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  Up ahead a tall tree beckoned her forward. “I know I saw that one before, but on the other side when I started out.” She stepped up beside it and looked past the tree, instead of something familiar it was just another copse of trees, but now the light was darker, almost extinguished as if the rain had put out the sun above her head.

  “Just a little farther, I think.” She lifted her chin and started out again, putting one foot in front of the other only to stub the toe of her boot on a rock. Where the rock came from, she had no idea. Hidden under fallen roots, scuffed up by her boot when she’d started out, or had she be that distracted? Confused?

  It didn’t matter where the root had come from. What mattered was that the impact had shot pain straight up her leg from her big toe to her knee. And once the shock had worn off, her big toe started to ache, and ache something awful.

  Using her fingertip to lift the bottom of the watch she’d pinned to her blouse, she blinked a few times to clear her vision so she could see the fine points of the hands on the clock.

  It was nearly supper time.

  It was nearly dark above her head.

  She didn’t recall the night descending so quickly the night before, but the dark clouds of the storm weren’t helping either.

  A few steps later and her foot landed in water, straight up to her ankle. Throwing her weight backward to keep her from falling straight into the rushing waters of the river, she lost hold of her hat and found herself sprawled on her backside.

  Brigid wanted to lay there, staring up into the darkness, feeling sorry for herself, but with the amount of rain pouring down on her, she’d likely drown.

  “Well, that’s a delightful thought,” she sputtered into the onslaught of splashing droplets. Sitting up, she snatched her hat from the wet grass and didn’t look too closely at the state of it. If she started crying now, she’d never get back to Bower. Crying made her eyes squint and swell up and that, she knew, didn’t help her looks any.

  As she struggled to her feet, she wracked her brain to remember her earlier pathway. She’d crossed water on the way out, but it had been barely a trickle of water through the rocks. But, she reminded herself, rain added to groundwater would certainly deepen the flow. Looking down at the water coursing past her feet she was surprised to find how wide the water was.

  She said a quick prayer of thanks that she’d fallen backwards instead of forward. “It would’ve washed me clear away!”

  As if to illustrate the point, a large tree branch bobbed up and down in the rushing water, the wide canopy of leaves at the end of the branch didn’t seem to slow its progress. Instead, it only seemed to act like a ship’s rudder, twisting and turning its path through the water.

  Brigid looked up and down the rushing expanse and realized that she wasn’t going to get across the water, not without a boat.

  “And even if I had one of those, I doubt I’d be able to steer it across without ending up miles down, perhaps in another county, or state!”

  The thought was enough to get her moving. She moved off toward the right, hoping that she remembered that the mountains were in that direction. If she went high enough, following the rushing water, she might be able to find a point where it was narrow enough to wade across.

  Her boots would be ruined, but then again, they were likely ruined already. The only thing she had left was to get back to Hampton House before she caught her death of a cold, or caught her death from something lurking in the woods.

  She’d tried to keep count of her steps.

  Tried to keep a good handle on distance. Not that it mattered really, since she hadn’t done it before the rain, so starting from the middle wasn’t about to do her any good.

  But it was better than nothing.

  It would keep her mind from wandering too much.

  He heard something outside.

  It was folly, really.

  Shaking his head, he still stood up from the table and made his way to the door.

  Something seemed to be tickling his ears, like a far-off sound that was just out of range, but close enough to form a buzz like bees in wildflowers. Grabbing his coat from the hook he shrugged it on and leaned to the side enough to see out around the oilcloth he’d hung over the window.

  Rain was still falling outside, but it wasn’t the same heavy curtains of drops that had pummeled the ground less than an hour before. Livingstone took the time to pull his coat together and button it before he stepped outside.

  Closing his eyes as he secured the front door, he leaned toward the rain and struggled to listen through the relentless downpour.

  It wasn’t the chickens. The coop was silent. He’d made the enclosure snug, making sure the roof would keep out even rain more punishing than the current downpour. Squinting at the door to the barn, it looked closed. He’d latched the door when the rain had started, leaving the goats to find a place to bunk down. There wasn’t a chance that a wolf or a coyote had found its way inside, still he knew his rifle was just inside his door, leaning up against the wall. A well-placed bullet would be enough to scare the creature away from his homestead. Unless the hunter came after him, he’d be satisfied to protect his livestock and send the predator packing. Wolves and coyotes were needed in the woods. They’d been there long before he’d come to the area, even before Bower had seen its first pick and shovel.

  But rain like this could drive anyone out of their minds. Two legs or four, the monotony and volume of the pounding drops was relentless.

  “He-”

  “-llo?”

  He froze and turned his head one way and then the other. Focusing his senses on the darkness surrounding him.

  More rain.

  He wanted to go back inside.

  He waited, trying to listen to the fleeting sounds between the drops.

  “Anyone?”

  He squeezed his eyes closed. Anyone out in this kind of weather was suspect. No one in their right mind would venture out into this kind of weather.

  This far from Bower, it was tempting fate.

  Wrapping his hand around the barrel of his rifle, he brought it outside and propped it against the outer wall. Lifting his free hand to his mouth, he called out into the storm. “Hello?”

