Million-Dollar Maverick

In the central hall, a box of linens waited for her to carry them upstairs to the extra bath. She dug out two big towels and returned to the kitchen. “Catch.” She tossed him one.

He snatched it from the air. They dried off as much as possible, then she took his towel from him and went to toss them in the hamper. When she got back to him, he was standing in the breakfast nook, studying a group of framed photographs she’d left on the table last night.

She quickly worked her long wet hair into a soggy braid. “I’m going to hang those pictures together on that wall behind you.” And then she gestured at the boxes stacked against that same wall. “As soon as I get all that put away, I mean.”

He picked up one of the pictures. “You were a cute little kid.”

She had no elastic bands handy, so she left the end of the wet braid untied. “You go for braces and knobby knees?”

“Like I said. Cute. Especially the pigtails.” He glanced at her, a warm, speculative glance. “An only child?”

“That’s right.” She went to the counter and started putting the groceries away. “They divorced when I was ten. My mother died a couple of years ago. My father remarried. He and his second wife live in Vermont.”

He set the picture down with the others. “I’m sorry about your mom.”

She put the eggs in the fridge. “Thanks. She was great. I miss her a lot.”

“Half siblings?”

“Nope. They travel a lot, my dad and my stepmom. They like visiting museums and staying in fine hotels in Europe, going on cruises to exotic locales. He really wasn’t into kids, you know? My mom loved camping, packing up the outdoor gear and sleeping under the stars in the national parks. So did I. But my dad? He always acted like he was doing us a favor, that having to deal with sleeping outside and using public restrooms was beneath him. And having a kid cramped his style. I never felt all that close to him, to tell you the truth. And after he and my mom split up, I hardly saw him— Sheesh. Does that sound whiny or what?”

He watched her for a moment. And then he shrugged. “Not whiny. Honest. I like that about you.”

She felt ridiculously gratified. “I... Thank you.”

He nodded, slowly. They stared at each other too long, the way they had back at the store.

And then she realized that one of them should probably say something. So she piped up with, “On a brighter note, I have a couple of girlfriends in Chicago who are like sisters to me. They’ll be coming to visit me here one of these days— Beer?”

He left the pictures and came to stand at the end of the granite counter. “Sure.”

She got a longneck from the fridge. “Glass?”

“Just the bottle.” He took it, screwed off the top and downed a nice, big gulp. She watched his Adam’s apple working, admired the way his wet shirt clung to his deep, hard chest. He set the bottle on the counter and ran those lean, strong fingers through his wet hair. “You leave anyone special behind in Chicago?”

She stopped with the carton of milk held between her two hands. “I told you. My girlfriends.”

He picked up the beer, tipped it to his mouth, then changed his mind and didn’t drink from it. “I wasn’t talking about girlfriends.”

She didn’t really want to go there. But then, well, why not just get it over with? “There was a doctor, at the hospital where I worked. A surgeon.”

“It didn’t work out?”

“No, it did not.” She glanced toward the bay window that framed the breakfast nook. The rain kept coming down. The wind was up, too. “Listen to that wind.”

He nodded. “It’s wild out there, all right.” Lightning flashed then, and thunder rumbled in the distance. Callie put the milk in the fridge and threw the ruined paper bags away. He held up his beer bottle. “I’ll finish this up and get out of your hair.”

She had plenty of boxes left to unpack, and the sooner he went home, the sooner she could get going on that. Still, she heard herself offering, “Stick around. Faith Harper brought me a jumbo baking dish full of chicken divan last night. I have plenty left if you want to join me.”

He took his hat off the counter and then dropped it back down. “You sure?”

She realized she was. Absolutely. “Yes.”

Half an hour later, he’d cleared all the stuff off the table and set it for them with dishes she’d unpacked the night before. She’d cut up a salad and baked a quick batch of packaged drop biscuits. He said yes to a second beer and she poured herself a glass of wine. They sat down to eat.

After a couple bites, he said, “I remember this casserole. Faith’s mom always brought it to all the church potlucks. It was a big hit. The water chestnuts make a nice touch.”

