There was nothing for it but to get to higher ground and hope to make it to Green Island before the storm cut the town off.
Even though the great American West was a good bit wetter than Missy had expected, she had no intention of catching a train home. Just because monstrous torrents of water poured down upon her head and washed over her body in an icy bath was no cause for retreat.
She did feel a bit guilty that the horse had some difficulty plucking its hooves from the muck with each step. The weight of two humans must have made each cold squish in the mud a trial for the beast. Still, she had come to tell the tale of the West for Suzie and a storm would not prevent her from doing it.
Her hero, Zane Coldridge, let out an occasional curse, watching the water flood the gullies and low areas of the land. The tops of the distant hills looked like floating islands.
“Come on, Ace,” Zane Coldridge muttered. “Green Island is just over the next hill.”
That would be a relief! It wasn’t a bit prissy to be longing for the shelter of her hotel room. It wasn’t weak-spirited to wish for the comfort of dry clothing. Surely even the man behind her wished for the same. Perhaps they could share a dinner by a cozy fire. He could tell her all of his adventures while they listened to the patter of rain on the windows.
Missy peered through the water dripping off the brim of the hat that Mr. Coldridge had long since removed from his own head and placed on hers. The tall steeple of the Congregational Church made a white slash through the low-hung clouds in the distance.
“Look!” She raised her arm and wagged her finger at the welcome sight. “There’s Green Island.”
Against her back, Zane Coldridge’s chest rose and crashed. He uttered the most colorful word she had ever heard.
“Wait here a minute, darlin’.”
With a leap, he washed off the horse. He took long mud-sucking strides up to the high point of the ridge. He looked out to where the steeple vanished then appeared again through the rain.
He made to snatch his hat from his head and toss it down in apparent frustration. Naturally, he grabbed wet air since the hat at this moment dripped in a limp heap from her head.
“What’s wrong?” she called over the slap of water on mud.
He walked back, slipping then catching his step on the slick downward slope.
“Green Island’s surrounded by water.” She hoped to hear him call her darlin’ again, but he only frowned and wiped his sleeve across his forehead. “Looks like we’ll be spending the night here.”
“Here … where?” She craned her neck right and left but didn’t see a shelter.
He pointed to the top of the hill and picked up the horse’s reins. “The higher up we are, the better.”
“But the hotel is so close by. Surely we can get to it.”
“The town’s cut off.” Zane Coldridge patted the horse’s neck to encourage him up the slope. “It will be full dark soon and cold as a witch’s … heart. We’d better settle in before things get any worse.”
What they were going to settle in to was beyond her imagination. A few bare trees dotted the hill. Not much in the way of shelter there.
It might take some imagination to make this into a lovely tale for Suzie. It would be best to leave out the part about spending the night with a handsome stranger. If her missive ever fell into the wrong hands, well … there would be no end to the scandal. Her most mortifying exploit to date would pale by comparison.
When they reached the top of the hill, Zane helped her down from the horse then went about the task of untying something from behind the saddle.
Luckily, Muff slept soundly under the coat. She hated to think of the mucky consequences of letting him loose to take care of his needs.
“Mr. Coldridge, would you like your coat back now?” She hated to give it up but her hero looked as frigid as a block of ice. If she wasn’t mistaken, his boldly framed shoulders had begun to shiver.
He gave her a slow, silent shake of his head. Rain pelted his hair. The ribbon securing it at the back of his neck sagged like one of cook’s overdone noodles.
It was hard to tell through the deepening gloom, but she thought he flashed her an angry glare just before he spread out a tarp on the ground.
“Lay down.” He pointed to the middle of the canvas.
The man must be addled by the cold. What possible good could lying out in the rain do? Still, he hadn’t taken his coat back, or even his hat, so it was only right to go along with him for the moment.
She knelt on the canvas then lay down with one arm curled around Muff and the other straight and stiff at her side. With her knees locked, the toes of her shoes pointed up to the clouds.
“Like this?”
“That’ll do,” he mumbled then sat down beside her.
He yanked the tarp this way and that until he lay prone beside her with the canvas tucked and folded in such a way that it kept out the rain.
What an amazing shelter! Even though water soaked her clothing the warmth of two people protected from the pelting fury outside gradually took some of the bite out of the chill. It wasn’t warm, as the shivering body beside her attested to, but it was sanctuary from the elements.
What a shame she wouldn’t be able to write about how she’d spent the night, as close as pearls on a strand to Zane Coldridge.
The fainting couch would be worn out if mother ever knew.
Missy Devlin’s breath beat warm puffs of air against his neck. That was the only inch of Zane’s body not taken with shivers. Even though the rain no longer touched him under the canvas wrap, the icy water had done its damage. It might be some time before a pair of bodies, not entwined, would generate any warmth.
“Tell me about your bounty-hunting adventures, Mr. Coldridge.” The lady’s voice shivered, but it might have been from foolish excitement as much as chill. Apparently, the woman had some pretty, eastern notion of the West that had nothing to do with real life.
“Haven’t got any adventure, miss. I make a living, and an ugly one at that.”
“Surely your brain must be packed with tales of peril and risk.” Rain pounded on the canvas but not so loudly that it drowned her voice. “Ugly or not, they must be thrilling.”
“Somehow, Miss Devlin, I don’t see life as a pack of thrilling stories. Just living, some good and some bad.”
“Oh, but that’s not true!”
He felt her wiggle onto her side. The plump swell of her breast pressed against his arm and warmed it like a hot cushion. The sultry simmer had to be pure imagination since no part of this miserable night was anything close to hot.
“Life is all made up of stories, some wonderful and some not, but it’s all adventure in one way or another.”
“Fancy notions from a proper eastern lady.”
“Wouldn’t mother be pleased if that were true?” she mumbled under her breath.
In the dark, he felt her hand brush across his shirt, light and hesitant. Plainly, Missy Devlin fell short of pleasing her mother.
“You’re about to shake to pieces, Mr. Coldridge.”
It wasn’t the manliest of behavior, but still true. He was a shaking mess. With a different kind of woman he’d know how to get warmed up. Mother’s opinion or not, this was a respectable young lady and the most he could do was dream of the warmth her plush little body might provide.
She