“Not at all.” She brightened immediately. “I can tell you exactly what got me started. I read Black Beauty when I was eight years old.”
“Yeah, me, too. But I didn’t end up in veterinary school.”
“No, but you work with horses. I was determined to do that, too. I was struck by the fact that they can’t talk and tell us what’s wrong, so it seemed like a wonderful challenge to learn how to diagnose their problems and see if I could fix them.”
“I’ll bet you were good in science.”
“I loved my science classes, especially biology. I had this one teacher, Mr. Dudley. He was great. Let me tell you about this experiment he had us do. It was so cool.”
And she was off and running, describing her journey through the various stages of education that had resulted in becoming a licensed vet. Relieved to have found a safe topic, Fletch leaned against the stall and soaked up her enthusiasm. She’d loved every challenge, even the difficult college courses that required her to memorize every bone, tendon, and muscle in the body of a horse.
He was full of questions, including some that he’d never thought of until she explained important things she’d learned. As a horse owner, he needed to know more about the animals under his care, and now was a great time to get a mini-course in horse physiology.
She took breaks to check on Janis, and fortunately the mare was progressing exactly as she was supposed to. Even better, Fletch and Astrid had returned to the ease they’d enjoyed with each other before he’d kissed her. If he wanted her, and he absolutely did, then he’d have to be patient. Considering the potential reward—having the woman of his dreams—he could be very patient, indeed.
Three
Astrid was impressed with how well they passed the time without veering into dangerous territory again. She credited it to all the time they’d spent together before that lollapalooza of a kiss. They’d established their friendship firmly enough that they could settle back into it and put forbidden pleasures aside.
Sort of. During those couple of hours she’d had flashbacks to that electric moment when his mouth had claimed hers. She’d banished the thoughts immediately, but not before they’d kick-started her hormones. A low-grade sexual fever hummed beneath the surface, ready to spike at the slightest touch.
He was very careful, though. His hands never strayed close, and neither did hers. She didn’t trust herself enough to allow even a slight brush of her hand against his.
Thank goodness he’d backed off when he’d figured out she didn’t want to talk about her family. She wasn’t being nearly as open as he’d been about his. Weeks ago he’d told her that he’d been orphaned as a teenager and that the small inheritance he’d received had allowed him to make a down payment on this ranch.
Someday she might tell him about her privileged background, but not right now; especially not right after he’d kissed the daylights out of her. Sure, she could just say that her mom and dad lived in Dallas and she had no siblings, but simplistic answers like that inevitably led to more questions.
Frankly, she didn’t know how they’d navigate from here on out. Until he’d kissed her, she’d yearned for him, but that yearning had been more on the order of a crush. Now that the object of her crush had stated his own desire, her passion was a live thing, pacing the cage, searching for an escape.
Sharing the emotional high of a successful foaling hadn’t helped matters any. She’d grabbed the camera because photographic evidence was important, but also because she needed to hold on to something and direct her energy elsewhere. Without the camera and an opportunity to take pictures, she might have been right back in his arms.
Once she drove away from here, she’d be able to put some psychic distance between them, too. Sleep would help. Her judgment was never good when she was sleep-deprived.
When she’d finally determined that Janis had passed all of the placenta and was able to nurse Buddy, she packed her bag and glanced over at Fletch. He had an endearing shadow of a beard, and his clothes were rumpled. He’d spattered coffee on himself at one point, and he’d plowed his fingers through his hair so often that strands of it stuck straight up.
She’d never been so taken with a man in her entire life. His disheveled appearance came from devotion to an animal, and she understood and admired that quality in him. Besides, he looked good all mussed. It gave him a rakish air.
He met her gaze. “Ready to head out?”
“I think it’s safe. Janis shows no signs of infection or undue stress. I predict she’ll be fine. You can certainly call me if you notice anything unusual, but I don’t expect to hear from you until it’s time for me to come back and give them both a check-up.”
An emotion flickered briefly in his brown eyes. “That’s good news.” But his words were at war with the tone of his voice. “I’ll get my keys and follow you to the bridge.”
