“Astrid! Catch the rope!”
Through blurred vision, she saw him running along the bank. A rope sailed out, a loop at the end. She tried to grab it, missed, and tried again. The rope sank uselessly into the water just out of reach. She struggled toward it, but the water kept pushing it away.
“Hang on! I’m coming in!”
“No!” Her protest sounded weak, but she feared for him. The current was wicked. If he came in, they might both be lost. He should haul in the rope and try again.
But when she looked toward the bank, he wasn’t there, which meant he was in the steam with her, that damned stupid man! He would never find her in this wild torrent. They would both drown, and then—
“Gotcha!” Breathless but triumphant, he hooked one strong arm under her br**sts. “Now be still.”
Unquestioning trust seeped through her, and she became pliant as a kitten caught by the nape of her neck. She’d heard of drowning victims who’d doomed their rescuers by flailing around. She’d already screwed up by driving onto a dangerous bridge. She wouldn’t compound that by sabotaging his rescue efforts.
His labored breathing was punctuated by colorful swear words as he swam with one arm and pulled her along with the other. She hated being a dead weight. Her clothes had to make her even heavier. He was swimming in his clothes, too, and that couldn’t be easy.
The urge to help him was nearly irresistible. But he’d told her to be still. She forced herself to stay limp and let him do all the work. After what seemed like hours, but must have been mere minutes, her heels scraped bottom. She scrambled to stand.
“Be still.” He gulped for air. “I’ll navigate.”
She slumped against him once more, and he hauled her up the bank like a sack of potatoes. At last they lay side by side on their backs in the mud at the top of the gulch. Their gasps mingled with the distant rumble of his truck’s still-running motor and the gurgle of the water that had almost killed them both.
When she could finally speak, she knew what had to come first. “Fletch, I’m so sor—”
Her apology was cut off as he rolled on top of her and took her mouth in a kiss that was part desperation, part conquering hero, and one hundred percent sexual male.
All her repressed desire erupted in a flow of hot lust for this man, and she knew it would never be contained again. Grabbing his head, she kissed him back with a groan of surrender.
His tongue plundered her mouth as his hands eagerly roamed her body. He seemed determined to make sure she was all there, that the water had not swallowed her forever. She wiggled against him, aroused beyond belief by his questing hands and the sensual squish of mud beneath her. Even the scratch of his beard excited her.
They’d cheated death. They were alive. Alive! The jubilation of that filled her with an undeniable need to taste all that life had to offer. Right now, it offered Fletch, the man who’d saved her from drowning, and he deserved any reward he chose to claim. She wanted that magic connection as much or more than he seemed to. If he chose to take her right here in the mud, it would be fine with her.
At first she thought he would. His hands were everywhere—stroking and squeezing with a frenzy that convinced her he had no intention of stopping until he was deep inside her. He fumbled with the snap of her jeans . . . and abruptly paused.
Lifting his head, he stared down at her, and gradually the wildness in his dark eyes gave way to tenderness. His ragged breathing slowed.
“Not like this,” he murmured.
She gazed up at him, hiding nothing.
“You were going to let me, weren’t you?”
She nodded.
“Ah, my sweet Astrid.” He dipped his head again and kissed her softly. His breath was warm against her face. “I’ve already scratched your chin with my beard. We’re going home so we can do this right.” Rolling away from her, he got to his feet.
She sat up, but before she could stand, he was there, scooping her muddy body into his arms. “I can walk!” she squeaked out.
“I like carrying you.”
And it turned out she liked being carried. No man had ever done that before, but then, no man had ever saved her from drowning, either. She nestled against him and felt the rapid beat of his heart keeping time with hers.
She had no doubt of his immediate plans, and the thought of those plans made her heart beat even faster. When they reached his truck, he braced her against the crew cab so he could open the passenger door.
“You should toss me in the back. I’m a mess.”
“No more than me. This truck’s seen mud before.” And he set her gently in the seat. “Buckle up.”
