Marooned With The Maverick. Christine RimmerЧитать онлайн книгу.
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 at them, but Willa slipped free of his hold and started swimming. Since she seemed to be making it on her own steam, he concentrated on doing the same.
Side by side, they swam for the place where the road rose up out of the ditch. His boots touched ground. Beside him, she found her footing, too—for an instant. Then she staggered and went under.
He grabbed her again, hauling her up, getting one arm around her waist. Lightning tore another hole in the sky and thunder boomed as he half carried, half dragged her up and out of the racing water.
She coughed and sputtered, but she kept her feet moving. The woman had grit. He had to give her that. He kept hold of her, half-supporting her, urging her to the high side of the road and up the hill far enough that they were well above the water and reasonably safe.
They collapsed side by side onto the streaming ground as the rain continued to beat down on them, hard and heavy, never ending. She turned over, got up on her hands and knees and started hacking and coughing, spitting up water. He dragged in one long, hungry breath after another and pounded her back for her, helping her clear her airways so she could breathe. When she was finally doing more breathing than hacking, he fell back on the ground and concentrated on catching his own breath.
Lucky for him, he just happened to turn his head and glance in the direction of his truck about then. The water had risen. Considerably. It was maybe two feet from his front wheels now.
He turned to the waterlogged woman gasping beside him. “Stay here. Do not move. I’ll be right back.”
Swearing low and with feeling, he lurched upright and beat feet on a parallel track with the road. When he got even with his truck, he half ran, half slid down the hill, raced around the rear of the pickup and hauled himself up into the cab. The key was still in the ignition—and the water was lapping around his front wheel wells by then.
He turned it over, released the brake, put it in Reverse and backed to the top of the last rise. Once there, he slammed it in Park again and jumped out to see how things looked behind him.
Not good. The road was flooded in the previous trough. Water in front of him, water behind. The truck was going nowhere until the water receded.
Fair enough. He got back in and parked on the shoulder. Taking his keys with him that time, he left the truck and locked it up.
Then he looked for Willa.
She was gone.
A moment later, Collin spotted her.
She was on her feet and slogging up the long slope of the hill. He knew then where she was headed. There was a big, weathered, rambling structure way at the top—the Christensen barn.
“Willa, what the hell?” he yelled good and loud. “Hold on a minute!”
She didn’t pause, she didn’t turn. Her hair plastered to her head, and her little white T-shirt and snug jeans covered with mud and debris, she just kept on putting one boot in front of the other, heading up that hill.
He was powerfully tempted to let her go.
But who knew what trouble she’d get herself into next? If something happened to her, he’d end up with a guilty conscience for leaving her all by her lonesome. Plus, well, he didn’t have a lot of options himself, at the moment. The floodwaters were all around.
And it might be July, but the rain was a cold rain and the wind was up, too. He needed shelter to wait out the storm and the barn had walls and a roof. It was better than nothing. Willa was going to have to get over her aversion to him, at least until there was somewhere else he could go.
With a grunt of resignation, he climbed the hill after her, tucking his head down, putting one foot in front of the other, as the water streamed over him and his boots made sucking sounds with each step he took.
He caught up to her maybe twenty yards from the barn. She must have heard the sloshing of his boots at last.
She stopped, her arms wrapped around herself to control the shivers that racked her, and whirled to confront him. “Collin.” She tipped her head up and drew her slim shoulders back. Water ran down her cheeks, into her wide mouth and over her chin.
He could see her nipples, hard as rocks, right through her T-shirt and her bra. “What, Willa?”
“Thank you for saving my life.”
“Hey.” He swiped water off his nose. Not that it did any good. “No problem. Can we move it along? It’s pretty