Marooned with the Maverick

by Christine Rimmer

For Willa and Paige’s team, the triumphs were small. They pulled two foundering heifers from a pond, contacted old Barrett Smith, the local vet, to treat an injured horse and brought a frightened cat down from up a tree. Mostly, though, they made the circuit of the houses and outbuildings in their section of the search map and found the owners in residence doing their best to deal with the thousand and one challenges the flood had dumped in their laps.

  The teams began returning to Main Street at dusk. The phones and electricity were still out, but there was food in the church multiuse room for anyone who needed it. Makeshift dormitories had been set up in the town hall and Masonic Hall for those who had nowhere else to go.

  Paige came with Willa to the church, where they ate with their team by the light of kerosene and battery-powered lanterns. Once they had food in their stomachs, she nudged Willa. “Come on. Let’s go to my place and get some rest...”

  Willa hesitated. She would have loved a shower and to settle into that nice, big bed in Paige’s guest room. But somehow, she couldn’t do it. “I think I’ll just get a cot in the town hall.”

  “Willa. Why? I want you to come and stay with me.”

  “And I love you for that. But I just can’t...” It seemed important right then to stick with the other people who had been dispossessed. She wanted to stay close to the center of things, at least for the first night or two, until the search for survivors was finished and she could be certain that everyone in town and in the valley was safe and whole, with food in their bellies.

  “You’re sure?” Paige brushed her arm, a companionable touch.

  Willa nodded. “Yeah. It just...feels right, to stay with the others for now.”

  So Paige gave her a hug and promised to be back for breakfast before the search began again in the morning. Then she asked around to see who needed lodging. She took Buck and Bella McAnder and their two little girls home with her. The McAnders lived a few houses down from Willa, on South Broomtail Road. All over the north side of town, people were doing that, taking in families who lived south of the creek.

  So far, Collin had yet to appear for dinner. Once Paige was gone, Willa checked out the team sign-up sheets that were posted on the wall right there in the church multiuse room. He’d joined Team Three, headed by Jerry Dobbs. It was the team that had rescued Barton Derby.

  Team Three came in a few minutes later. Collin wasn’t with them. She knew she ought to leave it alone. If he’d been injured in the search, she would have heard about it. There was nothing to worry over.

  But then, well, she just had to know for sure that everything was okay with him. She approached Jerry Dobbs and asked if he knew where Collin might be.

  “A real asset to our team, that Collin,” Jerry said. “Without him, we might not have gotten Bart out from under his barn. People can’t help but get scared around piles of unstable materials. Some held back, afraid to pitch in. Or worse, some were too brave and not careful enough. Collin reassured the scared ones and kept an eye on the chance-takers. The man’s a born leader, levelheaded and calm and encouraging to others in a crisis. Plus, he’s in top shape and light on his feet.”

  Willa didn’t especially like the sound of all that. Had Collin put himself in danger to get Barton out? It would be just like him, after all. “Yes,” she said, and tried to sound cheerful. “Collin Traub has no fear.”

  Jerry nodded. “And I think he mentioned something about stopping over at the Triple T to see how they were getting along out there.”

  She should have known. Of course he would have to go see how the hands at the family ranch were managing. She thanked Jerry, shouldered the pack she’d been dragging around with her all afternoon and walked over to Thelma’s to get Buster.

  By then, Thelma had a houseful of visitors. She’d made room not only for the two rescued shut-ins, but also for a couple of young families who owned houses on the south side of the creek.

  “I’ll be over at the church for breakfast tomorrow,” Thelma said, as Buster sat on the step, cheerfully panting, cocking one ear and then the other, glancing from Thelma to Willa and back again. “I’ll be happy to take Buster then. He’s been a comfort, I have to tell you. He likes to stick close to me, but he’s not in the way.”

  “He’s a good dog,” Willa said fondly. Buster made an eager little whining sound in response. “Just don’t let him out unsupervised or you never know where he’ll head off to.”