She did, although it hardly seemed necessary. He wouldn’t be driving in traffic, and he sure wouldn’t be speeding along the muddy road. But he was a safety-conscious guy for a reason, so she buckled up.
While doing that, she gave a passing thought to her truck and the medical bag inside. Her phone was gone, too. The reality of losing all that hadn’t penetrated yet.
In fact, nothing about this experience felt quite real. Driving across a semi-submerged bridge wasn’t like her at all. A cautious person, she’d never before been in a life-threatening situation. She used to wonder how she’d react to imminent danger, and now she knew. She’d unfastened the seat belt and jumped. That knowledge filled her with pride and confidence.
But she might not be sitting here in Fletch’s truck, hale and hearty, if he hadn’t come in after her. She looked over at him as he climbed behind the wheel and closed the door. “Thank you for saving my life.” It sounded lame, but she couldn’t think of a better way to put it.
He’d started to fasten his seat belt, and he glanced up mid-motion and frowned. “I sure hope your response to me wasn’t all about gratitude.”
She laughed. Maybe that was inappropriate, but she couldn’t help it. He was so far off base.
Abandoning his seat belt, he reached for her. “You’re not getting hysterical on me, are you? Because I can take you to a clinic. We’ll have to go the long way, but . . . or maybe I should call for a helicopter. You’ve had a shock. I should get you to some—”
“Dear God, Fletch. Please don’t have me airlifted out of here.” She cupped his bristly morning face in both hands. “Especially when you’ve just promised to take me to bed.”
“So you really want to?” He massaged her shoulders. “You’re not just going along with the idea because I saved you and you feel obligated?”
Obligated? That made her giggle some more. “I don’t feel obligated, but you have to admit saving a girl’s life is bound to affect how she feels about a guy.”
His eyes darkened. “I don’t want that to be the reason.”
“It’s not the reason.” She stroked his prickly cheeks. “But it might be the excuse.”
His frown disappeared, and the rakish smile he gave her in its place made him look like a swashbuckling pirate. “Okay, pretty lady. I can live with that. Let’s go home.”
Four
On the way back to the ranch, Fletch took his phone from its holder on the dash and called the sheriff’s office. He wouldn’t want someone to find Astrid’s swamped truck and assume the worst. He said the truck’s owner was safe with him and gave his number as a contact if the truck was spotted.
Then he called his foreman, Herman, and told him about the foal and the bridge being out. “We’ll contact the insurance adjuster about the bridge tomorrow, after the water’s gone down,” he said to Herman. “Meanwhile, it’s been a long night and I plan to get some shut-eye. Please check on Janis and Buddy, but don’t call me unless there’s an emergency.” After he disconnected he looked at Astrid. “That takes care of my situation. What about yours?”
“No one expects to hear from me today. I usually hibernate on Sundays.”
Now that surprised him. “I didn’t know that about you. I thought you might be a type A workaholic.”
“I sort of am, but only six days a week.”
He nodded. “Good to hear. Taking breaks is important.”
“You, on the other hand, probably work seven days a week.”
Having her mention his work schedule was a promising sign. Maybe this wouldn’t be a one-morning stand. He hoped to hell not, but he wasn’t making any assumptions. “Sometimes I work seven days straight,” he said, “but I’ve been meaning to do something about that.” He wasn’t the type to lie in a hammock all day, though. He needed a compelling reason to clear his schedule once a week. Could be he’d found one.
“I notice you didn’t say anything about me when you talked to Herman.”
“Nope. You are none of Herman’s business.”
“What about Edna, your cook?”
“She takes Sunday off, so if you’re hungry, you’ll have to make do with me.”
For some reason she found that funny. Then he thought about what he’d said and realized how she might have taken it. Damned if that didn’t get a rise out of him, in a good but semi-uncomfortable way. Wet denim and a hard c*ck weren’t an optimal combination.
But he intended to take care of both circumstances real quick. Pulling to the back of the ranch house, he turned off the motor and unfastened his seat belt. “I came around back so we can go straight into the laundry room.”