Wild Horses (11 page)

Todd followed. “But I could tell he upset you.”

She kept her eyes on the mullein up ahead, her feet sinking into the sandy soil at the edge of the wash. “He was irritating, that's all. I definitely don't need you feeling as if you have to rescue me.” She thought of the cattle truck rolling toward her. “Again.”

“But I owe you so much...”

Bile rose in her throat as she turned to stare at him. “Is this about the night with the horses? Because you've apologized and done your best to make amends.”

“No, it's...” His voice trailed off, as if he didn't want to say what was on his mind.

But she heard it loud and clear. “This is about college, isn't it?”

He looked sheepish. “Well, maybe.”

“You feel guilty about breaking up with me?”

“I was a jerk to you.”

She breathed carefully through her nose, because there was a very real possibility that she might vomit on him. He
did
see her as his newest charitable cause. Guilt—that was the reason for his seeming interest in her.

In some twisted, secret, romantic part of her mind, she'd been hoping he still cared. That the job offer, the help with the cattle, were really excuses to spend time with her. But they weren't. It was to assuage his old guilt. Because she'd loved him, and he hadn't loved her back.

Todd never could resist lending a hand for a hopeless cause.

Anger replaced the nausea, leaving her almost breathless as it streaked through her like wildfire over dry scrub. Anger at him for pitying her, and fury at herself for being pitiful. For wanting him to care. For hoping he might. For not being able to let go of him...not after college, not in the years between and not now.

“Is this charity, too? This work you've asked me to do? Because you know we need money for the ranch? Because we're living in a pathetic junkyard?” She chucked the hoe and it landed near his feet. Her voice was a shriek over the rising wind.

“Whoa. Nora, calm down.”

“Don't tell me what to do.”

He backed off a step, worried about her throwing the clippers, no doubt. “No, it's not charity. I need your help here, Nora.” He pointed to the mullein. “Look at my land. It's a mess.”

“But you could have hired someone else!”

“Of course I could, but I wanted you.”

“Why?” She felt tears starting to well up beneath her eyes and willed them to stay put. “Why me? Because you feel bad that you dumped me?”

He just stared at her, and it was answer enough.

All she could do was salvage the scraps of pride she had left. “That is ancient history, Todd.
Ancient!
I don't care about that anymore.”

“I do feel bad that I walked out on you. Especially now that I know a little bit about the family you came from. But I hired you because I wanted the best person for the job. And you're obviously that.” He looked out over the wash and blew out a breath, as if he was trying to control his frustration. “And yes, of course I can see that the extra money might help you right now.”

“Just save your money for your wild horses, okay? This is
exactly
why I never mentioned my family back in college! Because now that you know about them,
you
see me differently. Just like Phil. Just like everyone in this idiotic cow town.”

“Nora, stop, please.” He set his hoe and clippers down carefully and took a step toward her, hands open, in a plea for peace. But she couldn't oblige.

“I don't need your help. I was fine before I met you in college and I was fine afterward!” The wind was rising, blowing her hair across her face, and she was yelling over it now. “Believe me, with the life I lived growing up here, you dumping me to go save the Amazon was nothing.
Nothing!
Just a tiny blip on my radar screen of problems!” It was a lie, but she'd throw anything at him to salvage her shredded pride.

She paused and stared at him, breathing hard, almost bewildered by the amount of anger pouring out of her.

“My intentions were good,” Todd said. “I promise you. But obviously I've made a mess of everything. Again.” His mouth was tight and his voice shook, and she might have felt sorry for him, except for that last word.
Again.
She could see what he must be seeing in his mind's eye—her curled up on the couch sobbing as he left to catch his plane to Brazil.

She pointed to the mullein, the yellow flower spikes even brighter against the clouding sky and forced herself to speak more calmly. “Let me give you some free advice before I cancel our contract.

“Dig up the mullein—get as much of the root as you can. Dispose of them right away. Each plant makes thousands of seeds, so shove their tops into garbage bags before you carry them out of here. Okay?”

He nodded once, his mouth set in a grim line.

“And in the future? Please keep your good intentions away from me.” She pulled the clippers out of her pocket and tossed them to the ground near the other tools. Then she turned and started out across the wash.

“Nora, wait! Where are you going?”

She paused, then turned to face him. “Back to your ranch to get my Jeep.”

“Let me drive you.”

No way was she getting back into that small space with him and his pity. “I could use the walk.”

“It's a couple miles.”