  “I won’t,” Thelma promised. “I’ll keep him close.”

  Willa thanked her again and said good-night.

  In the town hall, the generator was still going strong. It seemed so bright in there compared to the lantern light at Thelma’s and in the church. The chairs in the meeting room had been folded up and stacked against the walls. Rows of narrow cots waited for her and about fifty other people whose houses were in the still-restricted area south of the creek. She was a little anxious that Buster might not be allowed in. But it wasn’t a problem. Marjorie Hanke, the councilwoman assigned to supervise sleeping arrangements in the hall, told her that as long as he behaved himself he could sleep beside Willa’s cot.

  Collin wasn’t there. Disappointment tried to drag her down, which was ridiculous. The man had his own life, after all. He had things he needed to do. He could be staying at the Triple T for the night, or over at the church getting something to eat, or possibly bedding down in the other makeshift dormitory in the Masonic Hall. He might even have headed up the mountain to his house.

  She truly hoped he hadn’t been foolish enough to do that. Not in the dark. After the storm, there was no telling what condition that road would be in.

  It was very annoying. He was so unpredictable. A person hardly knew what he might do next.

  And really, she needed to stop thinking about him. She needed to be grateful that he’d saved her life and glad that she’d gotten past her issues with him—and let it go at that.

  She leashed Buster to a leg of the cot and took her turn in the bathroom, washing up as best she could in the sink. Marjorie was passing out baggies containing personal grooming supplies to those without, but Willa had her own. She’d raided her mother’s medicine cabinet for soap, deodorant and a toothbrush, and she’d also thought to grab an old pair of lightweight pink sweatpants, flip-flops and a clean T-shirt from the box under the stairs.

  Back in the meeting room, people were settling in, getting as comfortable as possible for the night. When everyone had finished in the restrooms, Marjorie turned off all the lights, save one. She left it on low, for a night-light.

  Willa lay back, stared at the dark ceiling overhead and felt certain she’d be awake half the night, worrying about her parents and Gage, who were probably going nuts, wondering what was happening at home. She knew she would end up lying there, eyes wide-open, obsessing over the extent of the damage of her house. She was positive that she would have to firmly remind herself not to get all worked up over the tragic death of the mayor, and not to think about Collin, who surely would not have been so foolish as to head up the mountain in the dark of night.

  But strangely, within minutes of zipping up her borrowed sleeping bag, her eyes had drifted shut. With a sigh, she turned on her side, tucked her hand under her cheek, and let sleep steal all her worries away.

  * * *

  The double doors to the town hall meeting room were shut when Collin arrived. He eased through them soundlessly.

  Marjorie Hanke, in a cot by the door, sat up and pointed to an empty one a few feet away. Collin whispered a thank-you and tiptoed to the unoccupied cot. It wasn’t that far from the door, which was great. He had a big plastic bag full of stuff for Willa and a pack for himself. Both of those, he stowed under the cot.

  A couple of rows over, he heard a low, familiar whine. A tail thumped the floor: Buster. So Willa was sleeping here. He considered going over there and making sure she wa
s all right.

  But come on. His creeping close and peering down at her wouldn’t help her in the least.

  Uh-uh. If he went to her, he wouldn’t be doing it because she needed him right now. It would be because he wanted to see her, plain and simple. In the space of one night and the morning after, he’d found it all too easy to get used to having her around. All too easy to wish she might stay around.

  He liked her.

  Always had, though he knew she used to think he didn’t.

  Maybe he liked her too much. He needed to keep a rein on himself because he knew that nothing was going to come of his liking Willa Christensen more than he should. She was a nice girl. She had a college-graduate Mr. Good-Guy boyfriend off in Australia, a boyfriend who’d asked her to marry him.

  There was no way Collin fit into that picture.

  Someone coughed. A cot squeaked as someone else turned over. At the other end of the room near the stage, somebody was snoring. Collin should shuck off his boots, stretch out on the cot and try to get a little sleep. Morning would come way before he was ready for it.

