A large boulder jutted out over the edge of the bank a little ways up, inviting her to sit and enjoy the peace for a minute or two before heading back. That sure would be a perfect place to wait for a word from God.
She shut her eyes. Lord, why can’t I just be content?
As she carefully picked her way over the rough terrain, something—probably a pebble—hitched a ride in her shoe and poked the bottom of her foot. Knowing that it wasn’t going to work its way back out without a little assistance, she hobbled the rest of the way up to the boulder and sat. It figures. All she had wanted was an answer to her prayer, and what she got was a pain in her sole.
Since the weight of the book in her purse was starting to cause a kink in her neck, she slipped the strap off her shoulder and let the bag rest next to her, then pulled off her shoe.
Just as she gave it a good shake, a big wasp launched an air raid right at her face, so close she felt it touch her nose. She shrieked, batting at the unwelcome dive bomber with both hands and sending her shoe flying. It landed with a splat in the bubbly water about five feet down, getting caught up in a tangle of fallen tree branches.
“No!” How could she have let this happen?
Keeping an eye on the black shoe bobbing in the current, she climbed off the boulder and onto the rocky precipice that was still a good three feet above the water. At least no one—and “no one” really just meant Ben—had witnessed this act of ineptitude. Still, it sure would be nice to have some help right about now.
Looking around, she assessed her options. All she could see of the ranch now was the barn, which blocked her view of the house and consequently all hope of anyone happening to see her. She had wandered so far that hobbling back for help would be impractical at best. She’d arrive with a very sore foot and a very frazzled ego. No, it was best to handle this one on her own.
She turned back to the creek. This would make a funny story later, but right now all she could think about was retrieving her fifty dollars’ worth of designer shoe.
Inching her way to the edge of the drop-off and looking down, she confirmed that there was no place closer to the water to get a foothold. The shoe was only a few inches from shore, but it was too far down to reach without some kind of extension.
She looked around, saw a nice long stick and grabbed it. As she got down on her knees, a fine mist chilled her face. It reminded her of Courtney’s comment about the high water being the result of the spring thaw. She shivered. Considering the nip in the air, the temperature of the water had to be substantially less than what she was used to at her condo’s heated pool. Keeping that in mind, she got a firm grip on a rock that looked securely embedded in the edge of the drop-off. Leaning over, she aimed the stick at her floating footwear. God, please help me.
The tip of the stick easily hooked the inside of the heel. Assured that this was going to be easier than she’d thought, she stretched her arm just a tiny bit farther.
Just as she was about to lift it up, the dirt around the rock she had a hold of started to crumble away. Flailing, she let go of the stick and tried to grab at the ground, but it was no use. Unable to gain a grip, she felt herself slipping down the bank, then plunging into the freezing current and being carried away. Downstream. Toward the waterfall.
Disoriented, she envisioned a small drop. Insignificant. Like a child’s slide. Then reality hit like the icy current crashing against her body. Courtney had called the falls by name. The fact that it had a name meant that it was the kind of thing you don’t go over intentionally, at least not without a barrel and people who love you trying to talk you out of it.
She opened her mouth to cry out for help, but a surge slammed against her face and she was pulled under. Her eyes burned and her mouth filled with freezing water, killing the sound before she could make it.
* * *
As the late afternoon ticked its way to early evening, Ben paced next to Courtney’s car. Although his eyes were on Hank and Andra taking direction from Blair on the front porch of the house, all he could think about was Sheila. He couldn’t say exactly why, but it really troubled him that she had stayed down by the creek on her own.
After catching her looking his way earlier in the café, his feeling of hopefulness had faded in and out like images in a PowerPoint, leaving him feeling shaky and unsure of himself. His initial hope that the excitement of witnessing the proposal would lead to more soulful glances from Sheila had petered out when the stop-and-start reality had set in. Sheila had seemed preoccupied—distant, even—ever since they’d arrived.
Now no amount of glances over his shoulder at the corner of the barn brought her walking around it. He’d thought more than once he should go over there just to make sure she was okay, but that seemed so calculated. It would be just what he didn’t need for his matchmaking sister to catch on to his feelings for her best friend.
He looked at Courtney, who sat in the backseat with the window rolled down, scowling as she kept an eagle eye on Blair. It struck him as funny that she assumed the woman was after Mr. Bloom just because they were friends. He didn’t know if he was insulted or relieved that his sister hadn’t made the same assumption about him and Sheila when they’d been inseparable last summer. Evidence, he supposed, that the idea of Sheila and him as a couple was completely unrealistic.
Looking really uncomfortable, Courtney started to fan herself in spite of the cool weather.
He grimaced. “You okay, sis? You look like you could use a glass of lemonade.”
“I’m fine.” She spoke through gritted teeth, glaring at the sight of Blair consulting with Mr. Bloom over by the house. “This can’t take much longer.”
He looked toward the barn again. “Let’s hope not.”
As his gaze swept back across the yard, Hank caught his attention, lifting up his hands in a gesture of surrender. When they’d talked after coming back from the creek a few minutes ago, Hank had expressed frustration at this being more about getting the right camera angle than about his proposal or even getting an accurate depiction of Andra’s personal life.
