with ham, Nathan got up and proudly announced that cell phone service was restored. He reminded them of the places that had generators where they might charge their batteries. People applauded the news—and then hurried off to find the phones they’d stopped carrying around with them for the past three days.
In the pickup, Collin called his mother first. Willa had run out with him and ended up sitting in the passenger seat beside him as he nodded and listened, and seemed to be having trouble getting a word in edgewise. He kept trying to tell his mom what had happened there at home, but Ellie Traub had never been the quiet type. As soon as he started talking, she would get going again and he ended up mostly saying, “Yeah. Okay. All right. That’s good, Mom. Really...”
When he finally said goodbye, he reported to Willa that his mom, his dad and his brothers were fine. “They got the rain down there in Thunder Canyon,” he said, “but flooding was minimal. Mom says they’re willing to wait a few more days until the governor gives the go-ahead. But if the okay doesn’t come soon, they’re heading for home.” He added that the people of Thunder Canyon were already talking about ways to help Rust Creek Falls with flood cleanup and the rebuilding that would follow.
And then he handed her the phone. “Go on. Call your folks.”
Again, she had a really strong urge to hug him. But instead she started dialing.
Lavinia Christensen cried when Willa said hello. “We’ve been calling and calling,” she sobbed. And then she wanted to know why Willa wasn’t calling from her own cell.
Willa explained that she’d lost it in the flood. “This is Collin’s cell.”
Her mother sniffled. “Collin Traub?”
“Yes.” She cast Collin a warm glance. “He’s been great to me, Mom. Wonderful.” Collin sent her one of those knock-it-off looks when he heard her praising him. She pretended not to notice.
Her mom was kind of sputtering. “Well, I, ahem. The Traubs are good people.”
“They certainly are—and if you need to reach me, just call this number. Collin will make sure I get back to you until I can get a phone of my own.”
“I...I will. Yes. Of course.”
Willa assured her mom that she was all right and that the ranch house was fine and so was the barn. She sai
d that most of the stock had survived the flood and the neighbors had all pitched in to keep the animals fed and to clean up the mess. Her mom cried some more when she heard the bad news about Willa’s house and Gage’s place.
It turned out her folks were still in Livingston, waiting for news that the roads were clear. Gage, however, had set out for home.
When Willa called him, she had to explain all over again that he should call her on Collin’s phone for the time being. He started quizzing her about Collin.
She cut him short. “What about you? Where are you now?”
He said he’d been held up three times so far with washed-out bridges and roads, but he wasn’t giving up and had spent each night since the flood in a different town. Willa got teary eyed then and told him about the condition of his house—and hers. Her brother said he loved her and not to cry and he would be there as soon as he could. He said he’d visited the sheriff’s stations in the towns where he’d stayed and used their radio systems to contact his office. So he’d known that she was all right and he’d been told of the death of Hunter McGee.
When he mentioned Mayor McGee, Willa started crying all over again. She’d been dry-eyed at the funeral, but there was something about her brother’s voice. She could tell that the mayor’s death had hit him hard. Collin hauled a box of tissues from the glove box and passed it to her. She grabbed one and wiped at her streaming eyes.
When she hung up with Gage, she gave the phone back to Collin. He turned on the pickup so he could hook up his car charger and then, with the phone plugged in, he called a couple of his brothers in Thunder Canyon and then his brother Sutter, in Washington State.
When he hung up, he said in a tone that dared her to argue, “I think a lot of Sutter. He’s a damn good man.”
Willa only nodded. There were people in town who didn’t approve of the stand Sutter had taken when their older brother Forrest went off to fight in Iraq. And then there was the way he’d broken Paige’s heart. But still. Willa had always liked Sutter and if he and Collin were on good terms, well, that was just fine with her.
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