Callie chuckled and shook her head.

“What?” he demanded.

“I don’t know. It’s just... Well, that’s a small town for you. I love it. I give you chicken divan and you can tell me its history.”

He ate another bite. “It’s the best.” He took a biscuit, buttered it, set down his knife. “So how do you like working with Emmet?”

“What’s not to like? He really is the sweetest man, and he’s good, you know, with the patients. Everyone loves him, me included.” She sipped her wine. “The equipment we’re working with, however, is another story altogether.”

His brows drew together. “I thought Emmet got some grants after the flood, that everything was back in shape again.”

“That’s right. He had the building restored. It is in good shape now, and he saved most of the equipment by moving it to the upper floor before the levee broke. But was all that stuff even worth saving? It’s a long way from state of the art, you know? The diagnostic equipment is practically as old as I am. And the exam table cushions are so worn, they’re starting to split.”

“You’re saying you need funding?” He was looking at her strangely, kind of taking her measure....

“What?” she said sharply. Did she have broccoli between her teeth or something?

“Hey, I’m just asking.” That strange expression had vanished—if it had ever been there at all.

She spoke more gently. “Yeah, we could use a serious infusion of cash. So if you know anybody looking to give away their money, send them our way.”

“I’ll do that,” he said. And then he picked up his fork and dug into his food again.

A few minutes later, he helped her clear the table. It was a little after seven. If he left soon, she could still get a couple more hours of unpacking done before calling it a night.

But the longer he stayed, the more she didn’t want him to go.

In the back of her mind, a warning voice whispered that she was giving him the wrong signals, that she was supposed to be swearing off men for a while, that she might be really attracted to him, but her friend Paige Traub had called him a douche—and he’d acted like one the first time they met. Plus, well, he kept saying he was moving away, and she never wanted to live anywhere else but Rust Creek Falls.

It couldn’t go anywhere. And the last thing she needed was to get herself all tied in knots over a guy who wouldn’t be sticking around.

But then, instead of waiting for him to say how he should get going, she opened her big mouth and offered, “Coffee? And if you’re lucky, I may even have a bag of Oreos around here somewhere....”

He rinsed his plate in the sink and handed it to her. “Oreos, did you say?”

“Oh, yes, I did.”

“And I know you’ve got milk. I saw you put it away.”

She bent to slide the plate into the lower dishwasher rack. “Have I found your weakness?”

He moved in a step closer. “There are just some things a man can’t resist....”

She shut the dishwasher door and rose to face him, aware of the warmth of him, so close, of the gold striations in those moss-green eyes, of how she loved the shape of his mouth, with that clear indentation at the bow and the sexy fullness of his lower lip.

He lifted a hand and brushed his fingers along the bare skin of her arm, bringing a lovely little shiver racing across her skin. Outside, the sky lit up and thunder rolled away into the distance. The rain just kept pouring down, making a steady drumming sound on the roof.

She whispered, “Nate...”

And his fingers moved over her shoulder, down her back. He gave a light, teasing tug on her unbound braid. “I keep thinking of those pictures of you, with your braces and your pigtails. I’ll bet you had a mouth on you even then.”

This close, she could smell his aftershave, and beneath that, the healthy scent of his skin. “What do you mean, a mouth?”

“You know. Sassy. Opinionated.”

Her lips felt kind of dry, suddenly. She started to stick out her tongue to moisten them but caught herself just in time and ended up nervously pressing her lips together. “I am not sassy.” She meant it to sound firm, strong. But somehow, it came out all breathless and soft.

He chuckled, rough and kind of low. She felt that chuckle down to her toes. It seemed to rub along her nerve endings, setting off sparks. “Yeah,” he said. “You are. Sassy as they come.”

“Uh-uh.”

“Uh-huh.”

“No, Nate.”

“Yes, Callie.” Now his voice was tender.

And she felt warm all over. Warm and tingly and somehow weightless. She’d gone up on her tiptoes and was swaying toward him, like a daisy yearning toward the sun.