“That’s showbiz,” Ben had quipped, knowing it wasn’t really funny.
It was great that Hank had gotten to show the ranch to Andra, but Ben was having serious second thoughts about the whole public-proposal idea. Now that they were here, it didn’t seem very romantic, but then again, what did he know? At this point, he really just wanted to assure himself that Sheila was okay and get Courtney home to rest.
He stole another look at the corner of the barn, but there was still no sign of Sheila. He scratched his head. “Hey, Court. What do suppose is keeping Sheila?”
“Oh, you know her.” Courtney’s voice sounded as if it were being dragged through Jell-O. “She’s probably sitting there thinking and she’s lost track of time. You want to go check on her?”
Did he ever. That changed everything. If he was doing it for Courtney, it wouldn’t seem suspicious. He straightened like a soldier called to attention. “I’ll just let her know we’re finishing up here.”
“Let’s hope that’s true.” She leaned both arms on the window opening. “I’m ready to go get some dinner.”
“Will wonders never cease?” he joked, trying to cover his growing feeling of genuine concern about Sheila.
She swatted his arm and he pretended to let that propel him into motion.
Walking quickly, he took another glance over at Hank. He felt bad about abandoning him, but this shouldn’t take long. Besides, of all people, Hank would understand he was being granted another opportunity to talk to Sheila alone.
On approach to the barn, his forehead broke out into a cold sweat. Why did the mere thought of being alone with her send him into a near panic? Trying to calm himself, he shot up a quick prayer. Please, God, don’t let me blow it this time.
He rounded the corner and stopped, expect
ing to see her somewhere close by. His eyes darted around, but she was nowhere to be seen. Strange. Maybe she was sitting on the bank of the creek and he just couldn’t see her over the tall grass. He started walking again, craning his neck as he got closer to the creek.
Reaching the edge of the water, a quiet tension hit him in the gut. Where on earth was she? Slowly, he continued along the bank of the creek, scanning the landscape. Just as he was about to take out his phone and call Courtney, something caught his eye on the top of a big boulder up ahead. His heart racing, he picked up his pace, panic setting in as his suspicion was confirmed. Before he’d even reached the big rock, he could tell that the object on it was Sheila’s purse.
He looked downstream and saw something move midway through the creek several yards ahead, where the water cut around either side of a downed tree. He squinted. It moved again, and this time he saw that it was an arm madly waving.
“Sheila!”
Still screaming out her name, he clambered around the boulder and down to the rocky rim of the creek. He could see her face now, barely bobbing above the water. She had a tenuous grip on the tree. “I’m coming. Hang on!”
Her head turned and she cried out. “Ben! Help me! I...can’t hold on...!” Her voice sounded muffled as she jerked in and out of the water.
The urge to jump in after her tugged at him, but he knew he wouldn’t fare a whole lot better than she was against that strong current. Then an idea struck.
“Hold on!” Making an abrupt about-face, he started up the bank, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll be right back.”
Running in the direction from which he’d come, he tried to remember exactly where it was that he’d been standing a while ago. He darted through the tall grass and looked around, frantically searching the area.
Please, God.
There, barely visible in that overgrown thicket where he’d waited earlier, was that beat-up old rope. He wanted to shout. Hurrying, he bent to retrieve it, then ran back as fast as he possibly could, grateful that Hank had taught him how to tie a lasso and that, for some crazy reason, that was what he had done earlier to expel his nervous energy.
Skittering back down the bank, he got sight of her again. “Sheila! Can you hold up your arm? Nice and high.”
She faltered, but her arm jutted up out of the water and she held it there.
“That’s good,” he shouted. “Now keep it there. I’m going to throw this rope out to you, and I want you to grab it.” Even as he heard himself say it, the likelihood of his plan working seemed remote. He couldn’t do this on his own.
Please, God. Help me out.
He swung the loop over his head, keeping his focus on Sheila. She was no more than ten feet away from him, about the distance he’d stood from the steer dummy. He could do it. All he had to do was get it close enough for her to grab. Remembering everything Hank had taught him, he said another prayer and let it fly.
The loop sailed through the air, landing in the water. For a second, he thought he had missed her—just his luck that it would get tangled in a tree branch—but then her hand shot up and he could see that she had a hold of the loop. Thank You, God. His body practically gave out from the adrenaline release.
He called out to her. “Okay, now just pull it over your shoulders and hold on. When you feel like you can let go of the branch, I can pull you in.”
As she let go and started to move toward the bank, he held tight to the rope. Worried that the force might jerk him in, too, he braced one of his feet against a big rock and kept pulling. Finally, he could see that she had her footing and could walk the final few feet out of the water.
At the edge, he grabbed her, pulling her to safety. They both fell onto the rocky ground, wrapping their arms around each other. He could feel her soaking-wet body trembling and hear her whimpering in his ear. All he could do was to hold her tight and continue to whisper “It’s okay” over and over, confident now that it would be.
Time seemed to stand still as he held her, wanting to never let go, but he had to get her someplace warm. She was out of the water but not yet out of the woods.
