Falling for Water (A Prepper Romance)

by Arlene Webb

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Falling for Water

  Copyright © 2013 by Arlene Webb

  ISBN: 978-1-61333-449-2

  Cover art by Tibbs Design

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC

  Look for us online at:

  www.decadentpublishing.com

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  Also by Arlene Webb

  Arrow to the Heart

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  Harey

  Falling for Water

  A Prepper Romance

  By

  Arlene Webb

  ~DEDICATION~

  I am forever grateful to D.L. Jackson, Barbara Elsborg, Heather Bennett, and all the staff at DP for bringing this story to life.

  Chapter One

  Rain drizzled, misting his hair, and Ray Harris deliberately stepped into the small puddle gathered on the concrete slab. Droplets sprayed upward, hitting the cuff of his pant leg, making him smile as he leapt higher, taking two steps this time, and splashed down again.

  By the time he made it to the top of the stairs of the main entrance to the college campus library, he’d pretty much managed to soak his black boots.

  7:15 p.m. and the first floor was clustered with students at computer terminals, chatting quietly at filled tables and ignoring the guy a decade older cruising the place.

  When he reached the third floor, with fewer than a handful of students seated about, his stomach muscles tightened. Oh, yeah. He spotted his probable target seated at two o’clock.

  Wow. No way did Cassi Smith do justice to her Internet pictures, at least as far as her body was concerned. Soft brown hair tumbled about her shoulders and lowered head, obscuring her face. In the far corner table by herself, she perched on the chair and typed with intent on a laptop.

  She didn’t look up, but the tightening in her posture showed her acknowledgement that a wolf had entered the isolated area.

  He took position at the table to her left and pulled out his cell phone. He pretended to pay attention to it, not to those crossed, slender ankles, long, jean-clad legs, and the way she chewed her lower lip as she concentrated. The moment her chin lifted and she reached for the small Thermos beside her laptop, his fists clenched as he got a good look. The dark bruise beneath her eye, the still-red swelling to her cheek—she’d been smacked more than once within the past week.

  Screw this. I’m making contact, and not with my fists. God knew what the loose gray hoodie hid, other than proud, full breasts, if she’d stop huddling into herself and show them. For better or worse, the sooner he interfered in her life, perhaps he could guarantee that worst would no longer involve being used as a punching bag.

  He pushed to his feet and from his peripheral vision, watched her cringe as he dropped his cell phone so it landed conveniently by her feet.

  “Oh, sorry. Clumsy…lucky me.” He reached for the phone she handed him. “Thanks, beautiful. My name—”

  “I don’t care.”

  He shook his head. “That won’t do. Pick another.”

  “Another what?”

  “Name.” He grinned, full-charm mode.

  “I’m not interested.”

  “Fine. Being lazy, I’ll call you NI for short. Nah, forget that. You’re more of a VI, also known as Very Interesting.” He bowed. “And, so you feel safer, I’ll go along with the need for aliases and ask you call me Hopeful.”

  She snorted. “And what would you hope for?”

  “If I sit with you for, say, fifteen, without pestering so you can wrap whatever you’re doing, will you tell me all about yourself from the moment you were born until now, over a cup of coffee?”

  “I don’t drink coffee.”

  He snagged the chair across from her and sat. One glance at her blackened eye, and he narrowed his gaze. “Okay. Then just tell me about your life starting a couple days ago.”

  “Fifteen minutes?”

  “Awesome. I can’t wait.” He set his cell phone down, angled so she couldn’t see the screen. He returned to working on an incident report he was told he’d be demoted to traffic cop if he didn’t turn in as of last week, and watched the time click away. He also sneaked peeks at beautiful eyes the color of overturned, rich sod, for fourteen comfortable minutes, until she slapped her laptop closed, grabbed it and her Thermos, bounced to her feet and ran.

  “Bye! See you tomorrow around the same time, okay?” he called after her.

  No halt, no answer. He slumped and became aware of more than a seriously sexy backside racing down the stairs.

  He shrugged at the couple of dirty looks shot his way. Bite me. At least in college libraries there wasn’t an elderly marm with glasses perched on her nose, coming round to wag her finger.

  The next night there weren’t any puddles to play in, and things got even worse, as no pretty lady sauntered in to join him at the table she’d been at yesterday on the third floor.

  One hour later, he still sat alone and his cell buzzed. The incoming text from his boss wanted him downtown. Code five, which meant pronto, but he knew he’d only be verbally abused if he dawdled.

  Fifteen minutes dwindled by. He pushed to his feet and came to an abrupt halt.

  Cassi Jones had reached the top of the stairs.

  He back-stepped and sat his ass down fast.

  “Hi, VI.” He kicked out the chair across from him.

  “Oh. I thought you’d be gone by now.”

