Willa was nodding, thinking of Mr. Puffy, the barn kitten she’d claimed as her own when she was five. Puffs had become a house cat and lived to be seventeen. “Oh, I know the feeling. It’s like they’re still with you, somehow, even though you know that they’re gone....”
“That’s right.” He regarded her for a moment that seemed to stretch out into forever. He didn’t seem angry anymore and she realized that neither was she.
“Thirsty?” he asked at last.
At her nod, he turned and started walking, pausing only to signal her with a wave of his powerful arm.
“Come on, Buster.” She fell in behind him.
A trail took off below the road. They followed it, pine needles crunching under their feet, Buster taking up the rear.
Maybe two hundred yards later, they came to a ditch full of rushing, clear water. They both got down on their bellies to drink. Buster tried to join them, but she shooed him downstream a ways.
It was so good, that water. Fresh and cold and perfect. When they’d both drunk their fill, they scrambled upright and returned to the pickup. They got in, Buster hopped in the back and off they went.
After that, it was stop and go. There were three more downed trees to clear and any number of rutted, rough places scattered with rock, where instant streams had formed during the storm, destroying the road surface, dragging debris. Often they would have to get out and clear away the biggest of the boulders. It was dusty, thirsty work. But there were plenty of ditches to drink from once the road was passable again.
At one of the outlook points, they found that the road had fallen away at the edge of the cliff. It was just wide enough for the pickup to proceed. Twice on that narrow spot, she felt the back wheel on her side slip over the edge.
But Collin had done a lot of driving on narrow, treacherous mountain roads. He knew when to change gears and when to hit the gas. Both times, there was only a split second of falling and then the truck gained purchase again and they went on.
They didn’t reach the falls until a little after seven. More than two hours of daylight remained to them, so they stopped the truck. Buster following behind them, they walked close to admire the view.
“It was twice as wide when I came down on the Fourth,” he told her, as they stared at the wall of shining water.
“So beautiful.” She stood near the edge, looking over, entranced by the plumes of mist that rose from the rocks below. A prayerful kind of feeling came over her. It happened every time she visited the falls.
When they turned for the truck, he said, “It’s not that far now.” He put down the gate long enough for Buster to hop in the back again. Then he joined her in the cab.
Around the next sharp curve another tree lay, uprooted, across the road. They got out and got to work. By the time that one was out of the way and he was starting up the truck again, it was nine-thirty and the sky was steadily darkening.
He sent her a glance across the console. “We’re there in five minutes, barring more crap in the road.”
She grinned. “I will pray for an absence of crap.”
“Good thinking.” He started to shift into gear—and then stopped. “I would be sleeping in this truck tonight, three fallen trees back, if not for you.”
“If more crap happens, you could still end up sleeping in this truck.”
He arched a brow. “That was a thank-you.”
She felt hugely gratified. “Well, all right. You’re welcome.”
“And an apology.”
“Which is accepted.”
They did that thing, the eye-contact thing. The moment stretched out. Finally, he said, “I’m glad you’re with me.”
“That is so nice to hear.” She said it softly, a little bit breathlessly. “Because I’m glad to be with you.”
They shared another endless glance. The world seemed a fine place, exciting, a place where anything might happen. A place where a girl’s lifelong forbidden fantasies might just come true.
Friends, she reminded herself. We are friends and that’s all.
But the way he was looking at her, well, a girl could definitely get ideas.
“We should get going,” he said.
“Yeah,” she whispered, as though there was some kind of secret they were sharing.
He buckled his seat belt and put it in gear.
The headlights were on, the powerful twin beams cutting the thickening shadows. Everything looked clear up ahead. The road was very steep, though, there at the last. Gravel spun out from under the tires as they kept losing traction. But Collin held it in low, with an even pressure on the gas. They climbed steadily upward, almost there.
“One more switchback,” he said. The sharp turn loomed ahead. Tires spinning, gravel flying, the truck slipping to one side and then the other, Collin guided them around it.
They’d made it without having to sleep in the cab. Through the tall, thick trees, she could see the shadowed form of his house up ahead. A light shone in the window, one he must have left on when he raced down the mountain four days ago, a light that still burned because he had a generator.
Lights that wouldn’t be turned off promptly at 11:00 p.m. How wonderful. She had a couple of bestsellers she’d borrowed from Paige in the bottom of her bag. Why, she might read late into the night if she felt like it. She might blow-dry her hair—well, if only she’d thought to scare up a blow-dryer.
And not only would there be light that was hers to control, she would sleep on a real bed, in a real bedroom, without all those other people nearby snoring or mumbling in their sleep....
The truck slid, snapping her back to reality, and she felt a stomach-turning lurch as the rear wheels lost contact with the road. Collin swore under his breath.
The truck—and the world—hung suspended by two front wheels.
It was bad. She knew it. She tasted copper in her suddenly dry mouth. Her heart boomed, the sound a roar in her ears.
It took her a second or two to realize what had happened. As they came around the turn, the road had collapsed on the cliff side, just dropped off and fallen away under the back wheels.
