"Guess we'd better head back," she said reluctantly. She could stay here on this rock all afternoon beside him.
Cain got to his feet and held out a hand to help her down. "Guess so. The real world awaits."
Maggie took his hand with the sudden and unsettling feeling that those four little words were more true than either of them knew.
* * *
Chapter 9
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Maggie loaded the last of the groceries into the cab of her truck, eyeing the rain in the distance. She'd spent too long at Moody's and now the rain would be catching her on the way home. She hoped Cain was back safely. He'd left early this morning, saying he was going to check the fence line.
How, she wondered, had everything gotten so complicated when it should have been so straightforward?
She almost laughed at her naiveté, imagining she could spend day in and day out with a man like Cain without being affected by him.
Yesterday on that rock, she'd wanted him to kiss her. She supposed it was just as well he hadn't, but if he had, she knew she wouldn't have stopped him this time. Which was crazy, because they both knew where it would lead. He had no intentions of staying. To get emotionally involved with a man like Cain was foolish. But she was afraid it was already too late for regrets. She feared she was falling in love with him.
Walking around to the other side of her truck, she tugged on the door handle.
"Ms. Cortland?" a voice said from beside her.
She whirled to find Brent Hayden, one of Laird's men, standing close to her. She backed against the truck with her hand on her throat.
He held up a hand, gesturing that he meant her no harm. "I didn't mean to scare you."
"Well, you did. And it's MacCallister now."
"Yes ma'am." He glanced up the street and back again. Young, brash looking, and only a few inches taller than her, Brent looked like a hundred other cowboys that drifted through this country. The denim he was wearing from head to foot was as scuffed as the boots on his feet.
Maggie remembered that he'd been one of the boys who'd confronted her and Cain on the street the day of her wedding. Only Brent had been the one hanging back on the step. He hadn't said a word.
"What do you want?" she asked.
He looked nervous and unsure of what he was about to say. "You…" he began, "doin' all right?"
Maggie frowned. "Fine, thank you." She reached for the door handle again, but he moved closer.
"Excuse me," she said pointedly.
"I need to talk to you," he said under his breath.
"About what?"
"Not here."
"On the street, you mean? That never stopped any of you before."
"I'm not part of that." A muscle ticked just under his left eye. "Don't count me into that."
His voice … something about it sounded vaguely familiar…
Her eyes widened. "It was you. That night on the phone. You were the one who called me."
"I'm leavin' soon," he said, neither confirming nor denying it. "I just think it ain't right, what happened. I seen what went on. What's still…" He brushed the back of his fist against his jaw. "If they caught me talkin' to you—"
"Who?" she said. "Donnelly? And who's Remus Trimark?"
Brent scowled, shoving his hands in his pockets. "It ain't a who. It's a what."
"Look," she said, impatient now, "if you're going to play cat and mouse with me again—"
She followed Brent's nervous gaze to the two Bar ZX men who'd just come out of the Moody's.
Brent jerked opened the door for Maggie and gestured her inside. "I gotta go. I'll stop by before I leave town. He's out to get you Ms. MacCallister. By God, he'll do it, too."
He slammed the door shut after her and was gone before she could say another word. Maggie rolled down her window, but it was too late. He was already joining up with the others who were casting an inquisitive look her way.
Donnelly again. Damn him! And what did any of this have to do with Remus Trimark?
Maggie turned the ignition over and started down the street.
It ain't a who. It's a what.
Of course. Remus Trimark wasn't a man. It was a company name.
Maggie stepped on the brake, made an illegal U-turn in the middle of town, and headed for Harold Levi's office.
* * *
The weather channels had been predicting a weather front since yesterday and Cain could feel it coming in his bones. A cold system moving down from Canada where winter hadn't quite loosed its grip on the land despite the fact that the calendar said it was almost summer. He reminded himself that this was Montana, a couple of latitudes and six thousand feet higher than his old stomping grounds.
So he'd decided to get his work done early. Maggie had driven into town for supplies and he'd ridden her favorite gelding, Biscuit, out to the east pasture a mile from the house to check the fence line Donnelly's men seemed inclined to vandalize.
Cold air filtered down from the north as he pushed along the fencing, checking for breaks. But his mind was more on Maggie than on broken wire. He kept thinking about yesterday and the way she'd looked on that rock. All wet and flushed from laughter.
He'd thought about kissing her, but he'd wisely refrained. Their peace was tentative enough without putting sex back into the mix. Somehow, he just had to manage here for another few months without touching her.
He reached down and tugged at the barbed wire with a gloved hand. It was taut and strong here as it had been for the past two miles. One less thing to worry about today, he thought, glancing at the dark clouds gathering above the snow-dusted peaks that circled her valley. He didn't like the look of them. Texas had storms worse than anybody's business, but these clouds looked downright dangerous. When the first, fat droplet hit him, he headed back.
He was cold and soaked through by the time he got home and put Biscuit up in the barn. It wasn't until he went inside and found Jigger waiting expectantly by the door, that he realized Maggie wasn't home yet. He walked into the kitchen and looked at the clock on the kitchen wall—1:40 p.m. A note sat propped up on the table from Maggie telling him she'd be back by noon at the latest.
