“Right.”
Houston was such a cosmopolitan city, outsiders tended to forget that though it was sophisticated and civilized, this was still Texas and the weather could turn on you in an instant. Floods were all too common, so he knew well enough to take cover and wait it out. Liam had seen the devastation left in a flood’s wake, though he’d never been caught up in one himself.
They were being pelted with rain, and the wind, as it swept through the broken window, felt icy. He grabbed her hand and tugged her behind him. “Okay, let’s go.”
She stepped out of her heels, and barefoot, she was just a tiny thing. A protective instinct rose up in him, and he didn’t even try to stop it. Would have been pointless anyway. Halfway up the staircase, they jolted in tandem when the rest of the windows blew in. They both paused, turned to look at the damage, then Liam caught her hand in his and held on. “We go up.”
He’d keep her safe. Safe from the storm, anyway. Liam groaned inwardly. Hell, she’d be safe from him, too. But he wasn’t going to be comfortable anytime soon. Not with his body burning and his mind dredging up image after image of Chloe Hemsworth and him, naked, wrapped together. Gritting his teeth, he shut down his thoughts for his own good.
He had to give her points. She kept up with his much longer legs by running up the stairs beside him. They paused on the second-floor landing, and Liam looked around as if to reassure himself that all was well. Still needed paint and the new flooring was stacked against one wall. But it was warm and dry, so that was enough. Wouldn’t do them any good. Then he put a hand at the small of her back and steered her up the stairs again.
Here there was a wide seating area, complete with wet bar and flat-screen TV. There were two short couches, chairs and tables boasting brass lamps with Tiffany shades and it looked, he thought, like a damn oasis after the weather they’d just escaped.
“There are two bedrooms up here,” he said, walking toward a door on the right. “This one’s for the TCC president and the other, when it’s furnished, will be for the chairman of the board, or visiting guests.”
“When it’s furnished?” she repeated.
“Yeah.” He knew what she was thinking because it had occurred to him, too. There was only one bed in this place so they’d have to share. Or, Liam thought, maybe he should sleep on the wood floor. Or he could curl up into the fetal position and try to sleep on the miniature couch. A little discomfort might keep his head clear.
He opened the door to the furnished bedroom and stared. Something stirred inside Liam and he tamped it down. One look at that big bed, covered in a dark red comforter, boasting a mountain of pillows against its carved oak headboard, and all he could think about was throwing Chloe down onto it and rolling around with her for a good long while. But he couldn’t do that, so he told his treacherous brain to stop providing tempting images.
“The water’s still rising,” she said, and thankfully dragged Liam out of his thoughts. He shifted his gaze to her, standing at the window, looking down. In a few long strides, he joined her there and took in the scene below. The water was up past the wheel wells on the parked cars, and the wind was bending the trees in half. Lightning flashed in the sky and thunder rolled out around them, loud enough to carry through the double-pane windows.
“And,” she said in a mutter as she looked down at the phone in her hand, “cell service is down. Perfect.”
He glanced at her. “Who would we call anyway? Emergency teams have more important things to take care of, and no one could drive through this mess anyway.”
He thought about the Perry Ranch, and hoped that Mike and the hands had gotten everything taken care of. Then his thoughts turned to his own place. It was new, and the most important thing in Liam’s life. But worrying wouldn’t get him anywhere, so he pushed the anxiety away. He held on to the thought that he had good men working for him, and his foreman was smart and knew what to do. “We’re stuck here for a while.”
“How long?”
“How the hell do I know?” He snapped it, then shrugged his shoulders as if sloughing off the rotten mood. “Sorry. I don’t know. But there’s food here. The construction guys keep a refrigerator on the ground floor stocked.” He thought about the fact that water was rushing in downstairs, too. “Why don’t you go and take a shower? Warm up, get out of those wet clothes. They’ve got it stocked with towels and soap and all. I’ll go down and raid that fridge before it’s under water.”
She looked up at him and her pale brown eyes looked like gold. He felt that rush of heat that had swamped him at first glance of her. When she licked her lips, his groin went hard as concrete. He’d be lucky to be able to walk in another minute.
So he tore his gaze away and looked around the room instead. It was set up for VIPs, so there was a small refrigerator at the private wet bar as well as the one in the main room. He hoped it was stocked because he could sure as hell use a beer.
“I’ll be back,” he said tightly, and headed for the door. At the threshold, her voice stopped him.
“Thanks.”
He looked back at her. “For what?”
She shrugged, a simple motion of her shoulders and yet, her dripping wet shirt tightened across her breasts, feeding fires that wouldn’t go out.
“For being there, I guess,” she admitted. “If I were alone when the storm hit, I probably would have tried to drive out of the city.”
“You wouldn’t have gotten far.”
“I know,” she said wryly. “That’s why ‘thanks.’”
“You’re welcome.” She was glad he’d been there. He was wishing he’d been anywhere else. Because now, he was trapped in a luxuriously appointed bedroom with a soaking wet woman with pale brown eyes. Shaking his head, he muttered, “Go take that shower.”
Then he left.