“And I hike way more than that every day.”

He didn't move. Just stood there, waiting for her to give in.

“Listen to me.” Her voice was almost pleading. “I am fine. At least I was before you almost ran me down with your damn mustangs. Before you started trying to fix my life. And if you will just leave me alone, I'll be fine again in no time.”

He looked stunned, ran a hand through his hair, tousling it even more than the wind had. “Okay. I get it.” He turned and walked to the scattered tools, kneeling briefly to stack them in his arms. He didn't once look back, just stalked off toward his truck. Nora watched him go, relieved. She might get wet on the walk back, but maybe the rain would wash away the dirty scum that his pity had left on her skin.

Maybe she'd set herself up by agreeing to work for him. Maybe she'd invited his pity by bringing up the past. She was more disappointed in herself than in Todd. Where was the backbone that had kept her strong when she'd grown up here? Where was the focus that had her caring for Wade and succeeding in her career? Where was the confidence she needed to face down the Benson gossips? She was sick of herself and sick of feeling like the victim of her family's legacy.

On the walk between this wash and her truck, she would grow a backbone. She'd find courage. She'd stop whining and start living.

She straightened her spine and strode toward the wash, feeling the crunch of the soil and inhaling the scent of impending rain. Just before she descended the slope into the dried-out watercourse, she glanced back at Todd, still trudging toward his truck. He looked small in the vastness of the pasture, a stick figure bristling with tools and good intentions.

She paused for a moment to watch him, amazed that he could look so tiny while making such a huge impact on her life. But he was the past, and she needed to move into the future. The fiery fury inside her sputtered into coals, into ash, until there was nothing left but bitterness as she watched him walk away.

CHAPTER TWELVE

T
ODD
OPENED
THE
door of his truck, relieved to climb in and slam it against the wind, which was picking up speed. Relieved to be away from Nora's misplaced pride.

He smacked his palm into the steering wheel in childish frustration. Of course he wanted to help her. They had this old connection. She'd been his first love. But how could he explain that there was more to it than that? That ever since he'd seen her again he'd felt drawn to her, as if somehow they were meant to meet again at this time, in this place. That maybe he'd spent the past nine years getting ready for this?

But she was angry and hurt and didn't like being back in Benson, so trying to get to know her was like trying to wrap his arms around a porcupine.

And her words pierced.

Charity.
The word felt like sandpaper to his soul. Charity was what his parents did—cutting checks to popular causes, or hosting benefits at their swanky country club.

That wasn't what he was doing with Nora. He was reaching out to a friend in need. Offering honest pay for her expertise. Getting the help he needed with his pastures at the same time. It wasn't charity—it just made sense.

And the wild horses—Nora made it sound like having a cause to believe in was a bad thing. But he disagreed. He wanted to be a part of something larger than himself. He wanted to make a difference in the world. And he refused to apologize for that.

The problem was, for whatever reason, he wanted Nora to understand how much the wild horses mattered. And he wanted her to know he wasn't assuaging guilt, with the horses or with her. It went deeper than that. Needing to be there for her was rapidly becoming just another part of who he was.

The percussion of raindrops slamming into his windshield brought him out of his thoughts. He watched, stunned and relieved. In this long drought it was easy to forget what rain was like, and with a whoop he cranked open his window, letting the damp air in. It smelled of dust and relief and he twisted in his seat until he could lift himself up to sit on the window frame and let the drops fall on him, reveling in the glory of the cool water hitting his skin.

The rain was falling so hard that it stung his skin, pelting him at a furious pace, the drops melding as if someone had turned on a faucet. He slid back into the truck and looked up at the mountains, but the peaks were hidden in black clouds now. The sight brought realization. It was raining up on the peaks, too. It had probably been raining up there for a while. And all that water was going to roll down the mountains.

And then he felt a rumble and heard a roar and instinct had him turning the key and gunning the engine so the truck careened uphill away from the wash. When the wall of water went crashing across the road, it was safely in his rearview mirror. A flash flood. And Nora was downstream.

He was out of the cab in an instant, heading back down the road to the water, before common sense kicked in. He'd need more than just a hero complex to help Nora this time. He jogged back up to the truck, cursing his bad leg when it slowed him down.

Opening the door on the passenger side, he yanked out the backpack he kept there. First-aid supplies, a rope, a tarp, rain ponchos, emergency blankets—he'd packed it all in there with earthquakes and snowstorms in mind. He'd learned long ago to always be prepared.