Cain frowned and glanced at the sky outside and the rain still sleeting against the window. Maybe she'd decided to stay in town and wait it out … get a hair cut or have her nails done…
Right. He glanced at her answering machine. The red light was tellingly dark.
Cain frowned. Would she have called him? He'd ridden out early, before she was up. And she was used to living on her own, following her own time schedule.
But she had said noon. Cain picked up the phone and dialed.
"Moody's Café," said the woman's voice on the other end.
"Moody, it's Cain. Is Maggie there?"
The sound of china clinking and customers buzzing in the background said the lunch rush was still on. "Maggie? No. She left a couple of hours ago. Isn't she home yet?"
Something tightened his gut. Hours! "What time exactly did she leave?"
In the background she could hear someone calling to Moody for more coffee. "Keep your pants on, Tom," she called with her hand partially over the phone. "Cain? I don't remember exactly, except it was before the lunch rush, so it had to be eleven-thirty at the latest. She had to make a quick stop at the market, but she should have been back an hour and a half ago."
Damn.
"Did she say she was going anywhere else after that?" he asked.
"No, she was going straight home. She was worried because of the weather with you out in it and all…" Moody took a worried pause. "She was in a hurry to get back."
Worried about him? Her face flashed in his mind's eye, looking up from what she was doing, smiling at him with that dazzling smile of hers. He banished the image, forcing himself to think clearly. "Moody, I'm sure she's fine. I'm just gonna go look for her."
"If she doesn't turn up in the next few minutes, will you call me?"
"I will." But that
old sense of dread fisted at the back of his throat as he left the safety of the house and headed back out into the weather.
* * *
Maggie tightened her hands on the steering wheel, knowing that doing so was as useless as wishing she'd stayed in town in the first place. The water was roaring against the wheels at a furious rate, creeping toward the fender of her truck as the rain rushed down the wash where her truck had been carried by the flash flood. It was stalled.
The sky lit up with a slash of lightning, and thunder rolled right behind it, pounding along the landscape like a big fist.
She should have gotten out before the water rose this high. She should have realized the puddle in this dip in the road was a lake, and turned back. She should have done a lot of things differently, but she hadn't. She felt the truck list sideways slightly as the thigh-high water lifted it off the road.
Maggie tried the ignition again. It whined like a wet dog, then died. She leaned on her horn for the twentieth time in the last ten minutes. The deluge clattering against the metal roof drowned out the sound. Naturally, no one answered. She was in the middle of nowhere, for heaven's sake. There were no ranches even within signal flare distance. If she had a signal flare.
She could climb out on the cab roof and wait for help. But who in their right mind would drive down Old Mill Road
if they didn't have to in this kind of weather?
She stared out the rain-streaked window. Maybe the rain would stop. Maybe she could actually ford this rushing river to get to the hillside twenty feet away without being swept into the torrent.
Maybe she should have her head examined for deciding to stay in Montana long after it had become clear that Montana didn't want her.
The truck moved again with a groan, like a beast nudged from its slumber—slowly at first, then with real conviction. It goosed her already thudding heartbeat. Water began to stream in through the seam in the door at her feet. If she stayed where she was, she risked going over with the truck and getting trapped inside. If she got out, she might at least have a chance if the truck tipped over.
She cranked the window down, angry now, wondering what she'd done in some past life to deserve all of this trouble. Rain instantly soaked her thin jacket and stung her face. Whatever it was, she reasoned, it must have been a doozy.
Climbing up through the window onto the cab's roof, Maggie shivered, then hugged herself, sitting drenched and cross-legged in the rain. It was slippery and freezing cold and she instantly regretted leaving the warmth of the cab. A teeth-chattering chill rolled through her as anger worked its way up her spine. Enough was enough!
"You can t-take my truck," she shouted at the spitting sky. "You c-can take my confidence. You can even take my business. But there's one thing, by God, you can't take!"
She reached into her pocket for the Milky Way bar she'd bought in town, tore off the wrapper and defiantly took a big bite. "And you're just gonna have to learn to live with that!"
In reply, the truck creaked and tipped and slowly, ever so slowly, dumped a defiant Maggie Cortland MacCallister and her candy bar into the roiling current.
* * *
Cain hauled Biscuit to a stop at the sight of Maggie's truck, lying sideways and half submerged in the swiftly moving flash-flood waters of the wash. And felt his heart move into his throat.
"Maggie!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. But the torrent was loud and the rain, relentless. He vaulted off the horse, already stripping off his jacket, and ran to the edge of the water. Cupping his mouth with his hands, he shouted again. "Maggie!"
Nothing.
There was no sign of her. The driver's side window was open and muddy water was splashing against the inside of the truck's cab. His heart was thudding in his ears.
Don't be dead. Please God—
He yanked the rope from his saddle, tossed it around himself, then attached the other end to Biscuit's saddle horn. She was the best cutting horse Maggie owned and he knew he could count on her to pull him back out if he got in trouble.
