Long Road Home. Vicki Thompson Lewis

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СКАЧАТЬ soaked his Adventure Trekking T-shirt and hiking shorts, and burrowed into his hiking boots.

      “Wait!” she called out. “You don’t have to—”

      “Yeah, I do. Can’t leave a damsel in distress.” He slogged around the front of the truck, his boots making a sucking sound with every step. First he opened his passenger door and then turned toward her Jeep. “Let’s get your bags in there first. Do you have an umbrella?”

      “No such luck.” She opened her door and passed him two large zippered totes.

      “Got ‘em.” Water ran in rivulets down his face, but now that her door was open he could see the rest of her if he blinked the rain away. She had a great figure, nicely showcased by jeans and a black scoop-necked top. Then he noticed her feet. Dear God, was she wearing high heels? Not good. “Stay put. I’ll come back for you.”

      “No need. I’ll take off my shoes and roll up my pant legs for the trip over.”

      “It’ll be better if I carry you,” he called over his shoulder as he navigated the short but muddy stretch between her Jeep and his truck. He put the totes on the floor of the cab and turned back to her.

      She had one bare foot propped on the edge of the seat as she rolled her pant leg up and her toes had some sort of glittery stuff on them. Her left arm and leg were already wet from the rain coming in the open door.

      “You really don’t want to step out here. It’s nasty.”

      “It’s only mud.” She glanced up at him, her blue gaze resolute. “You can go back to your truck. I’ll be right there.”

      “But I’m already a mess. If I carry you over, you won’t have to be.”

      She looked him up and down. “Yes, but the footing is terrible. You could easily slip, and then where would we be?”

      He swiped the rain away from his eyes. “I won’t slip.” By now his boots were so full of water they’d keep him well stabilized.

      “I’m sure you wouldn’t mean to slip, but how often do you carry a person who weighs a hundred and … twenty through the mud?”

      He couldn’t help grinning. Women and their weight issues. “More often than you’d suppose. I’m a wilderness guide, and I’m certified for search and rescue. In other words, I’m a professional.”

      “Oh. That explains the Adventure Trekking logo on your truck and your shirt.”

      “Exactly. I could carry you even if you weighed one-thirty.” He was guessing at how much she’d subtracted from her actual weight.

      Her cheeks turned pink and her chin lifted. “One-twenty-six.”

      She wore it well, too. “Come on. Just let me do my thing. It would be a shame to get those sparkly toes all covered with muck.”

      “They’d wash off, but … all right, Wyatt Locke of Adventure Trekking. You’re getting soaked, and you’ve convinced me I’m just being stubborn.”

      “I wasn’t going to say that.”

      “I believe you, and that kind of restraint is impressive.” She smiled at him. “Let me put my shoes in my purse before you hoist me out of here.”

      He waited as the rain plastered his clothes to his body. He hadn’t been this wet fully clothed since the time he’d fallen in the Snake River on a canoe trip two years ago.

      “Ready.” She hung her purse strap around her neck and scooted out from behind the wheel. “Can you get the door once I’m out?”

      “Uh-huh.” Moving into a half crouch, he slid one arm under her knees and the other behind her shoulder blades. She felt warm, soft and infinitely huggable. If it were up to him, she wouldn’t lose an ounce of that one-twenty-six. “Put your arms around my neck.”

      She did, bringing with her a tantalizing scent of jasmine.

      He was starting to enjoy himself. “On the count of three. One, two, three.” He lifted her, taking care not to bang her head on the door frame, and stood slowly as she nestled against him. “Okay?”

      “Yes.”

      He was more than okay. Coming to the aid of a beautiful woman—he’d upgraded her from pretty to beautiful—was a rewarding experience. Besides getting points for gallantry, he was required to cuddle with said woman for a brief time, all in the name of a heroic rescue. He turned toward his truck.

      “Don’t forget the door.”

      “Right.” Which he had. The sensual pleasure of holding her had short-circuited his brain.

      Rotating in place, he nudged the door with his left knee. The sideways tilt of the Jeep meant gravity was in his favor, and the door swung closed with a solid clunk. But using his knee to close the door threw him slightly off balance.

      She let out a little cry of alarm and tightened her hold on his neck. “Don’t you dare drop me!”

      “Easy does it. We’re fine.” He regained his balance and adjusted his hold. God, she felt good in his arms. Part of that was her welcome warmth against his chilled body, but he could get that from a hot water bottle. She was a lot more satisfying to hold, and he was reminded that he’d been so busy working in the past year or so that he’d abandoned his social life.

      The trip to his truck took maybe five seconds, and he cherished every one. Too soon he had to lean down and slide her onto the fabric seat, which was also wet after having the door open so long. “There you go.”

      “Thank you.” She scrambled onto the seat and unhooked her purse from around her neck. He thought she’d go for her shoes, but instead she put the purse on the floor with the bags and started running her fingers up through her wet hair as if trying to save the look she’d started out with.

      Shrugging, he closed the door and sloshed around to the driver’s side. A woman’s concern with her appearance was usually a warning signal for him after all the years he’d spent watching his mother obsess about her hair, makeup and clothes. But he didn’t know this particular woman well enough to make snap judgments.

      Hell, he didn’t even know her name. Climbing into the truck, he closed the door and fastened his seat belt. She was still futzing with her hair. “It looks fine,” he said.

      She laughed and finger-combed it back from her face. “I’m sure it doesn’t, but thanks for saying that. I’m Olivia, by the way. Olivia Sedgewick. And I appreciate you rescuing me and keeping my feet clean.”

      “You’re welcome, Olivia. Nice to meet you.” And he meant it sincerely. He flashed her a smile for added emphasis.

      “The thing is, I’m a beautician, so I like to arrive at an appointment somewhat pulled together.”

      “You have an appointment at the ranch?” He put the truck in gear, and after a moment’s hesitation while the tires worked out of the mud, it moved forward.

      “Uh-huh.” She took her trendy heels out of her purse and slipped them on her feet. “Sarah hired me СКАЧАТЬ