by Ann Charles
Her arms felt leaden as she lifted them to shield her face, but the tire came hard and fast. It bashed into her forearms, knocking them into her chin and cheek.
Stars floated behind her eyes for a second.
Then time stopped.
* * *
“Claire!” Mac raced along next to the ravine, his light’s beam bouncing over the churning water.
It’d taken him a good twenty minutes to sprint down the hillside and across the valley floor. Twenty agonizingly long minutes filled with dread and panic. His chest ached from the run and the fear that he hadn’t raced fast enough.
The scent of wet dirt saturated the air. He’d passed the point where he’d found her and Porter’s footprints leading into the dry wash a quarter-mile back. With the torrent still rushing, he had no way of knowing if either of them had made it back out.
“Claire!” he yelled between gasps.
On the opposite bank, his flashlight skimmed over what looked like a muddy, gnarled tree trunk snagged on several branches of a mesquite tree.
A hand bobbed in the current next to the trunk.
Mac skidded to a stop, his heart throbbing in his throat, his burning lungs constricting with fear.
“No, no, no,” he whispered.
He inched up to the wash’s edge and squared the beam on the hand, then followed along the arm to where it met up with the trunk—a torso floating face-down, feet directed downstream. The mud and debris obscured the rest of the body.
Mac dropped to his knees. Claire?
In spite of grinding pain in his chest, he had to know for certain. He examined the torso again, searching for any definitive sign. A tumbleweed caught in the current bumped against the mud-covered shoulder, then caught on the body and blocked his view.
He moved the beam down, following where the legs should be but were under water.
Then he saw a boot heel floating above the surface as water rippled around it.
A boot heel.
The memory of Porter’s ostrich-skin cowboy boots wriggling through the hole flashed through his mind.
Claire had been wearing tennis shoes.
Mac closed his eyes, running his shaking hand down his face. He swallowed his heart back down into his chest.
She was still out there somewhere.
He sprang to his feet and jogged along the bank of the wash again, slower this time as he studied every clump of matted roots, tumbleweeds, and tangle of branches.
As the bank flattened, the wash spread out and grew shallower. Over the next quarter-mile, he counted three rats, one coyote, and the front half of a deer.
Then he found another body—this time human.
It lay face-down along the bank closest to him, the hips and legs still submerged in the brown water.
Stumbling over a broken wooden gate, he crashed through a thicket of brambles and landed on his knees next to the outstretched arm. Claire’s grandmother’s ring glittered from the middle finger on the pale-skinned hand.
“Claire?” He croaked, his voice clogged in his throat.
He flipped her over, mopping the mud from her skin with trembling fingers. He shined his light on her face. Her lips were tinged blue, her eyes closed. He patted her cheeks. Dirty water drooled out from the side of her mouth. He turned her head to the side, forcing her mouth open to clear it. More water seeped out.
“Sweetheart, come on, open your eyes.”
His fingers found a pulse in her neck, still strong.
Quakes of relief racked him from head to toe. He grabbed her under the armpits and tried to pull her free of the water. She slid about half a foot and then something tugged her back into the wash.
A moan escaped from her lips.
“Claire?” Mac gave up on pulling her free and returned to trying to rouse her. “Come on, baby. Come back to me.”
She gurgled, then coughed and rolled her head to the side. When he turned her on her side to help clear any mud or water from her lungs, another moan crawled up from her chest.
“Claire, wake up!” He used a hard, stern voice this time.
Her mud-caked eyelashes fluttered against her ashen cheeks, then opened, instantly closing again.
Mac moved the beam of the light to the side, and she lifted her lids partway.
The urge to squeeze her against him and never let go coursed through him. Instead, he cleared the wet strands of hair from her face and smiled down at her.
“Welcome back, Slugger.”
A wave of coughs rang from her, followed by retching. After it passed, she lay limp in his arms.
“Mac?” Her voice sounded raspy.
“Yeah, baby.”
“Something’s chewing on my ankle.”
“Come again?”
“It keeps biting me.”
“I’ll look.” His boots sank into the mud as he stepped carefully into the shallow bank of the fast-moving, dark waters. He tested his footing and the current before focusing on Claire’s leg. He ran his hands down her right pant leg and found nothing.
“The other one.” Her voice barely carried over the rushing sound of the water.
Around her left ankle, Mac found the offender—a strip of barbed wire.
She cried out as he lifted her foot.
“Sorry.” He followed the strand down, digging it out of the soft sand until his fingers bumped into something solid that wouldn’t budge from the earth. He needed his wire cutters, damn it.
He stood, noticing that since he’d found Claire, the water had climbed further up the bank and now lapped at her upper thighs. Shit, the water was still rising. He had to get her out of there.
“You’re caught in part of a barbed-wire fence, Claire. I’m going to have to unwrap it from around your ankle.” He found her ankle again. “This is going to hurt.”
She gasped as he started working the barbs free, but kept silent as he struggled with the tangles and worked to free her.
“Got it,” he said several minutes later. “I’m going to carry you out of here, Claire.”
He hated to move her, but he needed to get her to higher ground in case another swell came along.
