Kitabı oxu: «The Texan's Secret»
“What do you want?”
Chance’s eyes met hers. “The truth. The honest-to-God truth.”
“Okay. I lied. My real name is Shay Dumont.”
“Why the lie?” His voice was as cool as ice water. But it didn’t keep her from noticing he was heartthrobbing-good-looking. How she wished that they had met before she’d pulled such a stupid stunt.
The truth would hurt too many people. “Listen. I didn’t take anything, so can we please let this drop?”
“No.”
He came for the truth and he wasn’t leaving without it.
“If you don’t tell me why you were trying to rob the Calhouns, I’ll call the constable of High Cotton. He’ll arrest you for attempted robbery.”
Her head jerked up. “You saw me leave and could see that I didn’t take anything. How many times do I have to say that?”
The shattered look on her face twisted his stomach and prompted him to add, “Shay, I mean you no harm, but I have to know why you tried to rob the Calhouns.”
She still remained silent.
“If you’re innocent, I’ll forget the whole thing.”
“But I’m not innocent.”
Dear Reader,
I’m excited to start another series for Harlequin Superromance—The Hardin Boys. These books are loosely connected to The Belles of Texas, so we’re going back to High Cotton briefly for the start of Chance’s story, The Texan’s Secret.
I live in Texas, where oil is king. Some would say football, but that all depends on if you own land. If you do, you’re waiting for the day an oilman will show up wanting to lease your land for oil or gas. It’s a gamble. They might strike a big well or it could be a dry hole. Everyone is usually willing to take that risk.
This series is about three brothers who have roughnecked in the oilfields most of their lives. They don’t plan on keeping the dirty, grimy job forever. They plan to move up the ladder. It happens when Cadde, the older brother, inherits part of an oil company. In the first book, Chance has to decide if he wants to be a cowboy or an oilman. Since his father had been a roughneck, the decision is easy. He heads for Houston to join his brothers.
But first, he has to tell them a secret that has haunted him all his life. Chance’s story revolves around a woman with green eyes, Shay Dumont, who has the biggest secret of all.
So join me in uncovering secrets and finding out if there is a happy-ever-after for Chance and Shay.
With love and thanks,
Linda Warren
P.S. It’s the highlight of my day to hear from readers. You can email me at Lw1508@aol.com or www.facebook.com/authorlindawarren or write me at P.O. Box 5182, Bryan, TX 77805 or visit my website at www.lindawarren.net. Your letters will be answered as soon as possible.
The Texan’s Secret
Linda Warren
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Award-winning, bestselling author Linda Warren has written twenty-six books for the Harlequin Superromance and Harlequin American Romance lines. She grew up in the farming and ranching community of Smetana, Texas, the only girl in a family of boys. She loves to write about Texas, and from time to time scenes and characters from her childhood show up in her books. Linda lives in College Station, Texas, not far from her birthplace, with her husband, Billy, and a menagerie of wild animals, from Canada geese to bobcats. Visit her website at www.lindawarren.net.
I dedicate this book to my patient editor,
Kathleen Scheibling, who stuck with me
during a really rough time.
Thank you!
And to Paula Eykelhof, for just caring.
And to the special angels who were there when
they didn’t have to be:
Diannia, Sondra and LaVal.
And, as always, to my hero, Sonny.
Acknowledgments
A special thanks to:
James O. Siegert for sharing his knowledge of
oil wells and the industry.
Sarah Schroeder for answering questions
about Houston.
Shelley Utz, hairstylist.
Randy Rychlik, paramedic.
And, Vicki Cowan for her keen eye.
All errors are strictly mine.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
THE FIERCE AFTERNOON WIND whipped through the landscape like an errant child of Mother Nature, set on doing some damage. Heavy, dark clouds from the north threatened rain, a sure sign that the old lady had not finished her wrath of winter.
Chance Hardin hated March.
And all the agonizing memories it stirred.
He shifted uneasily at the kitchen table on the High Five ranch in High Cotton, Texas, and forced his eyes away from the window. Gripping his warm coffee cup, he stared into its murky depths, seeing a night as dark as the brew inside. Through the blackness the emotions of a twelve-year-old boy surfaced—a boy whose world had been shattered by loud voices, screams—and death.
On a miserable March night.
Chance felt his stomach twist into a knot as his brothers waited. He’d been avoiding this conversation for twenty-two years. How much longer could he stall?