  Thankfully, no fresh bruising marred her face. He also noted the flush. Despite what she said, she’d hoped he’d be here? He smiled. “Can you sit for a while?”

  She glanced, nervously around the deserted floor. “I-I have a lot to do. No…er…no.”

  “Okay. An hour late, and yes, not being a stalker, I can take rejection.” He shuffled to his feet, and gestured to the chair. “I’ll leave your spot all warm for you. You know, I heard that Club 45 on Fifth does
n’t ever serve coffee. Tomorrow, Friday night, it’ll be crowded and the best place to meet hopeful men where a stampede will come to your aid if you’re feeling pressured. Bye, VI.”

  He walked for the exit stairs, his shoulder blades prickly, as if it was her turn to stare after his ass.

  ***

  Cassi crossed Fifth Street, avoiding the puddles from yet another day of rain.

  She smiled at the guy holding the door open for her, circled around the chatting stand-abouts, and bee-lined for an empty stool.

  She caught herself before she leaned her arm onto the sticky bar. The cute guy from the library had been right. This place was hopping and the harried bartender barely glanced her way. While she could control the longing to drown her sorrows, the awareness it was better to soak up alcohol by swallowing instead of absorbing through the skin was another story.

  Well, enough was enough. Change was a fact of life and something she very much needed to embrace. She’d remain drowning, unable to breathe under a tsunami of self-hatred, if she didn’t become proactive, get in the race, all that. She rose off the seat onto her knees, and reached over the counter for the damp white cloth on the edge of the sink. Dammit. The bar towel was grosser than the countertop. Ahh, there was a fresh one. If she bent down a tad more, she could grab it and run it under the tap.

  Yippee, I won the gold. Now that she had the clean, damp cloth in hand, her concentration could shift to scrubbing instead of struggling not to fall into the sink. Unfortunately, once the hallelujah chorus for mission accomplished quieted in her mind, whistles and snickers behind her rose out from the din of rowdy drunks.

  Cassi connected her rear to the bar stool fast and cringed. Ducking her head, hair falling forward, she glanced over her shoulder.

  Was the group of bozos at the table across the aisle talking about her butt?

  Oh God. By the fact that four guys stared at her with wide grins, and the rooster in front pushed to his feet, she’d think yes.

  And oh God, again. A face she’d been obsessing about for two days and two nights came into focus. The man from the library swooped in and shoved head rooster in the shoulder, knocking him aside to take the lead.

  Heat filling her from head to toe, she turned back to finish wiping the section of counter in front of her. The woman a couple of empty stools down smiled and mouthed please. She slid the cloth to her.

  Regrettably, the woman’s cheerful ‘thank you’ was blotted out by the thin but muscular, dark-haired man ambling over to lean between them. The wide grin on his strong and handsome face was the catalyst for the hitch in her breath.

  “Hi, VI. I’m no longer hopeful, but thrilled to see you.” He licked his lips. “Can I buy you a drink?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “You sure? I know the bartender. If I smile, we’ll get her attention.”

  “Is that right?” she drawled. “If I scowl, will you go away?”

  “Doubtful.” He stared directly at her and disaster struck yet again in the form of intense green eyes. Forget butterflies of desire, a serious plague erupted to flutter in her chest. Locusts swarmed in to gobble away at common sense and the imaginary argument between them began within her head.

  Horny Locust: I’m lonely.

  Common Sense: Axe murderers are everywhere.

  Rationalizing Locust: Mean boyfriend cheats on you. Only fair.

  Common Sense: Jealous bastard will kill you.

  Brilliant Locust: Leave the abusive boyfriend. Forget guys for more than a hookup.

  Fading Sense: Melting, melting, puddle of lust—gone.

  She swallowed hard. “I just happened to come here. Really. I’m not asking for any…attention.”

  His grin turned sheepish. He glanced at the man he’d shoved, propped against the table of snickering guys and glowering. “Of course not. Sorry. But you do have a sweet backside. Which I didn’t even notice. And no way do I wish you were wearing a little black dress instead of snug jeans. Hey, watch this.” He stepped onto the footrest and leaned his tall and lanky self over the counter. “Denise, sweetheart, some intoxicating help before I strike out—pleeease.”

  “Don’t bellow at me, you dickhead…be right there.” The pretty blonde slapped two drafts down in front of an obviously thirsty man and hurried to throw money into the register.

  Hopeful, now named Dickhead, remained leaning over the counter. “I said please. I also need a pitcher and round of shots for the guys behind me.” He turned to Cassi and grinned. “Speaking of behind.” He stuck his butt out and up, wiggling. The table of men cracked up, including the head rooster, who returned to his seat.

  “See? They like my ass even more than yours.”

  Why does this stuff happen to me? She felt her cheeks burst into flames and jerked her gaze front and center.