  Too bad he didn’t feel all that much like sleeping. He moved silently back to the doors and slipped through again. Swiftly, he crossed the dark front hall and let himself out into the cool of the night.

  On the steps, he sat down, drew his legs up and wrapped his arms around his knees. It was a clear night, a sliver of the waning moon hanging above the distant mountains way across the valley. He stared up at that moon and tried not to think about the woman sleeping in the dark hall behind him, tried not to think about that morning, when he’d woken up with her soft, pretty little hand on his fly. A bad, bad idea, to think about that. Thinking about that would only get him all worked up all over again.

  He heard a faint sound at his back, the squeak of heavy hinges as the door opened behind him. Buster nuzzled his shoulder. He threw an arm over the dog and scratched him behind the ear as the door squeaked shut. The latch clicked.

  Willa. He could feel her, hovering there behind him in front of the door. He was way too glad she’d come out to find him.

  “Go back to bed, Willa,” he said lazily, not turning to look at her, keeping his gaze front, on that sliver of moon. “How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not having sex with you.”

  Willa laughed, a low, slightly husky sound, one that seemed to skim the surface of his skin, raising goose bumps as it went. Raising more than goose bumps if he was going to be honest about it. He drew his knees up a little tighter so she wouldn’t see how she affected him.

  “You are impossible,” she said in a voice as low and husky and full of good humor as her laugh.

  He shrugged. “So I’ve been told.”

  And then she came and sat on his other side, so he was sandwiched between her and her dog. It wasn’t a bad place to be. Not bad at all.

  She said, “Buster’s happy to see you. He woke me up when you came in.”

  “Sorry.”

  She leaned toward him a little, nudging him with her shoulder in a way that felt downright companionable. “Don’t be.”

  He stroked the dog’s big white head. “He’s a great guy.” The dog turned, tongue lolling, and gazed at him adoringly. “And so good lookin’.”

  Willa chuckled again. “Oh, yes, he is.”

  He still hadn’t looked at her. Mostly because when he did, he knew he wouldn’t want to look away. “What about you, Willa? You happy to see me, too?”

  “I am,” she answered in a near whisper. “Yes.” She was quiet. He could feel the warmth of her along his side. She smelled of soap and toothpaste—and something else. Something that was simply Willa. Kind of green and fresh and a little bit lemony. Who knew the smell of soap and lemons could get a man worked up? She spoke again. “I was kind of worried you’d tried to go up the mountain to your place.”

  “Not in the dark.”

  “Good.”

  “I went to the Triple T. They got the wells disinfected and are hoping to be using the water by tomorrow or Sunday. Most of the stock survived. And they’re busy with cleanup. I stopped in at Clay’s house and borrowed a few things—clean jeans and boots, a couple of shirts.” Third-born of his five brothers, Clay had recently married. He lived down in Thunder Canyon now, but he still owned a house on the Triple T. “Then I went over to your family’s place, just to see if things were okay there.”

  “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Willa. I wanted to.”

  A silence from her, then, “Thank you.”

  “I used the guest-room shower again. And I left your dad’s clothes in the hamper. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind at all. How was it there?”

  “Better.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. The neighbors and the hands from the Triple T had been there. The pigs are back in their pen and the chickens are in the coop. Looked like they even made a start on the cleanup.”

  “That’s good,” she said. “Really good. I’m grateful.”

  He did look at her then. She was staring out toward the moon, the curve of her cheek so smooth in the dim light, her pretty lips slightly parted. She wore a different T-shirt from the one she’d had on earlier, pink sweatpants with white trim and a worn-down pair of flip-flops.

  She kept her gaze on the moon, and that was fine with him. Gave him more time to look at her. He took in everything about her. Her toenails were painted. In the dark, it was hard to be sure of the exact color. Maybe purple. Like plums. He stared at them for a time. When he looked up, she was watching him. “Did you get something to eat?”