“Can you tell me if anything feels broken?”
“Just my head.”
“That’s too hard to break, sweetheart.”
Her chest rumbled with a half-cough, half-laugh.
Squatting next to her, he slid his arms under her.
“Wait!” She grabbed his arm.
“What?”
“I need to tell you something.”
He frowned down at her pale face.
“I think there’s a good chance—” She sneezed, twice, into his chest.
“You were saying?” His knees were too old to hold this position for long, especially after his flight down the hillside.
“I think that I might possibly love you back.”
He stared into her dark eyes, and then burst out laughing.
Only Claire could take those three short words and jumble them into such a noncommittal sentence.
“Mac!” Claire tried to sit up and failed. “Mac, stop.”
“I can’t …” He laughed, all of the fear and worry tumbling away. “I can’t help it.”
He tried to swallow the rest of his chuckles, and sputtered behind closed lips.
Her attempt at a glare fell short. “You should be kissing me, not laughing.”
Looking away from her, he took a deep breath before turning back.
“I’m sorry,” he said and dropped a kiss on her forehead. “You taste like mud pie.”
“That’s not very romantic.”
“Mud pie?”
“No, kissing my forehead.”
“I’ll kiss you properly after I get you to the hospital and the doc says you’re okay.”
She sighed. “Fine.”
He scooped her up in his arms.
“Wait!” Her gaze darted around.
“Now what?”
“Porter.”
; Mac glanced upstream. “He didn’t make it.”
Her lids lowered. “Oh.”
Handing Claire the flashlight to guide them, he asked, “Can we leave now or would you like to go skinny dipping first?”
“Funny. You’ve been hanging around Chester and Manny too long. Next you’ll start talking about hooters.”
“Yours are often on my mind,” he said, heading away from the wash.
“Good. How’s your head?”
“It’s still attached.”
She leaned her head against his shoulder. “There’s no way you can carry my fat ass clear to your pickup.”
“Watch me. And don’t insult your butt. It happens to be one of my favorite parts of your anatomy, along with your hooters.”
She pressed a kiss into his jaw. “Mac?”
“What, Claire?”
“I love you.”
He grinned. “Yeah, I know.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Wednesday, August 25th
The noonday sun cooked the tar-streaked pavement at Biddy’s Gas and Carryout at a slow, smelly boil.
Kate fanned herself with a credit card pamphlet as the gas pump chugged beside her, spewing high octane fumes as it took its sweet time filling her tank. A blast of heat from a passing semi-truck plastered her shirt against her damp skin.
The engine of her newly repaired Volvo ticked along with the numbers on the pump’s LCD display.
Across the street, Creekside Supply Company’s flag fluttered and flapped in the cross-breezes, sagging in the humidity every time the desert paused to take another breath.
Kate tapped the edge of the pamphlet against her chin. Good ol’ Jackrabbit Junction spread out before her in all its dusty, heat-rippling glory. In less than twenty-four hours, she’d watch it disappear in her rearview mirror.
After receiving a call from the repair shop yesterday that her Volvo was ready to roll, it hadn’t taken Deborah much hot air to convince Kate to leave a few days earlier than originally planned. Monday’s chain of events had Kate wanting to run for the hills—the Black Hills. Back to square one.
She was tired of being hung out on the line to dry only to end up caught in another August gale.
Claire’s injuries had kept them from escaping before Ruby and Gramps returned earlier today, much to Deborah’s chagrin. But with Ruby home, Kate no longer needed to hang around to mind the store. They were free to flee tomorrow at first light.
If it weren’t for Jess’s birthday party tonight, Kate would have pushed to make their exit this afternoon.
An all-too-familiar, almost brand new, red pickup, its tailgate down with a couple of two-by-fours sticking out, rolled into the carry-out’s parking lot.
Kate avoided looking in Butch’s direction as she heard his pickup door open and then slam shut. She breathed a sigh of relief at the sound of the store’s electronic door buzzer. Her mother was right, some places were meant only to be passed through—preferably at sixty miles per hour.
The gas pump clicked off. Kate hung the nozzle back in its holder, fidgeting with her keys while she waited for her receipt to print. She wanted to escape before Butch came out and saw her.
Finally, the machine spit out her receipt.
“Hi, Kate.”
Her shoulders pinched together.
Damn!
Planting a smile on her face, she faced Butch, who stood just outside the glass doors with three packs of hamburger buns and two loaves of bread in his arms.
“Hey, Butch.”
“How’s Claire? Grady said she looked like she’d gone a couple rounds with Muhammad Ali after her dip in the wash.”
Which was nothing compared to Porter, according to what Mac had told Kate after returning from the county morgue where he’d had to identify his body.
The truth about Porter’s reason for courting both Claire and Kate still took her breath away. All of those times she’d spent alone with him in his pickup and he’d turned out to be a cold-blooded killer. She shivered in spite of the heat searing her skin.
“Claire’s moving pretty slow and has a big bruise on her chin, but she was up and limping around the place this morning.” In spite of Mac’s protests.