His hand was on her shoulder now, rubbing, caressing. And then he said her name again, the word barely a whisper. And then he did what she longed for him to do. He pulled her closer, so she could feel the heat of him all along the front of her body, feel the softness of her own breasts pressed to that broad, hard chest of his.

He made a low questioning sound. And in spite of all her doubts, she didn’t even hesitate. She answered with a slow, sure nod, her eyes locked to his as his mouth came down.

And then, in the space of a breath, those lips of his were touching hers, gently. Carefully, too. To the soft, incessant roar of the rain, the constant harsh whistling of the wind, she lifted her arms and wrapped them around his neck, parting her lips for him, letting him in.

The kiss started to change. From something so sweet it made her soul ache to something hotter, deeper. Dangerous.

A low growling sound escaped him. It seemed to echo all through her, that sound. And then his tongue slid between her lips, grazing her teeth. She shivered in excitement and wrapped her arms tighter around him.

He held her tighter, too, gathering her into him, his big hands now splayed across her back, rubbing, stroking, while she lifted up and into him, fitting her body to his, feeling that weakness and hunger down in the core of her and the growing hardness of him pressed so close against her.

Her mind was spinning and her body was burning and her heart beat in time to the throb of desire within her.

Bad idea, to have kissed him. She knew that, she did—and yet, somehow, at that moment, she didn’t even care. She was on fire. Worse, she was right on the verge of dragging the man down the hall to her bedroom, where they could do something even more foolish than kissing.

But before she could take his hand, the whole kitchen lit up in a wash of glaring light so bright she saw it even with her eyes closed. She gasped.

Lightning. It was lightning.

And then thunder exploded, so close and loud it felt as if it was right there in the kitchen with them.

Callie cried out, and her eyes popped wide open. Nate opened his eyes, too. They stared at each other.

He muttered, “What the hell?”

She whispered, “That was way too close,” not really sure if she meant the lightning strike—or what had almost happened between the two of them.

He only kept on watching her, his eyes hot and wild.

And right then, the lights went out.

“Terrific,” Callie muttered. “What now?”

It wasn’t dark out yet—but the rain and the cloud cover made it seem so. He was a tall shadow, filling the space in front of her, as her eyes adjusted to the gloom.

That had been some kiss. Callie needed a moment to collect her shattered senses. Judging by the way Nate braced his hand on the counter and hung his head, she guessed he was having a similar problem.

Finally, he said, “I’ll check the breaker box. Got a flashlight?”

She had two, somewhere in the boxes still stacked against the wall. But she knew where another one was. “In my SUV.”

So he followed her out to her garage, where she got him the flashlight and then trailed after him over to the breaker box on the side wall. The breakers were perfectly aligned in two even rows.

He turned to her, shining the flashlight onto the concrete floor, so it gave some light but didn’t blind her. The rain sounded even louder out here, a steady, unremitting roar on the garage roof. He said what she already knew. “None of the breakers have flipped. I had all the wiring in the house replaced. This box is the best there is. I’m thinking it’s not a faulty breaker. A tree must have fallen on a line, or a transformer’s blown.” The eerie light bouncing off the floor exaggerated the strong planes and angles of his face.

She stared up at him, feeling the pull, resisting the really dumb urge to throw herself into his arms again. Suddenly, she was very close to glad that the power had gone out. If it hadn’t, they would probably be in her bedroom by now.

Her throat clutched. She had to cough to clear it. “We can call the power company at least.” They trooped back inside. She picked up the phone—and got dead air. “Phone’s out, too.”

He took a cell from his back pocket and she got hers from her crossbody bag. Neither of them could raise a signal. He tipped his head up toward the ceiling and the incessant drumming of the rain. “I’m not liking this,” he muttered, grabbing his hat and sticking it back on his head. “I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?” she demanded. But she was talking to an empty kitchen.

He was already halfway down the central hallway to the front door.

“Nate...” She took off after him, slipping out behind him onto the porch.