  He nodded. “I had some stew at the Triple T.”

  Those cute dimples of hers tucked themselves in at the sides of her mouth as she smiled. “Jerry Dobbs says you’re a natural leader, that they might not have saved Bart Derby if not for you.”

  “Well. You know Jerry, heavy on the ‘go, team, go.’”

  “I think you’re being modest, Collin.” Her big brown eyes gleamed at him.

  He felt an odd little pinch, a heated tightness in his chest. Also, in his borrowed jeans. “Modest? Me? Not a chance.”

  Buster got up and wandered down the steps to lift his leg on a tree trunk. When he started sniffing the ground, moving toward the street, Willa called to him. “Buster. Come.” He came right back and plopped down where he’d been before.

  Collin said, “I filled a bag with clothes from that box under the stairs at your folks’ house, in case you need them. I left it back in the hall, under my cot. I brought jeans and shirts and underwear, too.” There had been little lace panties and a bra and several pair of socks. “Not that I noticed the underwear or anything...”

  “As I recall, it was pretty frayed, that underwear. But I’m grateful to have it at this point.” She groaned, lowered her head and put her hand over her eyes. “I can’t believe I’m sitting here discussing my old underwear with you.”

  “Hey.” It was his turn to bump her shoulder with his. “What are friends for?”

  She looked up and into his eyes, all earnest and hopeful, suddenly. “We are, aren’t we? Friends, I mean.”

  He wanted to kiss her. But he knew that would be a very bad idea. “You want to be my friend, Willa?” His voice sounded a little rough, a little too hungry.

  But she didn’t look away. “I do, yes. Very much.”

  That pinch in his chest got even tighter. It was a good feeling, really. In a scary sort of way. “Well, all right then. Friends.” He offered his hand. It seemed the thing to do.

  Her lower lip quivered a little as she took it. Her palm was smooth and cool in his. He never wanted to let go. “You better watch it,” she warned. “I’ll start thinking that you’re a really nice guy.”

  “I’m not.” He kept catching himself sta
ring at that mouth of hers. It looked so soft. Wide. Full. He said, “I’m wild and undisciplined. I have an attitude and I’ll never settle down. Ask anyone. Ask my own mother. She’ll give you an earful.”

  “Are you trying to scare me, Collin Traub? Because it’s not working.”

  He took his hand back. Safer that way. “Never say I didn’t warn you.”

  She gave him a look from the corner of her eye. “I’m onto you now. You’re a good guy.”

  “See? Now I’ve got you fooled.”

  “No, you don’t. And I’m glad that we’re friends. Just be straight with me and we’ll get along fine.”

  “I am being straight.” Well, more or less. He didn’t really want to be her friend. Or at least, not only her friend. He wanted to be more than her friend. But sometimes a man never got what he wanted. He understood that, always had. Sweet Willa Christensen was not for the likes of him. But right now, he just needed to look out for her, take care of her a little. Make sure she got through this hard time all right. He added, “And I’ve been thinking.”

  “About what?”

  “The things that need doing.”

  She braced an elbow on her knee and dropped her chin in her hand. “Such as?”

  “I’m guessing we’ll finish up the search for survivors by around noon tomorrow. Meet me at the church when your team comes in. One way or another, we’re going to get to your house tomorrow.”

  Her smooth brow furrowed. “What if they won’t let us into the area?”

  “You worry too much. They’ll let us in. They pretty much have to.”

  “Not if they don’t think it’s safe.”

  “At some point, people are just going to go in anyway. The whole town has pitched in, put their own problems aside to search for survivors. It’s not right to expect them to wait forever to get to their homes. Nathan and the rest of them have to take that into account or they’ll have trouble on their hands.”

  “Collin...”

  “Your face is all scrunched up again. Relax.”

  “It’s only that I feel kind of bad, to keep on taking advantage of you like this.”