He pulled on the backpack and dropped a rain poncho over his head. His mind filled with images of Nora swept away by the floodwaters, drowned. He gripped one random thought to save his sanity. She couldn't have survived a stampede of wild horses and that damn cattle truck for her life to end here.

Where was Nora now? They'd been right next to the wash when her anger took over. She'd stomped off pretty quickly, so she
should
have made it to the other side before the flood hit.

But about a quarter mile past the wash was Badwater Creek. It would run high in a storm like this. She might be caught in it. She might be trapped between the two. He just hoped the creek and the wash hadn't merged. If they had, she wouldn't be able to avoid the flash flood.

Please let her be safe.
It was a prayer and a gasp for breath.

He ran back down to where floodwater raged over the road. Impassable. He couldn't even get his truck across it. He'd be the idiot swept away and drowned—another cautionary tale on the evening news.

He looked east, where water unfurled across his pasture and fanned out through the wide wash. The current would be less forceful down there, but still unsafe. It was counterintuitive, but he'd be better off heading toward the mountains, where the wash narrowed into a canyon. He needed a boulder, a tree, something that would let him cross the water and get back down to Nora.

Ten minutes of scrambling uphill and he came to a huge boulder in a narrow section of the canyon. His fingers and boots slid as he climbed, the thunder of the water rushing right below it obliterating even his fear. On top he lay just long enough to gasp in a few breaths, but not long enough to think. Then he rose and jumped with everything he had, out over the water, aiming for what looked like solid ground on the other side.

Except it wasn't. It was sodden sand and he slid back toward the torrent, scrabbling with frantic fingers, shoving his boots' toes in. He managed to stop his slide and slither uphill on his stomach, wriggling like a soggy worm until he reached a rock to grab hold of. He dragged himself forward then stood and staggered up the side of the wash, shaking but safe.

Several yards later he turned, pounding downhill to the road. Once across it, he vaulted the barbed-wire fence, landed hard on his bad leg and stumbled to his knees. He could hear the wash roaring with water to his right. He'd head straight and hope he found Nora.

He started walking fast, peering through the rainy afternoon that was darkening to evening, calling her name. Listening as hard as he could for an answer that didn't come.

* * *

S
HE
'
D
BEEN
A
FOOL
. She'd grown up here, for God's sake. Spent her life working out of doors in remote areas. She knew better than to head off across the high desert in a huff when there was rain in the mountains. But she had, all because she'd been desperate for some distance from Todd.

How was it that she—a scientist, trained in logic, reasoning and deduction—could be so calm and organized in every other aspect of her life except for the parts that involved that man?

The storm had rolled in faster than she'd expected. Thank God she'd made it across the wash before the flood hit. But now she was perched on a fortuitous bunch of boulders, trying to figure out what to do next. It was getting dark, so she couldn't keep walking. She might stumble into more flooding.

She nearly had already. She'd forgotten about Badwater Creek, which ran about a quarter mile beyond the wash. Aptly named, it had overflown its banks just as she reached it and almost taken her with it in the process. It had been terrifying to see the water coming for her. Luckily, she'd remembered this heap of boulders and made it back here safely. Strange to think that it was the second time this month that a rock had saved her life.

It would be dark soon. She had no light and no food. But happily, she had garbage bags. She'd punched holes in the seam of one of them and put it on like a vest. She'd ripped another open to wear as a cape. She'd tied the third around her waist to make sort of a waterproof skirt. It wasn't glamorous, but it was working pretty well right now. Hopefully it would keep her warm enough, because it looked as though she'd be spending the night on this rock.

And then she heard a voice. Todd's. Rough and hoarse, calling her name. How had he gotten past the flood?

“Todd?” She turned toward the sound. “Todd! I'm over here! Up on a boulder!”

“Nora? Are you okay? Stay where you are! I'm coming!”

The idea of Todd rescuing her yet again was infuriating, but then she noticed the pinprick of his flashlight. He was too close to the creek.

“Badwater is over its banks!” she yelled into the darkness. “Be careful!”

But the flashlight faltered, and the light disappeared.

“Todd?” She peered into the dusk where the light had been. Her heartbeat sped up. She scrambled down the boulder, moving awkwardly in her garbage bags, and ran toward the spot she'd last seen the light. “Todd? Answer me!”

“Nora! I'm in the water!” He was downstream from where he'd been.