  There was no answer but the watery deluge.

  Logic told him he was hearing things. Miles had joked that he would end up losing his mind. “Hello!” He called out again and only had silence in return.

  His warm chair beside the fire called to him, the prickle of cold traveling up his arms made the idea sound even better.

  A limb snapped and he knew where it came from. The rise behind his house gave him natural shelter from the wind that blew through the area, with a winding path that the river had likely cut through the rocks years before he took his first breath.

  Picking up the rifle, he set the butt of the grip against his side and tucked the weapon against his chest. If he needed it, it would be there at the ready. Tucking his chin down toward his chest he stepped out into the rain. If there was someone up on the rise intending to do him harm, they had the upper hand and superior position.

  He had his will to survive.

  And it was a strong one.

  “Who’s up there?”

  There was another huff of sound as if someone had fallen against something and got the short end of the situation.

  “You better say something, or-”

  “Every time I try,” the voice was stronger and it certainly wasn't happy, that made two of them, “I almost drown when I open my mouth!”

  He felt his stomach clench and his middle fill with dread. The person wasn’t just lost, she was female.

  “Climb down here where I can see you.”

  “Ha!”

  He let out an audible sigh.

  “I'm not a monkey,” her words were punctuated with intermittent gasps and grunts of effort, “nor am I a billy goat. And really,” she sputtered and he could almost imagine the rainwater she'd gulped in with each word, “ho
w do I know you're not lying in wait to slit my throat and take my valuables before you run off into the night?”

  He shook his head and set his rifle down, giving it one last longing look, wondering if he might need it after all to protect him from her temper.

  “Well, you're near my homestead, so I won't be running away from it. And you're welcome to stay out here all night, but you're likely to drown in the rain. It's up to you.”

  “Fine!” She paused for a moment. “Just let me find a gap in these branches, and I’ll- whoop!”

  He heard her clearly. The storm had quieted and he didn't have to strain to hear the series of cracks and snaps that started on the rise and rushed straight down at him.

  In the dark he couldn't see to try to break her fall, but the ground beneath his feet was clear of rocks and given the amount of rain that had already fallen he was hoping.

  He felt the rush of mud against his boots first and found half of one boot locked under the slide, but it was the mud-splattered woman who rolled to a stop before him who drew his attention.

  Whatever color her clothes had been before, she was now liberally splashed with the rich brown mud from the hill. She lay so still at his feet that even though he would lay odds that she was still breathing, Livingstone still managed to lean closer and meet her startled eyes.

  “Are you hurt?”

  At first, she only gaped, but when he started to pull away from her she shot out a hand and grasped a hold of his shirt. “I don't know.”

  While an odd admission, it seemed honest enough. “Can you move?”

  He saw her eyes dart to her hand where it still clutched to his shirt. “I managed that, but it could just be instinct,” she muttered, seemingly to herself. She met his eyes and blinked at him. “I’d like to get up now.”

  He took that hint in stride and started to pull away to give her room, but she wouldn't let go of his shirt.

  He saw her curious look when he looked back down at the woman.

  She didn't keep him waiting for long. “A hand, please? I'm fairly sure that I've broken something.” This time when he pulled back, she eased her hold on his shirt and it didn’t escape his notice that she smoothed his shirt against his chest. He didn’t think she did it to make him uncomfortable, but it did. He wasn’t used to people touching him.

  He wasn’t going to think on it too much. Not when he had to figure out other things first. Like what he was going to do with a woman.

  First things first, he held out a hand to help her up.

  She took it without hesitation, and it shouldn’t have surprised him that she was so strong. She’d held him in place just a moment before with only her grip on his shirt. Still, her hand all but filled his and that was something he wasn’t used to either. Women, in his experience, were tiny things. Women needed him to be gentle and cautious. And yet, as he stood up to his full height, pulling her up with him, she held on tight.

  She didn’t let go as she leaned from one foot to the other. He guessed that she might be testing her ankles, but he certainly wasn’t going to know, since he’d taken to staring into the darkness with the rain peppering his face with fat droplets.

  “It looks like I can walk,” she announced with more than a hint of relief in her tone. “So, if you’ll point me back toward Bower, I’ll make my way back.”

  That turned his head. Staring, he looked into her eyes. They were clear, not bloodshot. Good.

  Pulling his hand from hers he framed her face with his hands and tilted her head toward the light he’d hung at the corner of the roof. Smoothing his fingertips over her mud-splashed skin he felt carefully over her skin and over her tightly styled hair.

  “What,” she began and tried to move away but he wouldn’t let her, “what are you doing?”

  He didn’t meet her eyes when he answered, he was too busy looking her over. “Checking you.”

  “Checking me?” She winced as his fingers touched the curve of her jaw beneath her ear and he traced his fingers over it again. He felt her tremble.

  “Does that hurt?”

  He turned to look her in the eye when she didn’t answer. She was looking at him, that was the first thing he noticed, the second, that he didn’t have to bend down to look her in the eye. A little tilt of his chin and he could look straight at her face.

