She’d honor that and wait for him. Making sure the stall door was securely latched, she walked out of the barn, closed the double door, and fastened the padlock in place. By the time she’d climbed into her pickup, he was on his way, his truck’s headlights swerving as he navigated around puddles in the dirt road from the main house to the barn.
She was glad for his company, even though she’d wanted to save him the trouble. He had to be at least as exhausted as she was. But the road to the bridge was unpaved, and after the rain it would be thick with mud. Her four-wheel-drive should be able to handle it, but in case it couldn’t, she’d be grateful to have him there to help pull her out.
Starting the engine, she put the truck in gear and began the slippery journey to the bridge. Her truck fishtailed a couple of times, and she slowed down. Technically, she was in no hurry.
She’d planned for a relaxing Sunday—catching up on her sleep, doing some laundry, picking up takeout for dinner. She wasn’t seeing her family or friends today, so she could spend the day in bed if she wanted to. When she got home wasn’t particularly important.
Leaving the Rocking G, however, was extremely important. The sooner she did that, the sooner she could assess her situation in the privacy of her own space. In Fletch’s magnetic presence, she couldn’t think straight, and she worried that she’d do something unwise. Like kiss him again.
The memory of that kiss hadn’t faded one iota in the time since he’d released her and stepped away. The velvet imprint of his lips remained on hers, and the thought of how he’d used his tongue got her juices flowing every time. That cowboy certainly knew how to kiss.
If he made love the same way, then the lucky recipient would be in for a real treat. Her imagination conjured up an image of Fletch stripping off his cowboy duds and climbing into bed with her. Mmm. Was she a complete fool to deny herself that kind of pleasure?
The blare of a horn snapped her back to reality. She’d meant to brake before crossing the bridge and assess the potential threat of high water. Lost in thought about a naked and sexy Mr. Grayson, she’d driven onto the bridge without pausing. Oh, well. She was committed now.
The span was about seventy-five feet, and the wooden structure quivered as water surged beneath it. And over it. Too late she saw what she’d missed earlier. The bridge was partly underwater.
Perhaps only an inch or two covered the wooden planks, but the water was moving fast, and her truck’s tires began to lose traction. She gripped the wheel and forged on. Had she stopped to look, she wouldn’t have driven onto the bridge at all, but now she was nearly halfway across. Might as well keep going.
The groan of timbers was her only warning before the bridge collapsed under her. A frantic shout from the bank—Fletch telling her to jump—penetrated her terror for a split second. Then, as if in slow motion, her truck teetered for a moment before beginning to slide into the swirling stream.
Fletch’s command rang in her ears. Unbuckling her seat belt, she reached for the door. Her truck might be lost, but she’d be damned if she’d go down with it. She leaped free right as the truck plummeted into the water.
She hit the surface and it hurt like hell, the same smacking pain as a belly flop into a pool. And God, it was cold. The momentum of her impact took her breath and dragged her under, but she immediately began fighting to get to the surface.
Fletch was out there, and if he knew where she was, if he even caught a glimpse, he’d find a way to pull her out. She knew that more surely than her own name. Holding on to the thought of Fletch was like reaching for a lifeline.
Thrashing her way upward, she broke through the surface of the water. She wanted to yell, but she didn’t have enough air left. Instead she turned upstream and clawed her way through the eddies to get back to the bank where she’d last seen Fletch. The pale dawn would help him see her. In total darkness she would have been lost.
“Astrid! Catch the rope!”
Through blurred vision, she saw him running along the bank. A rope sailed out, a loop at the end. She tried to grab it, missed, and tried again. The rope sank uselessly into the water just out of reach. She struggled toward it, but the water kept pushing it away.
“Hang on! I’m coming in!”
“No!” Her protest sounded weak, but she feared for him. The current was wicked. If he came in, they might both be lost. He should haul in the rope and try again.