“Come on, Chance.” Cadde was putting on the pressure, just like Chance knew he would. It was part of being an older brother. “You know Dad wanted us to work together.”
You didn’t really know him.
“Yeah.” Cisco, his middle brother, nicknamed Kid, joined in. “The oil business is in our blood. We’ve all been involved in the industry. Now, thanks to Roscoe Murdock, Cadde owns a big part of Shilah Oil. Of course, there were strings attached, but that didn’t stop ol’ Cadde.” Kid slapped Cadde on the back and received a knockout glare in return, that didn’t faze him one bit. “Come on, Chance, we can be the bosses, setting the pace and making Shilah Oil one of the best companies in Texas.”
Chance raised his head. “Roscoe’s daughter, Jessie, owns the biggest part, and she’ll be calling the shots.”
He didn’t know why he felt a need to remind his brothers of that, but the whole inheritance thing was a bit of a shock. Not that Cadde hadn’t earned it. He had.
Roscoe had been paranoid about Jessie’s safety ever since his niece had been kidnapped and murdered. After the tragedy he’d had Jessie guarded twenty-four hours a day. Cadde had told Chance that Jessie was seven at the time, and now she had to be close to thirty.
Even though she was a fully grown woman, Roscoe didn’t let up on his protection of Jessie. On his deathbed he’d made a deal with Cadde, who had been his right hand at Shilah. If Cadde married Jessie and promised to protect her, Roscoe would make him CEO of the oil company and sign over a portion of his shares. Roscoe just forgot to mention that his daughter would inherit the biggest part of Shilah Oil, the company Roscoe and his brother, Al, had started in the forties.
Chance had met Jessie a couple of times when he’d visited Cadde in Houston. She was a petite, dark-haired, dark-eyed beauty, and he could see why Cadde had no problem with the arrangement. Not that Chance knew much about it—Cadde’s marriage was his business. He just didn’t figure his brother as the marriage-of-convenience type. Although Cadde would do anything to further his career in the oil industry. It had been his dream since they were kids.
It had been the dream of their father.
“I can handle Jessie.”
Chance came back to the conversation with a start, but kept his emotions in check, as always. Fiddling with his cup, he had to admit that Cadde could probably handle Jessie—the way he handled everything in life, with his confident, can-do-anything air. Just like Kid, Cadde was unstoppable when he had his mind set on something.
“We need you, Chance. Your skill with the rigs is better than that of anyone I know. I want to try the new drilling techniques on some of the old leases, to give those fields a jump start. You’re the man to oversee the job.”
Chance swallowed hard. “I’m happy at Southern Cross.”
Cadde leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, his chair making a scraping noise on the tiled floor. “Why don’t you just admit that you still blame Kid and me for the accident?”
The kitchen became painfully quiet. Talking about that horrible night was something they never did. The wrought-iron clock on the wall ticked away precious seconds. Aunt Etta moved from the kitchen counter to stand a few feet from the table, a wooden spoon in her grasp just in case she had to break up a fight, much as she had when they were boys.
A hand lightly touched Chance’s shoulder—a gesture from Uncle Rufus, telling him to keep his cool. Their elderly aunt and uncle had taken the Hardin boys in after their parents’ tragic deaths, and knew them better than anyone.
“I never blamed you,” Chance said clearly and without emotion. That night was too heartbreaking to think about, but he could feel the memory slicing into his brain with a sharp edge of reality. His parents had been returning home to High Cotton from an out-of-town basketball game of Cadde’s and Cisco’s.
Chuck Hardin had pulled two shifts on an oil rig and then had taken his wife and Chance to the game because his sons had wanted him at the state championship. Speculation was he’d fallen asleep at the wheel. Chance knew differently. Dozing in the backseat, he was the only one who’d survived that fatal crash as the car had swerved, left the road and hit a tree. And the only one who knew what had really happened that night.
He planned to take that secret to the grave.
Cadde eased back, his dark eyes pinned on Chance. All three brothers had the deep brown eyes of their father. “You’ve been different ever since. Distant. Getting anything out of you is like pulling teeth.”
Chance didn’t squirm. He met Cadde’s stare. “Losing one’s parents can change a person.”
“Yeah,” Kid interjected in a nostalgic tone. “We’ve all changed, but it’s time for us to be family again—the Hardin boys taking on the world.”