“Oh, dear Lord,” she whispered, and nothing more. Words were lost to her.
The truck was sliding backward, the bed dropping, dragging. They were going to go over the cliff, tail first....
But Collin hit the gas then. The front wheels grabbed and held. Praise heaven for four-wheel drive. He eased the throttle even higher.
The truck lurched again, jumping forward this time, grabbing at the road. The front wheels had good purchase. Gravel flew every which way, grinding grooves in the dirt, but they did move forward. The truck leveled out as the rear wheels reached the road again.
He had done it. He had all four tires on solid ground again. She heard him suck in a long breath and realized that she was doing the same thing.
“We’re okay,” she whispered, as though to say it too loudly would somehow send them rolling backward over the cliff once more.
But then she glanced through the rear window. Buster wasn’t there.
Chapter Nine
“Collin, Buster’s gone!”
Collin hit the brake as Willa’s door flew open. “Willa. Wait...” But she didn’t wait. She was out the door before the truck came to a full stop. “Be careful at the cliff edge!” he shouted.
Not that she heard him. She was already out and running back to that last almost-deadly turn.
He slammed it in Park, turned off the engine, and shoved in the parking brake, grabbing a flashlight from the glove box before he jumped out and ran after her. “Stay back from the edge, damn it, Willa!”
She was already there, craning to see over, calling the dog. “Buster! Buster, here, boy!”
He went to her, grabbed her arm and hauled her back a few feet. She tried to shake him off, but he held on. “Don’t,” he warned. “It could be dangerous.”
“But Buster...” Frantic tears clogged her voice.
He shone the ligh
t on the ground at the edge he’d dragged her back from. Hard to tell, but it looked pretty solid. “Careful, okay?” Reluctantly, he let her go. “Just take it easy...slow.”
Together they moved toward the cliff again. He shone the flashlight down into the darkness, spotted the small ledge created by two joined sets of tree roots maybe thirty feet down. Buster was young and agile. All he would have needed was something to break his fall and chances were he would have been okay.
No sign of him on that ledge, though.
“Buster!” Willa called again, more frantic than before. “Buster!”
Not knowing what else to do, Collin put his fingers between his teeth and let out with the whistle that always brought the dogs running. He glanced over at Willa, at the tears already streaming down her soft cheeks.
He was just about to start blaming himself, when he heard the scrabbling sounds over the side, up the road a little, near where he’d stopped the truck.
Willa whipped around toward the noise. “Buster!” Collin turned the light on her, so she wouldn’t trip on the uneven road surface as she took off again in the direction of the sounds.
About then, the white dog scrambled up over the bank, apparently unhurt. He got to the road and shook himself.
“Buster!” Willa dropped to a crouch and threw her arms around him. The dog whined and swiped his sloppy tongue all over her face and wagged his tail as though he’d just done something pretty spectacular.
And maybe he had.
Collin went to them. With another happy cry, Willa jumped up and threw her arms around him. “He’s fine. He’s okay. Oh, thank God.” She buried her face against his neck.
He held her close and tried not to let himself think about how right she always felt in his arms.
* * *
Buster rode the last short stretch inside the cab, sandwiched between Willa’s feet.
Collin didn’t much care for dogs in the front. But he wasn’t complaining. A couple of minutes after they’d piled in the truck again, Collin parked in the flat space not far from the front door to his house.
“We made it,” Willa said softly. “I can hardly believe it.”
He reached over and grabbed his bag out from under Buster’s big feet. “I’m starving. Let’s scare up something to eat.”
Inside, he got Libby’s bowl down from a cupboard and filled it with kibble leftover from last winter. Buster went right to work on the food.
Willa stood holding her black plastic bag, her pack slung on one shoulder, staring out the wall of windows that faced the valley. With the lamps on and the antler chandelier overhead casting its warm glow, there was nothing to see but her reflection in the glass. “This is so beautiful, Collin.”
He left the open kitchen area and went to stand beside her. “Pretty dark down there tonight. Usually, even with the great room all lit up, you can see the lights of town.”
She turned to him, her eyes so soft and bright. “You’ll be seeing them again before you know it.”
He took her arm and tried not to feel too happy to have her there, in his house, alone. “Come on. I’ll show you the guest room and the spare bath.”
Her face lit up. “A shower? You mean it?”
“Right this way.”
* * *
Willa pushed her empty plate away. “Steak. A baked potato. Even a salad.” She sent him a mock glare. “And to think, if I hadn’t made you bring me along, it would have been macaroni and canned ham all over again.”
He gave her one of those grins that always made her pulse speed up. “Is that what the church ladies are serving tonight?”
“I believe so, yes.” She sat back and looked around her. The living area was all one room, with a comfy-looking sofa and chairs grouped around a rustic fireplace. He’d built a small fire that crackled cheerfully. Up on the mountain, even summer nights had a bite to them.
The galley-type kitchen had butcher-block counters, the cabinets painted a woodsy green.
She asked, “This place was your uncle’s?”
“That’s right.” He polished off his beer. “Uncle Casper was an independent old coot—and he was always good to me.”