The friction that had caused all of the sparks between Claire and Mac last weekend seemed to have smoothed out, which was another reason Kate couldn’t wait to leave. She’d had enough salt rubbed in her wounds lately. Watching those two lovebirds made her want to jab pencils in her eyes.
“Good to hear. Your car looks brand new again.”
“Yep.” Kate patted the roof, fighting back a grimace as the sizzling black metal burned her hand.
Several seconds ticked by way too slowly, Kate glancing everywhere but into Butch’s blue eyes.
“I heard Ruby and your grandpa made it home this morning.”
She gaped. Who had told him that? This town was way too small.
“Jess called to say her mom gave the ‘okay’ on her working for me.”
Ah, Jess. Of course.
“She also told me you’re heading home early.” His expression remained fixed, his grin nothing more than polite.
Kate’s throat stung. He didn’t even care, the bastard.
“The time seemed right.” Her voice creaked, dang it.
Butch nodded, staring at her like he was evaluating her as a Botox candidate.
More long, empty seconds passed.
Then he cleared his throat. “Well, I should be going.”
“Right. Me, too.”
“Take care, Kate. I’m going to miss you.”
Her heart twisting, Kate watched Butch climb into his truck and drive off with a wave in her direction.
A sledgehammer to her gut would have hurt less.
His truck crossed the highway and rolled into The Shaft’s lot, parking in the usual spot. Sunshine glinted off his side mirror as he stepped out onto the gravel.
A dust devil swirled to life on the highway separating them, snatching up a couple of plastic bags and a paper cup from the ditch, twirling them faster and faster.
Something inside of Kate snapped.
She couldn’t go on like this, all sappy and sad. Enough was enough. Butch liked her. She liked him. One of them needed to do something about it.
Yanking open her door, she slid into the driver’s seat, keyed her Volvo to life, and shifted into gear. Her tires squealed as she peeled out of Biddy’s parking lot.
His arms loaded with the buns and bread, Butch had almost reached The Shaft’s front door when she cranked her steering wheel and slid into The Shaft’s parking lot.
Before she could chicken out, Kate punched the gas, sending gravel airborne. She gritted her teeth, pushed back against her seat, and aimed for the back of his pickup.
Metal screeched and crunched as she plowed into his truck, her new airbag going off in her face.
She turned off the engine. Steam billowed from under her hood.
Shoving open her door, she stepped out under the cobalt sky and wiped her damp palms on her shorts. A walk around front to assess the damage revealed the tailgate sticking out from her radiator. She’d torn the whole sucker free. Damn.
For the first time today, she smiled.
“What the hell!” Butch yelled.
She watched him stride across the lot, the buns and bread in a heap by the door.
He paused to gawk at his rumpled, scraped bumper. When he turned on her, his neck glowed as red as Deborah’s fancy boots. “You did that on purpose!”
“Yes, I did.” Kate crossed her arms over her chest.
Was it just her or did those yellow poppies lining the ditch seem brighter, dancing in the breeze with more gusto than usual?
“Are you insane, woman?” Butch was still yelling.
“I have my moments.” She took a deep breath, soaking up the homey scent of sun-baked earth.
He marched around to the front of her Volvo and the chunk of metal piercing her grill. “Look what you did to my tail
gate!”
She walked over next to him, shaking her head at her hissing radiator. “Hmmm. And to think my insurance company dropped me after that last accident.”
“What!?”
“It looks like I’m going to need to wait tables or help Jess in your greenhouse to pay this off. What’s your starting wage?”
“My starting wage …” He peered down at her, his eyes narrowing. “Ahhh. I get it now. You’re a real professional, Kate Morgan, but it’s not going to work.”
“Of course it will.” She played dumb, fluttering her eyelashes a little. “I used to be a waitress in college.”
He growled. “You know I’m talking about you and me.”
“How can you be sure unless you give us a chance?” She inched closer, licking her lips for extra measure.
He glanced down at her mouth for a split second. “You’re heading home tomorrow.”
“Well, I’m not going anywhere now, am I?”
“You don’t like Jackrabbit Junction.”
“It’s growing on me.” She captured his hand.
“I won’t wear those fancy, designer clothes.” He tried to tug free, but Kate held tight, drawing him toward her.
“You don’t have to wear any clothes at all as far as I’m concerned.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “What about teaching school?”
“I’ve been thinking about finding a new career.”
She wrapped his arm around her and trailed her fingernails down his T-shirt, scraping his chest. His muscles flinched under her touch.
“Really?” His voice sounded low and husky, the anger slipping away.
She squinted up at him. His blue eyes bored into hers, measuring, questioning, hesitating.
“What other objections do you have for me, Butch?”
“I’m thinking.”
“Think on this,” she whispered and pulled his mouth down to hers.
He tasted salty, smelled woodsy, and lit a fire inside her that scorched her inside and out. Her hands snuck under his T-shirt, palms rubbing over his damp skin.
He groaned and teased her tongue with his, making her quiver and mold her body tighter against his, leaving her tied up and twisted, hungry for more.
With a gasp for breath, he broke contact, and then trailed his mouth along her jaw.