No light shone from any of the windows up and down the block. It looked like the power was out all around them. And the rain was still coming down in sheets, the wind carrying it at an angle, so it spattered the porch floor, dampened their jeans and ran in rivulets around their feet. Scarier still, Pine Street was now a minicreek, the water three or four inches deep and churning.

He sent her a flat look. “Go inside. I’m having a look around.”

“A look around where?”

But of course, he didn’t answer. He took off down the front steps and across her soggy lawn, making for his pickup.

Go inside? No way. She needed to know what was going on as much as he did.

She took off after him at a run and managed to get to the passenger door and yank it open before he could shift into gear and back into the rushing, shallow creek that used to be their street.

“You don’t need to be out in this.” He glared at her, water dripping from his hat, as she swung herself up to the seat, yanked the door shut and grabbed the seat belt.

She snapped the belt shut and armed water off her forehead. “I’m going. Drive.”

He muttered something low, something disparaging to her gender, she was certain, but at least he did what she’d told him to do, shifting the quad cab into gear and backing it into the street. He had a high clearance with those big wheels cowboys liked so much, so at that point the water running in the street posed no threat to the engine. He shifted into Drive, headed toward Commercial Street, which was also under water. He turned left and then right onto Main.

They approached Rust Creek and the Main Street Bridge. In the year since the big flood, the levee had been raised and the bridge rebuilt to cross the racing creek at a higher level.

He drove up the slope that accommodated the raised levee and onto the bridge. The water level was still a long way below them.

“Looks good to me,” she said.

With a grudging grunt of agreement, he kept going, down the slope on the other side and past the library and the town hall and the new community center with its Fourth of July Grand Opening banner drooping, rain pouring down it in sheets.

“Um, pardon me,” she said gingerly. “But where are we going now?”

He swung the wheel and they went left on Cedar Street. “I’m checking the Commercial Street Bridge, too,” he said grimly, narrowed eyes on the streaming road in front of them. “It’s the one I’m really worried about. Last year, it was completely washed out.”

They went past Strickland’s Boarding House and the house where Emmet lived and kept going, turning finally onto a county road just outside town. It was only a couple of minutes from there to Commercial Street. He turned and headed for the bridge.

It wasn’t far. And there were county trucks there, parked on either side of the street. A worker in a yellow slicker flagged them to a stop and then slogged over to Nate’s side window, which he rolled down, letting in a gust of rain-drenched wind.

Nate knew the man by name. “Angus, what’s going on?”

Angus was maybe forty, with a sun-creased face and thick, sandy eyebrows. Water dripped off his prominent nose. “Just keepin’ an eye on things, Nate.”

“The levee?”

“Holding fine and well above the waterline. It’ll have to rain straight through for more than a week before anybody needs to start worryin’.”

“Power’s out.”

“I know, and landlines. And a couple of cell towers took lightning strikes. But crews are already at work on all of that. We’re hoping to have services restored in the next few hours.” Angus aimed a smile in Callie’s direction. “Ma’am.” She nodded in response. He said, “With all this water in the streets, it’s safer not to go driving around in it. You should go on home and dry out.”

“Will do.” Nate thanked him, sent the window back up and drove across the bridge and back to South Pine, where he pulled into her driveway again and followed her inside.

As she ran across the lawn, her shoes sinking into the waterlogged ground, she knew she should tell him to go, that she would be fine on her own. But for someone he’d called mouthy, she was suddenly feeling more than a little tongue-tied, not to mention downright reluctant to send him on his way.

Which was beyond foolish. If he stayed, it was going to be far too easy to get cozy together, to take up where they’d left off when the lights went out.

She decided not to even think about that.

Inside, she kicked off her shoes and left them by the door. “I’ll bring more towels. And it’s pretty chilly. If you’ll turn on the fire, we can dry off in front of it.” Her new energy-efficient gas fireplace required only the flip of a switch to get it going.

With a low noise of agreement, he turned for the great room off the front hall.