But when she looked toward the bank, he wasn’t there, which meant he was in the steam with her, that damned stupid man! He would never find her in this wild torrent. They would both drown, and then—
“Gotcha!” Breathless but triumphant, he hooked one strong arm under her breasts. “Now be still.”
Unquestioning trust seeped through her, and she became pliant as a kitten caught by the nape of her neck. She’d heard of drowning victims who’d doomed their rescuers by flailing around. She’d already screwed up by driving onto a dangerous bridge. She wouldn’t compound that by sabotaging his rescue efforts.
His labored breathing was punctuated by colorful swear words as he swam with one arm and pulled her along with the other. She hated being a dead weight. Her clothes had to make her even heavier. He was swimming in his clothes, too, and that couldn’t be easy.
The urge to help him was nearly irresistible. But he’d told her to be still. She forced herself to stay limp and let him do all the work. After what seemed like hours, but must have been mere minutes, her heels scraped bottom. She scrambled to stand.
“Be still.” He gulped for air. “I’ll navigate.”
She slumped against him once more, and he hauled her up the bank like a sack of potatoes. At last they lay side by side on their backs in the mud at the top of the gulch. Their gasps mingled with the distant rumble of his truck’s still-running motor and the gurgle of the water that had almost killed them both.
When she could finally speak, she knew what had to come first. “Fletch, I’m so sor—”
Her apology was cut off as he rolled on top of her and took her mouth in a kiss that was part desperation, part conquering hero, and one hundred percent sexual male.
All her repressed desire erupted in a flow of hot lust for this man, and she knew it would never be contained again. Grabbing his head, she kissed him back with a groan of surrender.
His tongue plundered her mouth as his hands eagerly roamed her body. He seemed determined to make sure she was all there, that the water had not swallowed her forever. She wiggled against him, aroused beyond belief by his questing hands and the sensual squish of mud beneath her. Even the scratch of his beard excited her.
They’d cheated death. They were alive. Alive! The jubilation of that filled her with an undeniable need to taste all that life had to offer. Right now, it offered Fletch, the man who’d saved her from drowning, and he deserved any reward he chose to claim. She wanted that magic connection as much or more than he seemed to. If he chose to take her right here in the mud, it would be fine with her.
At first she thought he would. His hands were everywhere—stroking and squeezing with a frenzy that convinced her he had no intention of stopping until he was deep inside her. He fumbled with the snap of her jeans . . . and abruptly paused.
Lifting his head, he stared down at her, and gradually the wildness in his dark eyes gave way to tenderness. His ragged breathing slowed.
“Not like this,” he murmured.
She gazed up at him, hiding nothing.
“You were going to let me, weren’t you?”
She nodded.
“Ah, my sweet Astrid.” He dipped his head again and kissed her softly. His breath was warm against her face. “I’ve already scratched your chin with my beard. We’re going home so we can do this right.” Rolling away from her, he got to his feet.
She sat up, but before she could stand, he was there, scooping her muddy body into his arms. “I can walk!” she squeaked out.
“I like carrying you.”
And it turned out she liked b
eing carried. No man had ever done that before, but then, no man had ever saved her from drowning, either. She nestled against him and felt the rapid beat of his heart keeping time with hers.
She had no doubt of his immediate plans, and the thought of those plans made her heart beat even faster. When they reached his truck, he braced her against the crew cab so he could open the passenger door.
“You should toss me in the back. I’m a mess.”
“No more than me. This truck’s seen mud before.” And he set her gently in the seat. “Buckle up.”
She did, although it hardly seemed necessary. He wouldn’t be driving in traffic, and he sure wouldn’t be speeding along the muddy road. But he was a safety-conscious guy for a reason, so she buckled up.
While doing that, she gave a passing thought to her truck and the medical bag inside. Her phone was gone, too. The reality of losing all that hadn’t penetrated yet.