  “Time to get serious. My name’s—”

  “His name is Richard and yes, he’s a dick, but one of the good ones.” The bartender set a longneck bottle of local beer beside Hopeful, a.k.a. Richard, a.k.a. Dick. “Sit down before I punch you in the nose.”

  The guy did as told, wrapping his hand around the bottle of hops and barley brewed with water from the river alongside this fine city. A city that dumped every toxic waste known to man wherever it could.

  “Take care of the dudes behind us, okay?” That charismatic smile filled his face again.

  “Think I’m deaf? Got it.” The bartender turned to Cassi. “What’ll you have, sister?”

  “Er…Reyka vodka, no ice, and a full glass. Lemon or lime twist would be great.”

  “Will Stolichnaya Elit do?”

  Cassi slumped. “Certainly. Thanks.” She pulled out her wallet. “And ma’am, I’m paying for my own.” She spoke to the empty air. The harried bartender was already reaching for the top shelf liquors.

  Richard pushed a pair of twenties forward, sliding them easily on the spic-and-span counter. “No, you’re not.”

  “Yes, I am. Did I ask you to go away yet?”

  “You did, but I’m good at pretending to be deaf. Reyka? Is that the Russian word for expensive?”

  “What do you care? Not like you’re paying. Reyka is Icelandic. It means steam.” And why should she explain to this bozo that the vodka was made with glacial waters scientists declared to be impurity free, and brewers filtered through lava rocks? A clean-green grain delight. The Iceland-based distillery ran on geothermic heat, earning Reyka the claim of an alcohol with an environmental conscience. Hmm, maybe if she did spout off about that, the hottest male she’d seen in a while would get what a freak she was and disappear, before a different sort of steam vaporized what little judgment she had left. The last thing she needed was to take some stupid risk. Especially without dumping her current guy problem first.

  The bartender rushed back, set the wide shot glass in front of Cassi, grabbed the money, and bolted.

  “Keep the change if there is any, sweetheart,” Richard called after her. He took a deep pull of his beer, and turned his attention, miraculously minus the smug smile she’d expected, to Cassi. “Your name, address, favorite color, favorite food, long or short walks on the beach, cats or dogs, all that in a nutshell, please.”

  She rolled her eyes. “My boyfriend doesn’t have a cute butt like your friends think you have. He’s big. Wide. Needs anger management and when he gets here, he’ll expect me to be sitting alone.” She’d lied about the last part. Pete was hopefully still out of town. She never knew when he’d return from his business trips, but he usually stayed at least overnight.

  Richard scowled. He stared hard at the fading bruise beneath her eye. “This aggression problem of his a pattern? One that you enjoy or enable?”

  In other words, was she a submissive doormat who liked being smacked around? “No.” She clenched her fingers around her drink. “And I’m working on it. The not-enabling-but-leaving thing.”

  “Fair enough.” The guy really did have the loveliest emerald eyes, with flecks of hazel. “Good thing I’ve
been known to be a fast worker.” He winked. “We could be out of here and on to better things in a count of three. You are planning to toss the drink back, right?”

  She winced at the four fat ice cubes, water quality highly suspect, and the one-dried up lemon rind floating in the clear liquid, and took a long, slow sip.

  “I love a woman who relishes her vodka. No worries, darling, I have all night.” He lifted his beer slowly, and stared at her as he took the tiniest mouthful.

  The guy continued to reek of confident alpha. She knew he’d eventually walk away without getting nasty if she stopped eyeballing him and flat-out rejected him. Why couldn’t she have met someone like him four months ago? “I told you. I’m involved with a guy who doesn’t like to share. You have a next of kin you’d like to share?”

  “Sure. My mother. She not only taught me not to hog beautiful things, she also insisted I be respectful with my toys. If scary boyfriend’s mama didn’t raise him to be a good man and he deserves a hell of a beat-down himself, why are you set on playing with him, tonight or any other? Can I please…you’re blushing, beautiful. Er…is that from terror or lust over my manly aptitude?”

  Cassi couldn’t help becoming mesmerized by his Adam’s apple as Richard did an exaggerated gulp. “Scary boyfriend’s standing behind me, isn’t he?”

  “No, just little ol’ me.”

  Dammit. She plastered on a smile. “Hi, Lindy. I thought you’d stood me up.” Go away, girlfriend.

  “You didn’t waste any time finding company, I see. Wow.” Lindy raked her gaze over Richard. “And me likey what I see.” She licked her lips. “Hey, want to buy me a drink, too? We’d only have to flee from one jerk. I don’t have a jealous prick hanging on to me like Cassi does.”

  Not for much longer. She was furious with Pete, with men in general. She’d hoped for a shoulder to cry on, but, as usual, her best friend invaded the bar like a black hole, sucking all the testosterone within smelling distance to bask in her low-cut red top, short skirt, and come-take-me-in-a-dirty-bathroom spiked heels.