She remembered Casper Traub. He had a handlebar mustache and he always wore a white Resistol hat. “A confirmed bachelor.”
“Damn straight. Uncle Casper and I got along. We just seemed to understand each other—but I’ve made a lot of changes to the house since he passed. This area had a wall down the middle before, the kitchen separate from the living room. I like it open. And I had bigger windows put in to take advantage of the view.”
“You did a great job.” She stared up at all the lights strung on the antler chandelier. “It’s comfortable and homey. Inviting, but not cluttered.”
“That’s good.” He gestured with his empty beer bottle. “It’s pretty much what I was going for.”
“You got it right.”
He was watching her. “But not what you expected.” It wasn’t a question.
She confessed, “Not really. I was thinking you would have more of a woodsy man-cave, to tell the truth.”
Twin creases formed between his brows. “It’s not a woodsy man-cave?”
“Collin. You can’t have a man-cave with all those windows. With a man-cave, there would be stacks of girlie magazines. And the decor would focus on empty liquor bottles lining the walls.”
He pretended to look wounded. “You’re serious. You see me saving empty liquor bottles to use for decoration, surrounded by girlie magazines....”
“Oh, come on. You know I’m just kidding.”
He shrugged and pointed the beer bottle at the big-screen TV. “Well, I’ve got the right TV anyway. And I get cable up here now, believe it or not—or I do when the cable service isn’t down. Even my cell phone works most of the time.” He grinned that wicked grin of his. “Admit it. You’re impressed.”
“Bowled over.” She took a small sip of the beer he’d given her. “You miss your uncle?”
He gave her a slow nod. “Every day. He taught me all I know about the business and he left it to me with the house when we lost him. My shop’s in the basement.”
“You make the saddles now?”
He sent her a wounded glance. “Who would if I didn’t? You think I keep a bunch of elves down there?”
“Of course not.” But she was surprised. She’d known that Casper Traub had left everything to his favorite nephew, but somehow she hadn’t really thought about what exactly that would mean—and that made her feel a little ashamed. The past few years, she’d been so busy judging him, she’d never stopped to think about who he was as a person, how he might have changed and grown from the wild, rude boy who used to spy on her out in the back pasture.
He got up, got a second beer from the fridge and twisted the top off. “You want one?”
She still had half of hers. “I’m good.”
He came back to her and dropped into his chair again. “What? You’re having trouble believing that I work for a living?” He took a drink, his Adam’s apple sliding up and down in his strong brown throat. “You have one of my saddles in the tack room of your dad’s barn.”
Yet another surprise. “My dad’s precious CT Saddle? You made it?”
“I did.”
“But he got that saddle three years ago.”
“I’ve been making saddles since before high school. Uncle Casper had me working with him as soon as I was tall enough to stand at a workbench.”
“Oh. I...didn’t know.”
He grunted and shook his head. And she felt really bad. He seemed to sense her distress, and leaned across the table toward her. “What’d I do? Willa, come on. You look like you’re about to cry.”
She waved a hand. And then she sighed. “You didn’t do anything. Honestly. It’s only that I’m disappointed in myself, I guess.”
“Why?” He asked it so quietly. Like he didn’t want to push her, but he really did want an answer.
She gave him the
truth. “We live in a very small town, where everyone knows everything about everyone else. Yet, I didn’t know you made the most beautiful saddles in Montana. I didn’t know much at all about you. In high school, I never wanted anyone to know that I was...” Her throat clutched. She gulped to loosen it. “Um, attracted to you. So I made real sure that I acted like I couldn’t care less whenever anyone mentioned your name. That meant I never learned anything about you—about who you really are. Except that everyone said half the girls had been with you and the other half wished they might.”
“Willa...” His voice was husky and his eyes were so soft.
She suddenly felt all warm and quivery inside and she had to force herself to say the rest. “And then, well, after that night at the Ace in the Hole, I was just so...bitter. So angry at you. And that meant I kept on not letting myself know anything about you, kept on judging you without even knowing you. It was all just so narrow-minded and, well, small of me, you know? And I like to think of myself as an open-minded and fair person. But maybe I’m not. Maybe I’m already just an old busybody, listening to rumors, believing the worst about people. Never stopping to find out what’s really going on.”
“You’re too young to be an old busybody.”
She wanted to smile—but he was letting her off too easy. “Don’t be nice to me about this. I don’t deserve it.”
He set down his beer, got up and came around the table to her, dropping to a crouch beside her chair. “Hey.” He took her hand. Heat flowed up her arm, into her heart. And lower down, too. “And I have to tell you, I kind of got a kick out of you avoiding me for four years.”
She groaned. “You didn’t.”
“Oh, yeah. You were so determined. I’d walk in a room—and out you went through the other door.”
“But still. Be honest. It did hurt your feelings a little, didn’t it?”
“I survived.”
She looked down at their joined hands and then back up into those beautiful deep-set eyes of his. “So you forgive me?”
Harlequin Special Edition July 2013 - Bundle 1 of 2: Marooned with the MaverickHer McKnight in Shining ArmorCelebration's Bride Page 11