“Hang on! Keep trying to get to the bank! I'm coming!” She saw the flashlight then, caught in some grass at the edge of the flooded creek bank, and grabbed it. Even with the light, she was almost on top of him before she saw him, halfway up the bank, holding on to a shrub while the angry water tried to pull him in.

She glanced around wildly. If she got too close there was a chance they'd both be sucked downstream. Shoving the flashlight into her pocket, she pulled the garbage bag from around her waist and doubled it, tying a knot at each end. Scrabbling down the bank, she held one end out to Todd. “Grab above the knot with one hand,” she ordered. “It might not be that strong, so go easy on it. Keep your other hand on that sage. When I say
go
, I'll pull and you climb. Dig into the bank with your feet, your knees, anything.”

“Okay,” he gasped, and she could only imagine how cold the creek water must be.

“Don't you dare pull me in!” She scrambled back as far as the garbage bag would let her.

“Got it!”

She grasped the base of a big clump of sage with one hand and held the end of the garbage bag with her other. The rain was still falling, making everything slippery. She braced her heels into the soil. “Go!” she yelled.

The bag tightened, jerking her arm forward, but she white-knuckled the knot. “Climb!” she yelled, praying the sage that anchored her would hold.

It was hard to see much in the dusk. She heard splashing and a few grunts from Todd. She held on to the garbage bag with all her might. It felt as if she'd caught a giant fish on a line. Then the tension loosened, so she pulled harder and Todd was there, crawling frantically up the bank to where she was and flopping down breathless at her feet.

“You did it!” All her fear for him melted into warm relief.

“Thanks to you,” he gasped. “Let's get out of here, in case it rises.”

“Good idea.” They crawled a few more yards to make sure the soil was stable and then got to their feet. Once they were upright she pulled out the flashlight, shining it over him. He was half-drowned. Water poured off his rain poncho, and he was completely soaked from the waist down.

“I can't believe I fell in. I'm lucky you were close by, Nora.”

“Why did you come out here?” With relief came all the thoughts of what could have happened to him if she hadn't been there.

“I was trying to save you.”

“I was fine on my own! And now there are two of us stuck out here.”

“Hey, at least you're not stuck alone.” Todd pointed behind his shoulder to a lump under his rain poncho. “And I brought a backpack.”

“A very wet backpack.”

“A soggy granola bar is better than no granola bar.”

Maybe it was all that relief, but she started laughing. “That sounds like something you'd find in a backpacker's fortune cookie.”

He grinned. “Words to live by.”

She retied her garbage bag around her waist. Her jeans were soaked and muddy, but maybe the bag would help keep her a little warmer.

“Nice look, by the way,” Todd said quietly.

“See? You were determined to rescue me again, but I was doing okay.”

“I guess so.”

Even in the dim light she saw the sheepish expression on his face. It made her giggle more. It was all so ridiculous. The way she'd let herself get so upset and ended up out here in the first place. And the massive hero complex that had him following her. “When will you learn that I'm not your lost cause?”

He grinned. “I had some time to think about that when you were pulling me out of the creek.”

“I hope so.” There was a dark patch on his forehead that didn't look like water. She raised the light. “What happened to your head?”

“I think I hit it when I fell in.”

“It's bleeding.”

“Great.” He sighed. “There's some first-aid stuff in the backpack.”

“Let me see it.” Anxiety fluttered in her stomach. The wilderness first-aid class she'd taken suddenly seemed like a long time ago. “Lean down.”

He tilted his head and she directed the light to his injury, pushing aside his matted hair. “It's not bleeding too badly. You'll have a huge bump, though. Let me see your eyes.” She shone the flashlight into his face.

“You're blinding me!” he protested.

“I'm trying to see if your pupils are all funky,” she explained, peering into his eyes.

“My pupils are fine. Come on, let's get the hell out of here. There's an old shed back toward the road. It was built on a rise. I passed it on my way down and it seemed okay. We can use it to get out of this rain.”

“Any chance we can get back to the truck?”

“Nope. It's on the other side of the wash.”

Surprise had her raising the light to blind him once more. He shielded his eyes with his arm and she jerked the beam down again. “How'd you get across the flood?”

“I jumped it farther up the wash. From a huge boulder! It was awesome! You should have seen me!”

“Wow.” She pictured him having an Indiana Jones moment out in the wild storm. “I was right earlier today. You have an enormous hero complex. You could've been killed! What if you hadn't made the jump?”

“But I
did
make it. And then I got to trudge through the storm and rescue the girl.”