Marooned With The Maverick

Collin gave a humorless chuckle. “Yeah, one good thing about breaks in the levee. They tend to bring the water level way down.”

“That they do,” Hank concurred. “Plus, there’s no rain in the forecast for at least the next week. So we’re unlikely to have a repeat of what happened yesterday—oh, and the town council called a meeting at noon in the town hall to talk cleanup and such. Wish I could be there, but I got way too much cleanup of my own out at my place and I need to get after it. Bought the bleach I needed, at least. I can disinfect my well.” Hank tipped his hat.

“You stay safe and take it slow on the road, Hank,” Collin said.

“Will do. You keep the faith, now.” The rancher rolled on by.

Collin put his arm around her. “You’re lookin’ kind of stricken, Willa.”

She leaned into him, because she could. She needed someone to lean on at that moment. And Collin was so solid. So warm. So very much alive. “I’d been letting myself hope that at least no one had died—and I really liked Mayor McGee.”

“I hear you. Hunter was a good man and this town could sure use him about now.” He pulled her a little closer in the shelter of his arm and turned them both back to the pickup, Buster at their heels. The dog jumped in back again and they got in the cab.

As they drove across the bridge, Willa tried not to dread what might be waiting for them on the other side.

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