That sounded good to Chance, but he couldn’t weaken. Guilt beat at him like a persistent hangover. If he spent more time around his brothers, he wouldn’t be able to keep his secret. Telling them would destroy their love and trust of their father, as it had destroyed his. He wouldn’t do that—ever.
Uncle Rufus stood. In his seventies, bowlegged and a cowboy to the core, Rufus Johns spoke little, but when he did, they listened. He and Aunt Etta had worked for the High Five ranch since they were teenagers, and lived in a small house not far from the big house, as they called the Belle residence on the ranch. Now Rufus, as he’d been many times when they’d lived with him, was again their mediator.
“Your brothers asked you a question. It requires a simple yes or no. What’s your answer?”
Chance clenched his jaw and willed himself to relax. “No. I have a good job at Southern Cross and I’m not interested in leaving it for the oil business…just yet.”
“Damn it.” Cadde hit the table with his fist, making the coffee cups rattle.
Aunt Etta tapped his shoulder with her spoon. “You’re not too old for me to use this on, you know. Respect your brother’s decision. You and Kid can get into enough trouble on your own.”
Cadde hooked an arm around Etta’s thin waist and pulled her to his side. “Aunt Etta, Chance is missing out on the biggest opportunity of his life.”
“That’s his choice.”
“I just…”
Cadde’s words trailed away as five-year-old Kira Yates burst though the back door, followed by her parents, Skylar and Cooper. Kira eyed the two strangers and edged her way over to Chance. “Look what I drew in school.” She handed him the paper. It was a child’s drawing of a family.
Chance introduced his brothers to Kira.
“I’m gonna have a brother, too.” Kira pointed proudly to the picture.
“I see. Very good.”
Kira carried the picture to Etta.
“What a little artist you are.” The elderly woman kissed the top of her head. “Miss Dorie is waiting for you in the parlor.”
“Gotta go.” Kira darted away.
Sky, the youngest Belle daughter and five months pregnant, walked over to the table. “My, my, the Hardin boys are back in town. Lock up your daughters, folks. They can’t be trusted.”
Kid got to his feet and hugged her. “Dane used to say that all the time.” He, Cadde and Chance had grown up with the Belle sisters, and Dane Belle had been like the father they’d lost.
Sky winked. “Especially to his daughters.”
Kid rocked back on his heels with the crafty grin of a possum eating honey. “Have no idea why.”
Of all the brothers, he hid his pain in humor and romancing the ladies. He was well known for it. Cadde was the driven one, set on making his dream come true. Chance, on the other hand, buried himself behind a veil of secrecy. The accident had affected all their lives, one way or another.
Cadde rose and hugged Sky and shook Cooper’s hand. “I heard you’re the owner of High Five now.” When Cooper had allowed himself to fall in love with Sky, he’d decided to stay in High Cotton forever, so he’d approached Caitlyn and Maddie, the other two sisters, with an offer they couldn’t refuse.
“Yep, and I heard you’re the owner of an oil company.” Cadde, Cooper and Judd Calhoun, owner of Southern Cross, were about the same age and had gone to school together, along with Maddie’s husband, Walker. High Cotton was a close-knit community of family and friends.
Cadde nodded. “I guess we’ve grown up.”
“Sobering, isn’t it?” Cooper replied, while shaking Kid’s hand. “Still riding shotgun?” Cadde and Kid were fourteen months apart, and so close, people often thought they were twins. The humorous Kid always kept the deep and brooding Cadde in line with his antics, or more accurately, kept him on his toes.
“Yeah.” Kid’s infectious grin widened. “Someone has to keep an eye on Cadde or he gets a little too intense.”
“Daddy, Mommy,” Kira called from the parlor. “Gran’s waiting. We’re having a tea party.” Dorthea Belle was the matriarch of the family and everyone loved her. Just as her son, Dane had, she made the orphaned Hardin boys feel like family.
“This could take a while.” Cooper delivered the words with a Texas-size smile. Family suited the man. “Stay as long as you want and visit.”
As Cooper left, Chance reached for his hat. “I’ve got to get back. Judd and Cait are gone for a week and I don’t want to stay away too long.”
“Damn.” Kid snapped his fingers. “I was hoping to see Caitlyn.”
Chance sighed. “You can’t flirt with her like you used to or Judd will give you a king-size headache.”
Kid shook his head. “Can’t believe she finally married him.”
