Marooned with the Maverick. Christine Rimmer

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СКАЧАТЬ a rise and, through the heavy curtain of pouring rain, saw another vehicle on the road ahead of him: a red Subaru Forester moving at a dead crawl.

      He knew that Subaru. And he knew who was behind the wheel: Willa Christensen, the kindergarten teacher.

      In spite of everything, the pounding, relentless rain and the flooded road and the pretty-damned-imminent danger, Collin grinned. Since a certain evening a little more than four years before, Willa had been running away from him—and no, he hadn’t been chasing her.

      Yeah, he had something of a reputation. People called him a skirt chaser, a player, the Traub family bad boy. But come on. He had better things to do with his time than sniff around after a woman who wanted nothing to do with him. And since that night four years ago, Willa took off like a shot whenever she saw him coming. Collin found her frantic efforts to get away from him pretty comical, if the truth were known.

      His grin faded. She shouldn’t be out in this mess. The way she drove—so cautious, like some nervous old lady—she was way too likely to misjudge a flooded spot, to get all flustered and stomp the brake and end up trapped in the waters that swamped the low sections of the road.

      He knew where she was headed. The turnoff to the Christensen Ranch wasn’t far past the one to the Triple T. But the way she was handling her vehicle, he didn’t like her odds for getting there in one piece.

      Collin readjusted his priorities, skipping the turn to the Triple T, staying on her tail.

      The rain came down harder—if that was possible. He had the wipers on high, beating fast and hard across the windshield. Thwack thwack thwack thwack. Even on high, they could hardly keep up with the sheer volume of water falling out of the gunmetal-gray sky.

      Lightning flashed, a jagged spear of it striking a twisted oak on a rise up ahead. The red Subaru in front of him lurched to a stop as the old oak crashed to the ground, smoke trailing up in a shower of sparks. Thunder boomed across the valley as the Subaru inched forward once again.

      Every dip in the road held a churning miniflood. Each time Willa drove that little red station wagon down into a trough, Collin held his breath, sure she wouldn’t make it through the swirling waters streaming across the road. But each time, she surprised him. She drove steadily forward at a safe, even crawl. And each time, the swirling water had to surrender her to higher ground. He went through in her wake, gritting his teeth, letting out a long breath of relief when he made it clear, too.

      The sick ball of dread in his gut tightened to a knot when she suddenly hit the gas—no doubt because she’d finally realized that he was the guy in the pickup behind her. Instead of taking it slow and steady as she had been, watching the bad spots on the streaming, rutted road in front of her, suddenly she was all about getting the hell away from him.

      “Damn it, Willa,” he muttered under his breath, as if she might actually hear him. “Slow the hell down….” He leaned on the horn to get her to ease off the accelerator and watch the next dip. It looked pretty deep down there.

      But the honking only seemed to freak her out all the more. She must have lead-footed it right to the floorboards. The Forester shot forward—and then took a nosedive into the water rushing across the low spot in the road.

      It was bad. Deeper than he’d realized. As the vehicle leveled out, she was up to her side windows in churning brown floodwater.

      And going nowhere. She’d swamped it.

      Collin hit the brakes. The pickup came to a stop several feet above the flood. He shoved it into Park, turned off the engine, kicked down the parking brake and jumped out, hitting the rain-slick road at a run. Instantly drenched to the skin, with the rain beating down like it wanted to flatten him, he reached the churning water and waded in.

      The Subaru was already drifting, picked up by the current and, half-floating, pushed toward the lower side of the road. The water was too high to see the danger there, but Collin knew that the bank at that spot dropped off into a ditch. A deep ditch. If the Subaru went over the edge, he’d have a hell of a time getting Willa out before she drowned.

      She’d been raised in the valley, too. She knew what waited at the edge of the road. Inside the station wagon, she was working the door latch, trying to get it to open. She shouted something at him and beat on the window.

      He kept slogging toward her, though the water seemed to grab at him, to drag him back. It was like those dreams you have where you have to get somewhere fast and suddenly your legs are made of lead. It seemed to be getting deeper, the pull of the swirling current more powerful, second by second.

      Half stumbling, half swimming, while the Subaru slowly rotated away from him as it drifted ever closer to the shoulder and the ditch beyond, Collin bent at the knees and launched himself at the driver’s door.

      He made it. His fingers closed around the door handle. He used it to pull his feet under him again.

      “You push, I’ll pull!” he yelled good and loud.

      She just kept pounding on the window, her brown eyes wide with fright.

      He hollered even louder than before, “Push, Willa! Count of three.”

      She must have heard him, must have finally understood. Because she pressed her lips together and nodded, her dark, pulled-back hair coming loose, the soft curls bouncing around her fear-white cheeks. She put her shoulder into the door.

      “One, two, three!” He pulled. She pushed. The door didn’t budge.

      “Again! One, two, three!”

      The miracle happened. The Subaru rotated just enough that the current caught the door as he yanked the handle and she threw her shoulder against it. The damn thing came open with such force it knocked him over.

      He went under. The door hit him in the side of the head. Not all that hard. But still.

      Trying to be a hero? Not the most fun he’d ever had.

      Somehow, he managed to get his waterlogged boots under him and pushed himself upright, breaking the surface in time to see his hat spinning away on the current and Willa flailing, still inside the Subaru as the water poured in on her through the now-open driver’s door.

      Wonderful.

      He went for her, diving through the open door, grabbing for her and catching her arm. He heard her scream—or she tried to. The water cut off most of the high-pitched sound. It kept pouring in, beating at them as it filled the cab.

      They had to get out and get out now.

      He pulled on her arm until he’d turned her, faceup, and then he caught her in a headlock. Okay, it wasn’t delicate. It wasn’t nice and it sure wasn’t gentle. But with his arm around her neck, at least he could turn and throw himself out the door. She grabbed his arm in both her hands, but by then, she seemed to have caught on to what he was trying to do. She wasn’t fighting him anymore. She was only holding on as tight as he was.

      He squirmed around to face the open door. The water shoved him back, but at least the rotation of the vehicle kept the door from swinging shut and trapping them inside. He got his free hand on the door frame, knees bent, boots braced on the side of the seat. Another hard push and they were out just as the Subaru went over the bank into the ditch.

      The weight of the vehicle going under sucked СКАЧАТЬ