In fact, nothing about this experience felt quite real. Driving across a semi-submerged bridge wasn’t like her at all. A cautious person, she’d never before been in a life-threatening situation. She used to wonder how she’d react to imminent danger, and now she knew. She’d unfastened the seat belt and jumped. That knowledge filled her with pride and confidence.
But she might not be sitting here in Fletch’s truck, hale and hearty, if he hadn’t come in after her. She looked over at him as he climbed behind the wheel and closed the door. “Thank you for saving my life.” It sounded lame, but she couldn’t think of a better way to put it.
He’d started to fasten his seat belt, and he glanced up mid-motion and frowned. “I sure hope your response to me wasn’t all about gratitude.”
She laughed. Maybe that was inappropriate, but she couldn’t help it. He was so far off base.
Abandoning his seat belt, he reached for her. “You’re not getting hysterical on me, are you? Because I can take you to a clinic. We’ll have to go the long way, but . . . or maybe I should call for a helicopter. You’ve had a shock. I should get you to some—”
“Dear God, Fletch. Please don’t have me airlifted out of here.” She cupped his bristly morning face in both hands. “Especially when you’ve just promised to take me to bed.”
“So you really want to?” He massaged her shoulders. “You’re not just going along with the idea because I saved you and you feel obligated?”
Obligated? That made her giggle some more. “I don’t feel obligated, but you have to admit saving a girl’s life is bound to affect how she feels about a guy.”
His eyes darkened. “I don’t want that to be the reason.”
“It’s not the reason.” She stroked his prickly cheeks. “But it might be the excuse.”
His frown disappeared, and the rakish smile he gave her in its place made him look like a swashbuckling pirate. “Okay, pretty lady. I can live with that. Let’s go home.”
Four
On the way back to the ranch, Fletch took his phone from its holder on the dash and called the sheriff’s office. He wouldn’t want someone to find Astrid’s swamped truck and assume the worst. He said the truck’s owner was safe with him and gave his number as a contact if the truck was spotted.
Then he called his foreman, Herman, and told him about the foal and the bridge being out. “We’ll contact the insurance adjuster about the bridge tomorrow, after the water’s gone down,” he said to Herman. “Meanwhile, it’s been a long night and I plan to get some shut-eye. Please check on Janis and Buddy, but don’t call me unless there’s an emergency.” After he disconnected he looked at Astrid. “That takes care of my situation. What about yours?”
“No one expects to hear from me today. I usually hibernate on Sundays.”
Now that surprised him. “I didn’t know that about you. I thought you might be a type A workaholic.”
“I sort of am, but only six days a week.”
He nodded. “Good to hear. Taking breaks is important.”
“You, on the other hand, probably work seven days a week.”
Having her mention his work schedule was a promising sign. Maybe this wouldn’t be a one-morning stand. He hoped to hell not, but he wasn’t making any assumptions. “Sometimes I work seven days straight,” he said, “but I’ve been meaning to do something about that.” He wasn’t the type to lie in a hammock all day, though. He needed a compelling reason to clear his schedule once a week. Could be he’d found one.
“I notice you didn’t say anything about me when you talked to Herman.”
“Nope. You are none of Herman’s business.”
“What about Edna, your cook?”
“She takes Sunday off, so if you’re hungry, you’ll have to make do with me.”
For some reason she found that funny. Then he thought about what he’d said and realized how she might have taken it. Damned if that didn’t get a rise out of him, in a good but semi-uncomfortable way. Wet denim and a hard cock weren’t an optimal combination.
But he intended to take care of both circumstances real quick. Pulling to the back of the ranch house, he turned off the motor and unfastened his seat belt. “I came around back so we can go straight into the laundry room.”
“And that way we don’t advertise that I rode back here with you. I appreciate that.”
He gazed at her. “I’m not too worried about the folks who work on my ranch gossiping. If I ask them to keep their mouths shut, they will.”
“I’d rather not have to ask them.”