Caitlyn was the oldest Belle daughter and Kid had always hit on her. Hell, he hit on all the sisters—that was his nature. He never met a woman he didn’t like. The Belles never missed a chance to set him straight. They’d lived so close they were like brothers and sisters—and they’d fought like siblings. Cait would vow never to speak to Kid again. In the next instant they’d be racing their horses to the general store, or off across the nearest pasture, argument forgotten.
Chance had thought that Cait would never leave the place of her birth, but love was a powerful force. Her marrying her archenemy from the neighboring ranch came as a surprise to everyone, except Chance and her sisters. Since her teens, Cait had been in love with Judd, but it had taken years for them to work out their differences.
Even though Chance and Cait talked a lot, he’d never told her his secret. He’d never told anyone.
“Give it a rest, Kid,” Cadde said. “You were never serious about any of the Belles. They were family.”
“That’s what made it so much fun,” he replied with that silly grin. “They knew I wasn’t serious. You know how Caitlyn is when she’s mad? With just a frown, she can make a grown man take ten steps backward without even thinking or blinking. Hell, I had fun getting her angry.”
Etta gave him a strange look. “Sometimes I worry about you, boy.”
Kid hugged her. “Ah, Aunt Etta, I’m just joking. You know me. I’d never touch one of Dane’s daughters. Hell, he’d have killed me, but that didn’t keep me from teasing them.”
“Yeah.” She pointed a finger in his face. “You leave the girls alone. They’re happily married, with babies.”
“Pay no attention to him, Aunt Etta,” Cadde told her. “He’s always about a pint short on his blood supply.”
“Now wait a minute…”
Cadde ignored Kid and turned to Chance. “The offer is still on the table. Think it over. We want you with us.”
Chance nodded and walked out. As he got into his truck, he couldn’t deny that the offer was tempting. When they were younger, their father would say he didn’t want them toiling in the oil fields all their lives like he had. That as brothers working together, they could accomplish anything—be the bosses, not hands. That’s why Chance never saw what was to come—the horrible truth. The man who’d spouted family values, loyalty and love was a phony. His other two sons still idolized him. So how could Chance destroy that illusion?
With his jaw clenched, he turned from High Five onto the blacktop county road that led to the Southern Cross ranch. When Judd had offered him the job of foreman, Chance had been happy for the opportunity to cowboy again. He was tired of the grime and muck working as a roughneck, and wanted to settle down for a while. Also, Aunt Etta and Uncle Rufus were getting older, and he thought they might need him close by.
The Hardin home place was about a mile beyond the Southern Cross. Chance was glad he didn’t have to ride past it every day, but there were times when he was checking fences and he’d glance across the road and see the small, white frame house nestled among the oak trees. His pulse would quicken and nausea would gnaw at his insides for a second.
None of the brothers had been inside the house since that fatal night. Dane and his cowboys had moved all their clothes and belongings into Aunt Etta and Uncle Ru’s spare bedroom. In that tiny room they’d grieved, bonded tighter and learned to live again—all thanks to Dane Belle.
After a week of them not knowing what to do with themselves, Dane had said, “Boys, you’ve been dealt a mighty blow—some men would break under the sadness and pressure. But as a tribute to your parents you have to show you’re Hardin stock, tough and unbreakable.” He had given them a moment to digest that, and then added, “Let’s go. There’re cows to be fed.”
When they weren’t in school, Dane had kept them busy. They’d thrived on his attention. He’d taught them how to cowboy and how to be tough. Dane was a gambler and they’d all benefited when he won big. When Cadde graduated from high school, Dane had bought him a brand-new Chevy pickup. Aunt Etta had said it was too much, and Uncle Ru had agreed.
Cadde had held his breath as he’d waited for Dane to talk them into allowing him to keep the gift. And he had. Cadde had left for Texas Tech University in Lubbock to get a petroleum engineering degree. The next year Kid had followed in his own new truck.
Dane’s daughters had different mothers, so Maddie and Skylar lived out of state and spent holidays and summers on the ranch. Caitlyn was the only sister raised on High Five. With Chance’s brothers gone, that had left him and Cait. They’d graduated together. And just like his brothers, Chance got a truck. Cait got a car.
She’d been furious, for she’d wanted a truck, too. Dane had said that women don’t drive trucks—they drive cars. For a solid month she’d refused to drive the car, but eventually gave in.