As he released her, she sat back, still gasping for air and crying. A breeze kicked up, sending a fresh shiver through her. He tugged his sweatshirt off, thankful for the T-shirt underneath, and helped her pull it over her head.
“Thanks.” Her jittery voice seemed thin. “I don’t know what would have happened to me if...” She looked out at the rushing creek, then down at the rope still encircling her middle. “If you hadn’t suddenly transformed into Will Rogers.”
He laughed, rubbing her upper arms. “Hank’s been teaching me how to rope. He told me if I could snag a woman, I’d be ready to move on to cattle.”
She pulled the rope off and handed it to him. “Well, watch out, cattle.” Her face changed, as if she’d just remembered something. She turned to look upstream. “I left my purse...”
“I saw it.” He helped her stand. “That’s how I knew you were...” He frowned. “What were you doing, again?”
Grabbing her elbows, she glanced down and he followed her gaze to her one shoeless foot. “I dropped my shoe in the water, and I...” Turning a look to the creek and then back to him, concern draped her pretty face. “Do you think you could get it?”
He raised an eyebrow. All this over a lost shoe? He couldn’t help the smile that curved his mouth. “I can try, Cinderella.”
After securing a promise that she wouldn’t move and knowing that she probably would anyway, he maneuvered back down the bank, seeing her shoe stuck exactly as she’d described. It took a bit of effort, but compared to rescuing her from the drink, the shoe was the easy part. A minute later, he draped the purse over her like a Miss America banner and presented the shoe as if it were a trophy.
“Thanks.” She braced herself against his shoulder while she forced the shoe on over her sopping-wet sock. “You’re currently my favorite superhero.”
In his head, he did one of those ridiculous touchdown dances. If lightning struck him right this second, he would die a happy man.
He winced as she took her first squishy step. “It’s an improvement, but let’s get you to the car so we can crank up the heat and thaw you out. Then I don’t care whether Hank’s proposed yet or not, we’re heading for home.”
She stopped and slammed a hand against his arm. “What did you say?”
He let out a groan. This was supposed to be a secret. Of course, it didn’t much matter now that it was almost—or maybe even was—a done deal.
When he didn’t answer right away, she asked a more pointed question. “You don’t mean he’s thinking about proposing to her now?”
A prickle of dread ran up his neck. “Why, you don’t think that’s a good idea?”
“I think proposing is a great idea, but not in front of a TV camera.”
He started to walk, slowly but with a renewed sense of purpose. “But she said she wanted something interesting to happen for her bio.”
“Something interesting, not monumental.” Her steps were careful, but she picked up their pace. “No woman wants one of the biggest moments of her life to happen on a reality show.”
“No?”
“No! Unless she’s a contestant on The Bachelor.”
Fire churning in his throat now, Ben looked over at the area where the buildings were and wondered if they were too late to stop Hank from digging himself into a major hole. He looked at Sheila, then grabbed her hand. “Come on.”
Together they ran, her shoes making a squish, squeak sound with every step she took.
When they came around the corner of the barn, Hank and Andra were standing in the little flower garden in the front yard. The cameraman stood close, as if he was making sure the microphone picked up their every word. Blair and Mr. Bloom stood nearby, watching.
Ben’s heart raced. Since Andra wore neither the look of a woman who was newly engaged nor that of one who was recently outraged, he figured they weren’t too late.
Not knowing what else to do, he shouted, “Hey!”
When everyone—including, to Ben’s dismay, the cameraman—whirled around to face them, he and Sheila skidded to a halt. The looks of astonishment on everyone’s faces puzzled him for the half a second it took to recall that his running mate currently resembled a Barbie-doll version of the Creature from the Black Lagoon. Everyone massed toward them, and Courtney popped out of the car like a pregnant cannonball.
The next few minutes were a whirlwind of Sheila recounting what had happened while Mr. Bloom grabbed towels from somewhere. Ben escorted Sheila to Courtney’s car, annoyed that the cameraman followed along as if they were shooting a tightly directed episode of CSI: Montana.
Once Sheila was wrapped like a mummy and seated in the backseat, Ben grabbed Hank by the arm and pulled him off to the side.
“Tell me you didn’t do it yet.”
Hank gave a look of sheer frustration. “Every time I come close, either Ms. Newman or Mr. Bloom yells ‘cut’ and they talk between the two of them like we’re not even there. I tell ya, this acting thing is harder than branding a bull.”
“Good. You can’t do it on camera. Sheila says it will be a disaster.”
Hank stared blankly for two full seconds, and then relief spread across his face. “Well, that’s just fine by me.” He pushed back his hat by the brim. “I never did think this was a good idea.”
He crossed over to the cars, where everyone had gathered. “I think that about does it. Come on, Andra. I’ll take you back to work.”
Courtney trundled over to Ben and threw her arms around him. “Sheila told me what you did.” She stepped back, regarding him with an admiration he’d only ever seen in her eyes when she looked at their dad or Adam. “I apologize for everything I ever said about you.”
Rocky Mountain Romance Page 11