That made life a little more complicated, but he could deal. “Okay, then, here’s the plan. We go into the laundry room, shuck our clothes, throw them in the washer, and turn it on. Then—”
“What if we get turned on before the washer does?” Laughter danced in her blue eyes.
“I suppose we will, smart aleck.” He was glad she’d recovered enough from her harrowing experience to tease him. “But if we don’t start the washer first, I guarantee we’ll forget all about the damned thing and you won’t have any clothes to wear home.”
“Good point.”
“Just trying to protect your reputation, ma’am.”
Her gaze softened. “You’re a sweet man, Fletch.”
“Ouch. You really know how to hurt a guy.”
“It was a compliment!”
“Maybe to you, but sweet men usually lose out to the reckless and dashing kind. I’d rather you thought of me that way.”
“I can’t go with reckless. But you might have to deal with me calling you a hero, since you did just save my life. As for dashing, well, your beard gives you a real shot at that.”
“Yeah?” He rubbed a hand over his chin and winced. “Too bad. It’s history.” He pocketed his keys and opened his door. “Stay put. I’ll come around and get you.”
“That’s silly. I’m not some china doll who needs to be handled with care.” She unsnapped her seat belt. “I can get out on my own.”
He paused and turned back to her. “Obviously you don’t understand that I look for every excuse to touch you. Stay put.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh.”
“Yeah, oh. Lifting you in and out of the truck makes me feel very macho, and you feel really good, so indulge me.” She also might not be as steady on her pins as she thought.
“All right.” Her voice had a cute little quiver to it, like maybe that idea was exciting to her.
When he came around to her side of the truck and opened the door, she held out her arms. “Please help me down, you big strong man, you.”
“You try my patience, woman.” But he lifted her out of the truck, and to his delight, she wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his hips. “That’s more like it.” He held her close and climbed the steps to the back door.
“Sorry. I didn’t know the drill.”
“You’re kidding. Nobody’s ever carried you before?” He fished out his keys and unlocked the door.
“Not since I was five.”
“Then some guy’s missing the boat.” He got
her inside just as the rain started up again. “A little thing like you is perfect for this.” He had to wonder what kind of wimpy men she’d dated, but he didn’t want to spend a whole lot of time on that subject. Thinking of her with other men could be crazy-making.
The laundry room was neat and smelled of soap and clean towels. Edna did light housekeeping for him, too, although he was a fair hand with a vacuum cleaner when necessary. Kicking the door shut, he set Astrid on the nearest available surface, which happened to be the dryer.
Then he stood back and just looked at her, astounded that she was here—and that she wanted to have sex with him. “Take off your clothes.”
“Wow, that’s romantic.”
He cursed softly. “If I take them off, we’ll never accomplish getting the washing machine started.” He leaned against the wall and pulled off his boot. “I won’t even watch you do it.” After taking off the second boot, he turned away and began unbuttoning his shirt.
“Yes, but I can watch you.”
“Don’t.” He pulled off the wet shirt and tossed it to the floor. “Focus.”
Her soft laughter surrounded him like soap bubbles. “I’ve fantasized for months about seeing you naked. I’m not going to miss watching you strip.”
He turned, his hands at the waistband of his jeans, and sure enough, she was staring at him. She hadn’t removed a stitch of clothing. No, wait. She’d taken off her boots, which lay where she’d dropped them on the floor.
Blowing out a breath, he walked over to stand in front of her. “Guess this is up to me, after all.” He reached for the top button on her blouse.
“Just don’t forget to start the washer.”
He looked into her eyes, and they burned with the same fire that licked through his veins. “You’re a devil, you know that?” He kept unbuttoning.
Her smile taunted him. “You bring it out in me with all that macho he-man stuff.”
His cock stiffened so forcefully that he sucked in a breath. “Careful, lady.” He finished with the buttons but avoided looking at her breasts as he slid the shirt over her arms. “You’re taunting the beast.”
Tempted by a Cowboy Page 3