  “Miss?”

  “Yes?” Her voice was a little less bluster now. A little softer. Sweeter.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  He felt the subtle movement of her head as she tried to shake it, but when she felt the slight pressure of his fingers she stopped and held still.

  “Did you hit your head?”

  She blinked back at him, her lips pursing as she struggled to find an answer. “I don’t think so.”

  “Then let’s get out of the rain.”

  It was a simple suggestion, but instead of having her follow him inside, she pulled away. “I need to get back to town.” She started to point in one direction and then changed her mind a couple of times before dropping her hand back to her side. “I just need to know where to go.”

  Scratching at his temple he shook his head. “You can’t think to get back there in the dark.”

  “What choice do I have?” Her voice was filled with genuine shock. “The Hamptons will worry where I’ve gone off to.” She pressed her hand to her bodice and he saw her recoil and stare down at the mud on her palm. “They’ll think I’ve been eaten by a… by a bear!”

  Livingstone shook his head. “They won’t worry about a bear.”

  She stared back at him with widened eyes. “And why not?”

  He shrugged. “Let’s go inside and dry off.”

  She drew up her spine, gaining a good inch of height. “I want an answer,” she explained, “why wouldn’t they think it was a bear?”

  There was no need to disseminate for her. He was beginning to think she’d be able to tell if he was lying to her. And the rain, soaking into his shirt, was making him a bit crabby. He just wanted to get inside and honesty would get him there. “Because around here it’ll probably be a mountain lion or coyote. I haven’t seen a bear around here for the last two, maybe three years.”

  “Mountain lion?” Her skin paled under the mud and her head turned to the side in a heartbeat. “Coyote?”

  He heard the tremble in her voice and wondered if he’d gone too far. “Please, miss. It’s cold. It’s wet. You’re soaked through. Just come inside and you can sit by the fire and dry your clothes.”

  “But the Hamptons-”

  “They wouldn’t want you to catch your death just to ease their worries.” She gave him a look that said she wasn’t quite convinced. “Miles and Carolina would want you to be safe and exercise good sense.”

  He was afraid he’d crossed a line. She drew in a breath, her eyes narrowing on his face. She’d reacted when he used their names. He only hoped she’d believe him because he was beginning to drip water from his fingertips and down his back. He was a few worrisome moments from scooping her up and taking her inside, for both their sakes.

  And that was why he was surprised when she seemed to shrink before his eyes, as if she was acknowledging defeat.

  He didn’t like the sadness in her eyes or the way her hands clutched at her mud-caked skirts. “Yes,” she admitted, managing to meet his gaze for a moment, “you’re right. I just… it’s just been a very long day. Please,” she gestured to him, “I’ll follow you inside.”

  Livingstone opened his mouth to speak and couldn’t find the words. Closing his mouth again, he moved back to his door and swung it open to allow her into his home. She paused in the open doorway, her hand touching the doorframe for a moment before she stepped inside. It was a womanly gesture and when he followed her inside he stopped in the doorway and touched his palm to the same place on the frame, ignoring the nagging voice that tried to remind him that she didn’t belong there, and she wasn’t going to stay.

  Chapter 5

  Her host, if she could ca
ll him that since he really had no choice but to help her, had been more than hospitable. She had literally been left at his doorstep by fate and a ferocious storm. Standing in the warmth of his homestead she found herself in a bit of shock. She could feel her clothes drying on her body like a second skin. Even without a looking glass she knew that she looked a fright.

  Taking in a breath was a study in effort. One cheek was frozen stiff with dried mud, the other side had rivulets carved in the mud since he’d touched her face, checking her for injuries.

  Brigid wanted to lift a hand and feel the long trails in the dried mud, but she was fairly sure she might rip her clothing with all the mud caked into the cloth.

  So she was left to watch him move about the room. At first, his long strides were calming, easing her breathing and soothing her jangled nerves. Then curiosity set in, and her eyes began to see more than just his travels back and forth over the snug wooden floor. The drawers and cupboards that he opened may not have had a surfeit of items within, but what was there was neatly folded and stacked.

  Towels and a wash basin were set on the table and filled with water from a pot he’d set on the stove. She didn’t recall when he’d done it, but there it was, releasing soft curls of steam.

  Her hands itched from the mud and the scratches she’d acquired along the way, and she barely held back a sigh of relief when he set a bar of soap down beside the basin.

  He looked about the room, and it have her mind a chance to see him in some kind of light. The storm outside, with the pummeling sheets of rain had only given her a vague impression, but inside with the light of the fireplace she was finally able to see the whole of her situation. He was taller, much taller than she was. It should have given her pause, because his height wasn’t the only thing she noticed. His shoulders weren’t broad like some of the men she saw working with cargo along the rails. He was strong. He had picked her up with ease. His form was narrow but he had an easy strength in his movements. And even with her body caked in mud and her hair plastered to the sides of her face, she was still woman enough to notice that he was handsome. His face was strong, not big in the jaw like some men, but the strength was in his eyes and the surety of his gaze. She’d had glimpses of it enough to form a memory.