“You really don’t have to. The rain’s stopped.”
His jaw firmed. “I’ll get my keys.” Taking his hat from the peg beside the stall, he settled it on his head and tugged the brim down. “Wait for me.”
Whoa. She’d never been privy to this side of Fletch, an unbending commander of the troops. Then she remembered that his parents had died in an automobile accident. He hadn’t said what kind of an accident, and she doubted they’d drowned in their car, but still . . . it made sense that he would be extra cautious when it came to people taking chances in vehicles.
She’d honor that and wait for him. Making sure the stall door was securely latched, she walked out of the barn, closed the double door, and fastened the padlock in place. By the time she’d climbed into her pickup, he was on his way, his truck’s headlights swerving as he navigated around puddles in the dirt road from the main house to the barn.
She was glad for his company, even though she’d wanted to save him the trouble. He had to be at least as exhausted as she was. But the road to the bridge was unpaved, and after the rain it would be thick with mud. Her four-wheel-drive should be able to handle it, but in case it couldn’t, she’d be grateful to have him there to help pull her out.
Starting the engine, she put the truck in gear and began the slippery journey to the bridge. Her truck fishtailed a couple of times, and she slowed down. Technically, she was in no hurry.
She’d planned for a relaxing Sunday—catching up on her sleep, doing some laundry, picking up takeout for dinner. She wasn’t seeing her family or friends today, so she could spend the day in bed if she wanted to. When she got home wasn’t particularly important.
Leaving the Rocking G, however, was extremely important. The sooner she did that, the sooner she could assess her situation in the privacy of her own space. In Fletch’s magnetic presence, she couldn’t think straight, and she worried that she’d do something unwise. Like kiss him again.
The memory of that kiss hadn’t faded one iota in the time since he’d released her and stepped away. The velvet imprint of his lips remained on hers, and the thought of how he’d used his tongue got her juices flowing every time. That cowboy certainly knew how to kiss.
If he made love the same way, then the lucky recipient would be in for a real treat. Her imagination conjured up an image of Fletch stripping off his cowboy duds and climbing into bed with her. Mmm. Was she a complete fool to deny herself that kind of pleasure?
The blare of a horn snapped her back to reality. She’d meant to brake before crossing the bridge and assess the potential threat of high water. Lost in thought about a nak*d and sexy Mr. Grayson, she’d driven onto the bridge without pausing. Oh, well. She was committed now.
The span was about seventy-five feet, and the wooden structure quivered as water surged beneath it. And over it. Too late she saw what she’d missed earlier. The bridge was partly underwater.
Perhaps only an inch or two covered the wooden planks, but the water was moving fast, and her truck’s tires began to lose traction. She gripped the wheel and forged on. Had she stopped to look, she wouldn’t have driven onto the bridge at all, but now she was nearly halfway across. Might as well keep going.
The groan of timbers was her only warning before the bridge collapsed under her. A frantic shout from the bank—Fletch telling her to jump—penetrated her terror for a split second. Then, as if in slow motion, her truck teetered for a moment before beginning to slide into the swirling stream.
Fletch’s command rang in her ears. Unbuckling her seat belt, she reached for the door. Her truck might be lost, but she’d be damned if she’d go down with it. She leaped free right as the truck plummeted into the water.
She hit the surface and it hurt like hell, the same smacking pain as a belly flop into a pool. And God, it was cold. The momentum of her impact took her breath and dragged her under, but she immediately began fighting to get to the surface.
Fletch was out there, and if he knew where she was, if he even caught a glimpse, he’d find a way to pull her out. She knew that more surely than her own name. Holding on to the thought of Fletch was like reaching for a lifeline.
Thrashing her way upward, she broke through the surface of the water. She wanted to yell, but she didn’t have enough air left. Instead she turned upstream and clawed her way through the eddies to get back to the bank where she’d last seen Fletch. The pale dawn would help him see her. In total darkness she would have been lost.