* * *
On the other side of the city, the floodwaters were higher and still rising. Ryder Currin grabbed a fifty-pound sack of flour from the homeless shelter’s pantry and slapped it down in front of the door to keep the water from sliding in.
“This is a darn shame, Mr. Currin,” the shelter manager said. “You just brought us these supplies.”
Ryder turned his head and looked up at the older woman. “Not a problem, Mavis. I’ll replace anything that gets ruined. But this sack of flour should help keep us dry—for a while, anyway.”
He looked around and saw that several of the men had nailed plywood sheets across the windows. Good thing the shelter had their tornado supplies in the back room, too. This way the windows wouldn’t break. Of course, it was dark as a cave now, so all the lights were burning and Mavis and her assistant had gathered up old-fashioned hurricane lamps in case the power went out. Which it would. Just a matter of when.
He’d only stopped by today to drop off a load of provisions, but the storm slamming down onto the city with no warning at all had trapped him here. Along with a handful of workers, a few of the people who regularly looked to this shelter for help, and... Angela Perry.
It must have been the Universe having a laugh at his expense to put the one woman he didn’t want to see in a room where he couldn’t avoid her. She didn’t look any happier to be trapped alongside him, and he couldn’t really blame her for that. Hell, he could still feel the slap across the face she’d given him at the TCC fund-raiser last month.
He was eleven years older than Angela, and she was the daughter of Sterling Perry, Ryder’s enemy. But still, he couldn’t help looking her way whenever her back was turned.
“Will you need that last sack of flour?” Mavis asked, bringing him back to the task at hand.
“I don’t think so.” He stood up, looked around at the brightly painted walls, the family-style tables and the long serving counter that was now crowded with sandwiches, a kettle of fragrant soup and a huge urn of coffee.
Looking back to the woman in front of him, he sai
d, “We should be able to ride this out. We’ve got enough food and plenty of space for everyone.”
She nodded. Mavis had been running the shelter for ten years, and she didn’t shake easily. A black woman with sharp brown eyes and a no-nonsense attitude, Mavis ran a tight ship.
“We might have more people wandering in here for help, too, so you’ll be in charge of lugging that fifty-pound sack out of the way.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. Then while she continued to talk, Ryder’s gaze slid past her to Angela. She was handing a sandwich and a bowl of soup to a young man who winked at her in thanks. Ryder was captivated by her.
Somehow, Sterling Perry, a man to whom money and position meant everything, had managed to create a daughter who was completely at home in a shelter, helping others. She was a mystery and damned if Ryder wasn’t intrigued. It seemed Angela had more of her late mother, Tamara, in her than her father.
Ryder had been friends with Angela’s mother, too many years ago to count. And that thought reminded him that he had no business looking at this woman and wishing things were different. He was too old for her. There was too much drama in the past still snaking into the present. And then there was the fact that at the moment, Angela hated his guts.
She wore a deep blue shirt, gray jeans with black boots and somehow looked elegant even under the circumstances. Her blond hair hung in a straight, golden fall to her shoulders, and her blue eyes picked up the blue of her shirt and shone even brighter than usual. He wanted to talk to her. To explain a few things, if he could.
It was only recently he’d heard the rumors that she’d no doubt been listening to just before she slapped him. Ryder wanted to tell her that he’d never had an affair with her mother, Tamara. That he hadn’t blackmailed her and that her mother’s father had willed Ryder that land twenty-five years ago because Ryder had been Tamara’s friend when she hadn’t had another.
He really wanted things set clear between them. She deserved the truth, he told himself sternly. Of course, it had nothing to do with what she made him feel whenever she was within five feet of him. And hell, even he didn’t believe that. But as much as he wanted to talk to her it would have to wait because her safety and the safety of everyone at the shelter had to come first. Even as he thought it, someone pounded frantically on the door.
“Open up!”
Instantly, Ryder bent down to shift the heavy bag from in front of the door, then swung it wide. A young couple with two little kids looked like drowned rats as they squeezed through the door, chased by pelting rain and the call of thunder.
“Wow, it’s ugly out there,” the man said, holding out one hand. “I’m Hank Thomas. This is my wife, Rose, and our kids, Hank junior and June.”
Ryder looked at the kids. The boy was about five and June closer to two. They looked tired and cold, and their mother seemed to be on the ragged edge.
“Looks like you’ve been out in it a while,” he said.
“Truck got swamped when we tried to get out of the city,” Hank told him, and swept his son up into his arms.
“We didn’t know what to do,” Rose added, swaying her daughter on her hip. “Then we saw lights through the cracks of the plywood on your windows.”
“Well, you’re welcome here. Let me get you some towels to dry those babies off,” Mavis said, bustling up and taking charge.
“Thank you,” Hank said, and dropped one arm around his wife’s shoulders.
Ryder felt a pang of envy. He still missed his wife, Elinah, and didn’t see nearly enough of his grown children. He was alone now, and he didn’t much care for it.
“Go on with Mavis. She’ll fix you up with soup and coffee,” he said, then smiled at the boy. “And maybe a cookie or two.”