Dane’s gambling and drinking took a downward spiral in his later years, and he’d passed away. It was a blow to everyone at High Five, to the community, and to the Hardin boys. Chance supposed everyone had to die. He just wished he didn’t think about it so much.
Dane would be pleased to know that his girls were all happy, and living in High Cotton. Maddie had married Walker, the constable, and they had three kids. Cait and Judd had twin boys. Dane’s wild daughter, Sky, was expecting her second child. Dane was surely resting in peace.
Chance just wished…
The brutal wind tugged at the three-quarter-ton truck as if it were a play toy. Spring was knocking on winter’s door, but winter, Mother Nature’s stepchild, was set on claiming more time. She would soon tire, though. Calving season was around the corner at the ranch and Chance would be busy. He wouldn’t have time for a lot of thinking, especially about his brother’s offer.
But as he drove steadily homeward, he had to wonder how long he could continue to keep his secret.
Could a Hardin be that strong?
SHAY DUMONT GLANCED at the directions in her hand while keeping an eye on the road. Southern Cross couldn’t be much farther. Miles of ranch land with thick woods and swaying grasses flashed by. She chewed on a nail, then forced herself to stop the bad habit. But here she was, on this lonely road in the middle of nowhere. It was a little unnerving.
What she had planned was unnerving, too.
How much farther could it be? Then she saw the huge stone entrance and the wrought-iron arc with the name Southern Cross welded on it. Bingo! This was it. Her heart raced and her clammy hands gripped the steering wheel. She’d waited years for this day, and nerves weren’t going to get the best of her.
The Calhouns were going to get the shock of their lives. Her mother had told her to enjoy every minute of the confrontation, but she’d never enjoyed hurting anyone. That wasn’t Shay’s nature.
She passed the entrance. For the first time she realized how hard this was going to be. Taking a deep breath, she looked for a place to turn around. Pasture lands stretched on either side of her, enclosed with barbed wire fences. No Trespassing signs were attached to the wire every half mile or so.
Before she could maneuver the car to the side of the road, her cell phone buzzed. She reached in her purse for it and clicked On.
“Have you reached the ranch?”
“Yes.” Just what she needed—her mother giving her more instructions. Shay let out a long breath, made a U-turn and drove back, the wind giving her an extra push.
“You know what you have to do.”
“You don’t have to remind me.” Shay tried to hide the bite in her voice, but failed. “How’s Darcy?”
“She’s in the living room with Nettie. The quicker you get back here the better. That kid is getting on my nerves with her loud, squeaky voice. Why you took her in is still beyond me.”
Shay’s knuckles turned white from gripping the wheel. She was the legal guardian of eight-year-old Darcy Stevens. Shay and Darcy’s mother, Beth, had been very good friends. When Beth, a single mom, had asked her to be her daughter’s guardian if anything ever happened to her, Shay had agreed. In their twenties, neither had dreamed that tragedy might strike them so young, but it had. Beth was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, and had died within months.
Darcy was filled with so much anger at her mother’s death that Shay was at a loss sometimes about how to deal with her. She sucked at being a mother.
“I’ll be back as quick as I can. She does fine with Nettie,” Shay replied. Her mother’s cousin, who lived next door, was a lifesaver.
“Avoid that Hardin boy who’s the foreman. He could be trouble.”
“I don’t plan on talking to any of the cowboys.” A Hardin was the last person she wanted to meet.
“Don’t you let me down.”
Shay clicked off with the words ringing in her ears. They epitomized her whole life. Her mother had probably started saying them to her in the crib. Where most kids had cereal for breakfast, Shay had been spoon-fed guilt. She did not have a Cosby kid’s childhood. It was more like a Hallmark afternoon special.
But today she was going to make up for a lot of that.
By doing exactly what her mother wanted.
What was she doing? Shay’s mind reeled with unsettling thoughts, and she misjudged the distance to her purse. Her cell phone fell to the floor. Reaching for it, she turned the wheel too far, and the car slid off the road. Quickly overcorrecting, she glanced up and saw a silver truck heading straight for her. She jerked the wheel and the car left the road and barreled across a bar ditch, through a fence, and kept going.
She screamed when a tree came out of nowhere. Frantically, she jammed her foot on the brake, and the car spun, her head hitting the wheel. A searing pain shot through her, followed by a soft white light and then darkness.