He waded into the rushing deluge and immediately knew it was going to be too slippery to navigate. The slick grass underfoot was like ice and the current impossible. He backed up and started upstream to get above it.
That's when he heard it.
The voice was faint, but distinct. And it belonged to Maggie.
Cain slipped on the bank and recovered, dragging Biscuit in the direction of the sound. Forty feet away, he saw her clinging desperately to a half-submerged chokecherry bush and fighting the current determined to drag her away.
"Maggie!" He sent up a silent prayer of thanks. "Hang on."
"Cain! I'm slipping!" she cried.
Cain ran to the edge of the frigid water and plunged in, feeling the current threaten to take him out into the center of the spreading river. He fought it, stroking hard in her direction.
"Maggie! Don't let go!"
"Cain! Please—"
The current slammed him into the bush near Maggie and she lost her grip. But he caught her wrist just before she flew out of reach and dragged her toward him with one hand. His own grip on the bush was tenuous and he knew he'd have to let go to get them out of here.
"Maggie—" he shouted, "put your arms around me!"
She clung to his neck but she was cold and moving too slowly and her lips were a dangerous shade of blue. "S-so c-cold…"
"The rope, Maggie. Slip under the rope."
Her numb fingers plucked at the rope but the tension kept her from getting any grip on it. And it was impossible to open the loop that held him firmly. The current slapped them in the face and stole Cain's breath. Gulping air, he could feel the cold working on his muscles and knew they had precious little time to get out of here before they were both lost causes.
He threw a look back to the bank where Biscuit waited, braced against the tug of his weight, ears thrust forward. "Biscuit!" he shouted over the roar of the water. "Back! Back up, damn you!"
Slowly, one step at a time, he did. Cain felt the tug of the rope against his chest and felt his grip on the branch of the bush weaken. He tightened his arm around Maggie and transferred his other grip to the rope. Maggie buried her face against his shoulder and Cain focused solely on the approaching bank. One misstep and he could lose her in the blink of an eye.
"Shh!" he hissed at the horse. "Back! Keep going! Back!"
The bottom of the creek rose up beneath his feet and he struggled to stand with Maggie's weight and the current pulling at him. He felt Maggie struggling to do the same and suddenly, they were on the bank, out of the water.
He fell with her onto the cold grass and rolled his weight off her, breathing hard. Maggie lay on her back, arms flung out at her sides, gasping for breath. Cain tore the rope off him and tossed it aside. "Maggie…?"
He brushed the wet strands of hair out of her eyes and off her face. "Talk to me."
She muttered something he couldn't understand. He leaned closer. "What?"
Her big brown eyes peered up at him. "What t-t-took you s-so l-long?"
Cain pulled her up against his chest and wrapped his arms around her. "Anybody ever tell you you're a lot of trouble?"
She shivered violently. "All the time."
Cain swallowed hard, his gaze skimming her features, more grateful than he could say to know that he wouldn't have to spend the rest of his life trying to call them to memory. She was here. Alive. And he didn't even think about what he did next.
Her mouth was cold, shaky, as he dropped his rain-slick lips against hers with a heat he didn't even know he still possessed. Her arms came up around his neck and she pulled him against her. There was gratitude in her kiss and fear and the prospect of death between them. He wrapped his arms beneath her and gave her what was left of his heat.
She tasted cold and hungry and sweet. Cain knew he shouldn't be kissing her, but he couldn't stop himself. He needed to feel her mouth against his to reassure himself that they were both alive.
Dimly aware that the rain was still pounding down on them, he eased back, his mouth hovering close, and he looked in her eyes. "Maggie…"
"Don't say anything," she warned, squeezing her eyes shut. "Please, don't say anything."
So he didn't Instead, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to Biscuit who was patiently waiting nearby, blinking away the rain. Maggie was shivering badly now and he had to get her home. There'd be time to talk later. And maybe, he thought climbing up behind her, talk would be beside the point.
* * *
Maggie thought to protest when Cain carried her upstairs to the bathroom and wrenched on the hot water in the shower, but she knew she was too cold to think clearly or even manage to make it up the steps without stumbling.
And she was still staring at the buttons on her blouse, trying to remember how to undo them, when he picked her up again and stepped into the shower with her, fully clothed.
The steaming water hit her cold skin like sharp little needles and she gasped and tried to duck out of it. He lowered her feet to the ground but held her firmly beneath the stream of water. Maggie pressed her face against his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heart beneath her cheek.
She swallowed hard, sighing as the heat began to penetrate her chill. "I didn't think you would come."
"I called Moody when I got back and found you hadn't come home. She said you'd left hours ago."
She brushed her hair back with both hands, remembering. "I tried to stop, but my brakes must have gotten wet. I got caught in a dip in the road. Then I stalled and started moving down the wash with the current."
Cain cupped her chin with his hand. His eyes had gone dark. "You should've stayed in town."
"I should have," she agreed.
"You never should have risked driving on that road."
"You're right."
"You scared the hell out of me."
"I'm sorry," she whispered, meeting his hard gaze.
THIS PERFECT STRANGER Page 11