He watched them go and saw Angela look up as the family approached. Then she looked past them right into his eyes, and for a heart-stopping second he felt the hard punch of connection even from across the room. There was something between them. Something he hadn’t counted on. That he’d thought had died when he’d lost his wife, Elinah. Elinah had been his miracle. He’d already had one marriage fail when he met her. She’d seen something in him worthy of taking a risk and he never stopped being grateful for that. Elinah became his second wife and the woman he had been born to love. When he lost her, Ryder had felt as if his life was over. Now he was waking up again and he wasn’t sure what to do about it.
His heart heavy, he walked off to the supply room to search for some towels. Sooner or later, he would find the chance to talk to Angela. He just had no idea if it would clear things up or make everything worse.
* * *
Liam frowned at the water pouring through the first floor of the Texas Cattleman’s Club. Already streams of water were washing across the floor, snaking through the rooms, claiming more and more territory. Rain raced through the broken windows, soaking him further as he stood there. Since he couldn’t do anything about the damage, Liam trudged through the mess to the back room. The refrigerator was big, but not exactly full. Using a box off one of the tables, he filled it with the sandwiches, fruit, some crackers and a half a bag of chips and bottles of water he found in the fridge, then trudged back through now shin-high water to the stairs.
Back in the bedroom, he heard the shower running through the closed bathroom door, and tried not to think about a wet, naked Chloe. Instead, he stocked the bar fridge with his loot and helped himself to a beer. While he drank it, he walked to the window and looked down at the mess that was Houston.
The rain hadn’t let up a bit, still pouring down in what looked like an unending deluge. Which meant the floodwaters would continue to rise, and he didn’t know how long they’d be stuck together. With no phone, no way out of this sanctuary, it was as if he and Chloe were trapped on an island. Just the two of them.
“Damn it.” He took another pull on the beer bottle, then set it aside to take off his sodden shirt, his boots and socks.
He was wet to the bone and still it couldn’t quench the fires blistering his blood. Liam heard the shower shut off, and instantly, his mind provided him with images designed to bring him to his knees. Chloe, warm and wet, stepping out of the shower, grabbing a towel, smoothing it up and down her body and—“Oh, yeah. This is great.”
“What?”
He’d been so caught up in his own imagination he hadn’t heard her open the bathroom door. Now he turned to look at her and his mouth went dry. Her hair fell long and damp to her bare shoulders. She had a thick, sea green towel wrapped around her and knotted between her breasts. Her bare legs were honey colored, and her toes boasted a deep purple polish. Everything about her made him hunger.
“Nothing,” he managed to say in spite of his suddenly dry mouth. “I, uh, found some food downstairs. Plus the wine and beer in the bar fridge. You want anything?”
“Wine would be good.”
“Right.” Liam was grateful for the task that would give him something to do besides stand there staring at her, fighting the urge to touch her.
“You know,” she said, “as long as we’re here, you could tell me what you’re thinking about my plan for the camp.”
He looked back over his shoulder at her. She was sitting on one of the two chairs drawn up to a gas fireplace that he should probably turn on.
“That’s what you want to talk about?”
“Why not? We’re stuck here, right?”
“Yeah.” He carried the wine back, handed it to her, then hit the switch for the fireplace. Instantly, flames leaped into life on artificial logs.
He took a seat opposite her. Those eyes of hers were mesmerizing, and he couldn’t seem to look away. What did he think of her plan? Personally, he thought it was a good idea. Made him remember being a boy, following his father around the ranch, learning about horses, conserving water for the cattle herd and dreaming of one day having his own place. Besides that though, h
e had three females working for him on the Perry Ranch, and they were every bit as good as any of the men. They could ride, train, herd, do most anything asked of them. Why shouldn’t girls be allowed to dream of being ranch hands?
On the other hand though, if he said yes, and made the recommendation to Sterling, then he’d have to spend the next few weeks dealing with Chloe. And Liam didn’t want to have to deal with wanting and not having her on a daily basis. If that made him selfish, he’d just have to live with it.
“So?” she prodded, and Liam stood up, unable to sit still while his mind worked and his body wept.
“So, I’ll think about it,” he said a little hotter than he’d planned.
“What is there to think about?” she countered, standing up, too. She took a deep breath, and that knotted towel dipped in response.
He gritted his teeth. “Look, you made your pitch, I listened, but I’m not going to be rushed into a decision.”
“Who’s rushing? We’re talking. You could tell me what you’re thinking,” she demanded.
He snorted.
“I’m really tired of that sound,” Chloe said, eyes narrowing.
“I’ll make a note,” he ground out and walked away from her toward the window. Better to keep a safe zone between them. He should just go and take a shower, but damned if he wanted to get naked around her. As it was, standing too close to her was more temptation than he could bear.
She followed him. Of course she did.
“Why won’t you just tell me what you’re thinking?”
His gaze shifted from the storm to her eyes, and he read a different sort of storm in those golden depths. And he knew she wasn’t talking about the camp anymore. “Trust me, you don’t want to know what I’m thinking right now.”
Wild Ride Rancher Page 5