CHANCE PULLED OVER to the side of the road and jumped out, poking 911 into his cell. He gave his name, location and a few details. The wind tugged at his hat, so he threw it into the backseat.
The operator told him there was a bad wreck on US 290 and that all available ambulances were en route there. She said she’d send one as soon as she could. As they spoke, Chance paused briefly on the shoulder of the road and took in the situation. The car had crashed through a fence, grazed a tree and was resting in the creek.
“Can you see anything?” the dispatcher asked.
“Yes. The car is in Crooked Creek.”
“I’ve notified the volunteer fire department in your area and the constable. Help is on the way. Check and see if anyone is injured.”
Clutching his phone, Chance ran down the slope and leaped over the ditch. Please, not another wreck on a dreary March day, was all he could think.
“A small Chevy is slowly taking in water,” he reported to the dispatcher. He stepped into the creek to take a closer look. “Only one person in the car—a woman. Her head is resting against the steering wheel.”
“Does she have on her seat belt?”
Chance peered inside. “Yes.”
“Air bag inflated?”
“No.”
“Do you see blood?”
“No. But there’s water on the floorboard and it’s rising.” His eyes shifted to the front of the car. “Steam is coming from under the hood, but I expect that’s from the hot motor hitting water.”
“Yes, probably. Can you open the door?”
“Just a sec.” Shoving his cell into his jeans pocket, he grabbed the handle and yanked on it. “No. It’s jammed and the water is holding it tight,” he said, anxious moments later. The wind whipped the water against his legs and tousled his hair. His efforts on the door made the car inch farther into the creek.
Damn!
Memories beat at him. His mother’s blonde hair covered in blood flashed through his mind. Chance hadn’t been able to save her. But he would save this woman.
“Do you hear a siren?”
“No. Not yet.”
“Try the other doors.”
He did as instructed, but none would open. “They won’t budge, and the water is rising. It’s up to her waist. Where in the hell is everyone?”
“An ambulance has been rerouted from US 290, but that’s twenty miles away. High Cotton is one of those remote communities we have problems with, but the fire department should be there.”
“They’re not.” Chance bent and gazed in at the unconscious woman again. Her blonde hair was long and the tips were now touching water. “This lady doesn’t have a lot of time.”
“Okay. I just heard from High Cotton’s fire chief. They’re having trouble with the truck.”
“Damn.” They were always having problems with that old fire engine. They’d been having fundraisers for a new one and had applied for a grant from the state of Texas to help with the cost. But this lady needed help now.
“Just stay on the line.”
“I’m not going anywhere, but this car is filling up fast.”
“Okay. Do you have anything to break a window?”
“I have a crowbar in my truck.”
“Get it, and wait for instructions.”
Gulping a breath, he ran back to his truck for the implement, then sloshed back into the creek to the stranded vehicle. “Now what?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.
“Break the driver’s side window, but be careful.”
Switching to speakerphone, he placed his cell on the roof of the car, then looked inside again. The driver was still out cold, leaning toward the right, that was good. She was farther away from the door.
With one swing, he shattered the window. Luckily, it broke into a sheet of tiny cubes and he was able to break it away from the frame. Pieces of glass fell into the water and others dropped into the car. As he worked, sweat rolled down his face despite the relentless wind.
“It’s done,” he said.
“Check and see if she has a pulse.”
He brushed her long hair aside and felt the smooth skin of her neck. A faint rhythm beat against his fingers and he let out a long breath. “Yes, she’s alive.”
“No help yet?”
“No, and the wind is not helping. The car is not stable.”
“Can you get her out?”
Chance took another deep breath. “I’ll try.”
“Just be sure to brace her neck.”
After making sure there were no jagged glass edges left in the window frame, he reached in, stuck his hand in the water and felt for her seat belt. It made a swishing sound as it slid back into its holder. With a grunt, he grasped her under her armpits and tugged, maneuvering carefully to pull her through the window. The buoyancy of the water helped. At one point the car swayed, and he held his breath.
Finally clear, Chance braced her head on his chest and dragged her away, leaving a wet trail in the mud.
He gently laid her on the grass. While supporting her neck, he managed to struggle out of his wet shirt and stuff it under her head. Then he hurried back for his phone.
“What’s happening? Can you hear me?” he heard the dispatcher calling.
“I have her out on the creek bank.” He knelt beside the unconscious woman. “She has a slight gash on her forehead.”
Pulsuz fraqment bitdi.