When she came back to him he stood in front of the fire. He’d taken off his boots and set them close by to dry. She gave him a towel and then sat down cross-legged in front of the warm blaze. He dropped down beside her. They got busy with the towels. Once she’d rubbed herself damp-dry, she set her towel on the rectangle of decorative stone that served as a hearth. He tossed his towel on top of hers, bending close to her as he reached across her, bringing the smell of rain on his skin and that nice, clean aftershave he wore.

“Feels good,” he said.

And she was oh, so achingly aware of him. “Yep,” she agreed. “We’ll be dry in no time.”

Her makeshift braid was dripping down her back, so she grabbed her towel again and blotted at it some more, letting her gaze wander to the bare walls he’d painted a warm, inviting butterscotch color and on to her tan sofa, and from there to the box of knickknacks by the coffee table, which she’d yet to unpack....

She looked everywhere but at him.

And then he caught the end of the towel and tugged on it.

Her breath got all tangled up in her chest as she made herself meet his eyes.

And he asked, soft and rough and low, “Do you want me to go?”

She should have said yes or even just nodded. There were so many reasons why she needed not to do anything foolish with him tonight.

Or any night, for that matter.

But the problem was, right at the moment, none of those reasons seemed the least bit important to her. None of them could hold a candle to the soft and yearning look in his eyes, the surprisingly tender curve of his sexy mouth, the way he took the towel from her hands and tossed it back over her shoulder in the general direction of the other one.

“Yes or no?” He pressed the question.

And, well, at that moment, by the fire, with him smelling so wonderful and looking at her in that focused, thrilling way, what else could she say but, “No, Nate. I want you to stay.”

He smiled then. Such a beautiful, open, true sort of smile. And he laid a hand on the side of her face, making a caress of the touch, fingers sliding back and then down over her hair, curving around her wet braid, bringing it forward over her shoulder.

And then reaching out his other hand, using his fingers so deftly, unbraiding and combing through the damp strands. “There,” he said at last. “Loose. Wet. Curling a little.”

She felt a smile tremble on her mouth. And all she could say was, “Oh, Nate...”

And he said, “That first day, back in January?”

“Yeah?” The single word escaped her lips as barely a whisper, a mere breath of sound.

“You had that heavy scarf covering the bottom of your face. And then you took it off. What’s that old Dwight Yoakum song? ‘Try Not to Look So Pretty.’ That was it—how I felt. I hoped you wouldn’t be so pretty. But you were. And you had that hat on, bright pink and green, with those three pom-poms that bounced every time you shook your head. And your hair, just little bits of it slipping out from under that hat, so soft and shiny, curling a little, making me think about getting my hands in it....”

She said, feeling hesitant, “You seemed so angry at me that day.”

He ran his index finger along the line of her jaw, setting off sparks, in a trail of sensation. “I had somewhere I needed to be.”

“I, um, kind of figured that.”

“I wasn’t prepared for you.” Gruffly, intently.

And then his eyes changed, moss to emerald, and he was leaning into her, cradling the back of her head in his big, warm hand.

And she was leaning his way, too.

And he was pulling her closer, taking her down with him onto the hearth, reaching out and pulling the towels in closer to make a pillow for her head.

She asked his name, “Nate?” And she was asking it against his warm, firm lips.

Because he was kissing her again and she was sighing, reaching her hungry hands up to thread her fingers into his damp hair. She was parting her lips for him, inviting his tongue to come inside.

And he was lifting a little, bracing on his forearms to keep from crushing her against the hard floor, his hands on either side of her face, cradling her, kissing her.

Outside, lightning flashed and thunder rumbled and the rain kept coming down.

She didn’t care. There was only the warmth of the fire and the man in her arms, the man who could be so very aggravating, but also so tender and true and unbelievably sweet.

He lifted his head and he gazed down at her and she thought that his eyes were greener, deeper than ever right then. He opened that wonderful mouth to say something.

But he never got a word out.

Because right about then, they both realized that someone was knocking on the front door.

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