Leanne Banks - The Maverick & the Manhattanite

“That’s good to know,” Lissa said. “I’ll try to meet him as soon as I can.”

Taking a turn, he headed in a different direction. “One of the biggest losses was the elementary school. Teachers are holding classes in their homes. The town just doesn’t have the money to rebuild.”

“That’s terrible,” she said, making notes in a small notebook. “I’d like to make that a priority in terms of raising funds.”

“This is the flood zone. Most of the houses were lost or damaged on these streets, including my sister’s house.”

“Can we stop so I can take a look inside the homes?”

“Sure,” he said, pulling his car to the side of the road. He took her inside an unlocked house.

“Wow, the door isn’t locked. Have you had trouble with looting?” she asked.

“Not so much. People took their valuables when they moved in with family or into the area where most of the trailers are,” he said.

She nodded as she stepped inside and looked around. She tapped on the wooden floor with her foot. “This is good,” she said as she looked around the bare room. “They’ve pulled out most of the sources for mold. Furniture, draperies. Even pulled out the dry wall and insulation.”

“Some people cooperated and others just took off. We moved out the furniture next door, but the owners haven’t touched the drywall.”

She bit her lip. “That makes things more challenging, but I have some mold specialists coming in during the next few days. They’ll make assessments and start work on our top priority places.”

“I was wondering how you were going to get any professionals here since we’re in the middle of nowhere. We’ve taxed our contacts in Thunder Canyon and Kalispell to the max, but those folks need to make a living, too. They can’t work for free forever,” he said.

She looked at him and nodded. “That’s why I’m here—to fill in those gaps. I remember reading about the trailer village. I’ve been able to get a few more for the specialists to share since they’ll be around for a while. I’m going to have weekly volunteer groups staying at the church. Can you show me more of the damaged areas?”

“Sure,” he said as she walked past him to leave the house. Despite her work boots, he noticed she had a nice little wiggle in her walk and she smelled more like a woman than a girl. Her dark and spicy scent was at odds with her fresh face and natural hair. She was more practical than he’d expected, Gage thought. She could be distracting and he didn’t need that.

Gage drove out toward several ranches that had been damaged and had lost animals and he noticed Lissa continued to take notes. “Such a shame, but we’re here to make it better. It’s amazing how this seemed to happen in an instant. When New York flooded, at least we got some notice. Did you have any damage at your ranch?”

“My first floor was pretty much ruined. I lost a lot of personal papers and some photographs. I’m living in a temporary trailer at the moment,” he said.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said, sympathy sliding through her voice like cool water on hot skin. “That must have been horrible.”

Gage thought of the mayor who’d died in the flood and everything inside him refused her kindness. “I got off easy,” he snapped. “Some people lost their lives.”

“Yes, of course,” she said in an apologetic tone. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I think you’ve probably seen enough to get you started. I’ll take you back to the rooming house,” he said tersely. As much as Gage wanted help for Rust Creek, he hadn’t expected that being around the relief worker would remind him of all he’d been unable to do to help the people stranded by the flood because he’d been out of town. He’d spent every spare minute since the flood trying to help citizens get back on their feet, but the process was slow. Too slow for him.

* * *

Lissa climbed the creaky wooden steps to her room, feeling as if someone had taken the wind out of her sails. She’d started out the day filled with hope and determination, and even though the lingering devastation from the flood tugged at her, she’d felt optimistic as the sheriff showed her around.

Of course, it didn’t hurt that he was tall and lean with muscles in all the right places, and he walked with a sexy, confident stroll that she suspected could turn into a fast run at the right moment. She liked his deep voice. Everything about him seemed sure. He might have his doubts and regrets about a few things, but Lissa sensed that Gage was okay in his own skin and didn’t waste time wondering what people thought of him.

At the same time, his brooding gaze suggested a bit of sadness. She could tell he felt the burden of helping his community since the flood. She just wished she hadn’t set him off with her sympathy for his own property loss. She should have known better. Rust Creek Falls had been suffering for months and Gage had a firsthand view of most of it.

Opening the door to the bedroom that would be her home for the next month, she glanced at the comfy-looking bed, chest of drawers, minifridge and coffeemaker. She was surprised to see a sandwich, chips and water on a tray for her with a note. “Thought you could use this after your long day. Let us know how we can help. Melba.”

Lissa smiled. The thoughtfulness of Melba Strickland, the boardinghouse’s owner, soothed her. This never would have happened to her in Manhattan. That was for sure. She tugged off her boots and went to the tiny bathroom to wash her hands and splash her face. All she wanted was to jump into her pj’s, gobble down that sandwich and hit the sack. She opened her suitcase on the luggage rack and decided she’d unpack some other time. Digging down into the bottom, she found a box she couldn’t remember packing. She pulled it out and opened it: two bottles of red wine. Lissa laughed. This must have been her roommate’s gift.

Shaking her head, she put the box in her suitcase and pulled out her pj’s. She didn’t need wine. She needed a good night of sleep and the shot of optimism she hoped it would bring.

* * *

Gage didn’t pull into his dirt driveway until after eleven o’clock. He stopped by the Martins’ ranch, where he was helping Bob Martin redo the kitchen floor. The family hoped to be back in the house by Thanksgiving, but it was going to be close. Gage wasn’t a certified plumber or electrician, but growing up with his dad had provided him with a lot of practical do-it-yourself knowledge.

He would ask Lissa Roarke if she could send her mold specialists over to the Martins. He thought of her and her long, curly hair and upbeat attitude. Inhaling deeply, he could almost smell her perfume.

Gage scowled at himself. What was he thinking? He’d just met Lissa and he could tell she was city through and through. Not at all his type. He’d dated a couple city girls during his early twenties who’d visited relatives in Rust Creek Falls, and he’d quickly learned that the women didn’t have any staying power and needed more amusements than this small town could offer.

Stepping out of his car, he felt a chilly wind sweep through him. He shivered and hustled to the trailer he was living in now. If Gage had devoted himself to repairing his own home, he could have been in it a month ago, but it just didn’t seem right to him. Entire families had been uprooted by the flood, so he spent most evenings trying to give those most affected a hand. Even though people were in need, they were more than willing to help their neighbors. That was a fact of life in Rust Creek and it was one of the reasons he’d allowed himself to be talked into running for sheriff.

There may have been times when he’d thought about leaving Montana, but his roots here ran deep. His family and the people were important to him. Ranching was in his blood. Gage stepped inside the trailer and felt the wind shake and rattle through his metal home. Chuckling to himself, he rubbed his hands together before he turned on his coffeemaker. Sometimes he felt like he was living in a tin can. He would get around to fixing his own home after he’d helped more of the families who were suffering.