Christine Rimmer - Marooned With The Maverick

She surprised him by replying. “Yes. I can see it. It’s okay, for now….” She sounded strange, he thought. Kind of dreamy and far away. She had a few scratches on her arms. And a bruise on her cheekbone. But like him, no serious injuries. They’d been very fortunate. So far. She added, “It’s all so unbelievable, don’t you think? Like maybe this isn’t even actually happening. Maybe I’m just dreaming it.”

“Sorry, Willa.” He meant that. He was sorry. “I think it’s really happening.”

She sent him a glance. For once, her mouth didn’t pinch up at the sight of him. “I lost my phone.” A shiver went through her and her teeth chattered together. “Do you happen to have yours with you?”

“It’s in my truck, I think. But there must be towers down. I was getting no signal when I tried using it at a little after two.”

Willa sighed and turned back to the window. “Life is so … fragile, really, isn’t it? I mean, you go along, doing what you need to do, thinking you’re taking care of business, that you’re in control. But you’re not in control, not really.” Outside, lightning flared. Thunder rolled out. “Anything could happen,” she said. “It could rain and rain and never stop….” Her lips looked kind of blue, he thought.

He really needed to come up with a way to warm her up a little. Rising, he began to work his way around the barn, looking for a blanket or a tarp or something.

Willa kept talking. “Oh, Collin. I keep thinking of the children in my class last year. And the ones in our summer school program. I can just close my eyes and see each one of their sweet, smiling faces. I hope they’re all safe and dry. Our school, the elementary school? It’s on the south side of town. That’s not good news. And my house is on the south side, too….”

He pushed a goat out of the way as he came to a spot where the wall jogged at a ninety-degree angle. Around that corner was a door. He opened it. “Willa, there’s a tack room here.”

She sighed again. “Yes. That’s right. And a feed room over there.” She put out a hand in the general direction of the other shut door farther down the wall. And then she started in again, about life and the flood and the safety of her friends, her neighbors and her students.

Collin took a look around the tack room. There were the usual rows of hooks holding ropes and bridles and bits. He was a saddle maker by trade and he grinned at the sight of one of his own saddles racked nice and neat, lined up with several others on the wall. There was a window. And another door, allowing outside access.

The floor in there was wood, not mixed clay and sand as it was out in the main part of the barn. And the walls were paneled in pine.

And then he saw the stack of saddle blankets atop a big cedar storage trunk. He went over and grabbed one. Shooing out the goat that had followed him in there, he shut the door and made his way through the milling animals to Willa.

She didn’t even flinch when he wrapped the blanket around her. “Thank you.”

He took her by the shoulders. “Come on. Let’s go….” She went where he guided her, back through the cattle and horses and goats, with the dog right behind them. He let the dog in the tack room with them, and then shut the door to keep the rest of the animals out. There were a few hay bales. He sat her down on one and knelt in front of her.

She frowned down at him. “What are you doing?”

He held her gaze. “Don’t get freaky on me, okay?”

She looked at him in that pinched, suspicious way again. “Why not?”

“You need to get out of those wet clothes. There are plenty of blankets. You can wrap yourself up in them and get dry.”

“But … my clothes won’t dry.”

“It doesn’t matter. Right now, you need to get dry.”

She considered that idea—and shook her head. “I’ll take off my boots and socks. I’ll be all right.”

He decided not to argue with her. “Fine. You need help?”

“No, thank you.” All prim and proper and so polite. “I’ll manage.”

“Are you thirsty?”

She gaped at him. “Thirsty?” And then she let out a wild little laugh. “In this?” She stuck out a hand toward the water streaming down the lone window.

“Are you?”

And she frowned again. “Well, yes. Now that you mention it, I suppose I am.”

He rose. “I’ll see if I can find some clean containers in the barn. We can catch some of the rainwater, so we won’t get dehydrated.”

She blinked up at him. “Yes. That makes sense. I’ll help.” She started to rise.

He took her shoulders again and gently pushed her back down. “Get out of your boots and shoes—and wrap this around your feet.” He held out another blanket.

She took it, her gaze colliding with his. Holding. “What about you?”

“Let me see about setting out containers for water. Then I’ll grab a few blankets and try and warm up a little, too.”

Half an hour later, he had his boots and socks off. They’d pushed four hay bales together and spread a blanket over them. Side by side, wrapped in more blankets, they passed a bucket of water back and forth.

When they’d both drunk their fill, there was still plenty left in the bucket. He set it on the floor, where Buster promptly stuck his nose in it and started lapping. “You don’t happen to have a nice T-bone handy, do you, Willa?”

She chuckled. There wasn’t a lot of humor in the sound, but he took heart that at least she wasn’t staring blindly into space anymore. “Plenty on the hoof right outside that door.” She pointed her thumb over her shoulder at the door that led into the barn.

He scooted back to the wall for something to lean against. “Not that hungry yet.”

“I didn’t think so.” She scooted back, too, settling alongside him, and then spent a moment readjusting the blanket she’d wrapped around her feet. “There.” She leaned back and let out a long breath. “I believe I am actually beginning to thaw out.”

“That was the plan.” Outside, the rain kept falling. The sky remained that same dim gray it had been all day. “Got any idea what time it is?”

“I don’t know. Six, maybe? Seven?” She sounded … softer. A little sleepy. That was good. Rest wouldn’t hurt either of them. “Won’t be dark for hours yet….”

He was feeling kind of drowsy, too, now that he wasn’t chilled to the bone anymore and most of the adrenaline rush from the various near-death events of the day had faded a little. He let his eyelids droop shut.

But then she spoke again. “It’s really very strange, Collin, being here with you like this.”

He grunted. “This whole day has been pretty strange.”

“Yes, it has. And scary. And awful. But, well, that’s not what I meant.”

He knew exactly what she meant. And why was it women always had to dig up stuff that was better left alone? He kept nice and quiet and hoped she wasn’t going there.

But she was. “Maybe this is a good chance to clear the air a little between us.”

“The air is plenty clear from where I’m sitting.”

“Well, Collin, for me, it’s just not.”

“Willa, I—”

“No. Wait. I would like a chance to say what’s on my mind.”

He didn’t let out a groan of protest, but he wanted to.

And she kept right on. “It was very … humiliating for me, that night at the Ace in the Hole.” The Ace was on Sawmill Street. It was the only bar in town. People went there to forget their troubles and usually only ended up creating a whole new set of them. “It was my first time there, did you know? My twenty-first birthday.” She sounded all sad and wistful.

He’d known. “I think you mentioned that at the time, yeah.”