Jeremiah (Stud Ranch 5)

Raul’s place was at the top of a twisty hill, the dirt road turned to mud. A vehicle without four-wheel drive wouldn’t have been able to even make it to the top. Jeremiah’s jaw was locked as he maneuvered the truck the last bit to the top, slipping and sliding as the wheels fought the mud for traction, but finally getting us there.

I was tempted to stay in the car while Jeremiah did his business, but my Texan blood wouldn’t let me. Plus the fact that considering the conditions out there, I was damn well gonna make sure he attached the trailer correctly.

So as soon as I saw Jeremiah and another man—Raul, I assumed—line up the trailer, I jumped out to go watch as they hitched it. I was drenched in two seconds from the pouring rain, but that was nothing new.

They were just attaching the chains, two, which was regulation, and they’d gotten the ball and lynch pin on right.

Jeremiah waved me away and I went back to the car after a quick look at the trailer. It wasn’t new by any stretch of the imagination. I hoped Jeremiah hadn’t paid much for it. That it was “functional” was the best that could be said for it.

Rain dripped from my hair onto my face and I cranked up the heat, but only for a second, because that quickly made it feel too humid and stuffy.

Minutes later I felt a tug on the truck like they were testing the chains, then Jeremiah was yanking open the door and jumping back in the driver’s seat.

“All right, let’s get the hell outta here.”

I nodded. Fine by me.

It took some maneuvering to turn around in the tight space of the parking area by Raul’s ranch house, especially in the mud, but we finally made it and then we were trundling back down the hillside.

I could tell Jeremiah was trying to take it slow and careful, but with the added weight of the trailer behind us, it was occasionally just a controlled slide. I think we were both breathing easier once we made it back to the pavement of the main county road. My knuckles were white from clutching my door and the oh shit bar, anyway.

It was still about an hour till we got back home, but at least we were off that damn hill.

I was feeling better, till we got to the first low-water crossing, anyway. And saw that the water had somehow gained the two feet in the forty-five minutes it had taken us driving and hitching the trailer.

“Jesus,” Jeremiah swore, driving over the barely dry road. I plastered my face to the window, watching as the water started sloshing at the sides of the bridge, threating to come over. It would, any moment. We were only just making it in time.

I didn’t say anything, tense until we’d made it across the other side. I only glanced Jeremiah’s way once we were across. His jaw was tense again and I wondered if he was thinking the same thing I was.

We still had another crossing to go.

And the rain wasn’t letting up, not one bit.

It was getting dark out, even though theoretically it was still an hour from sunset. The clouds overhead just made it so dark.

And then we came up to the second crossing. At first, I thought it was fine. But once the headlights of the truck flashed over the road in full, I saw that what I’d at first mistaken for the dark of the asphalt on the bridge was actually a mirage—because there was at least three inches of dark brown water flowing right over top of it.

“Dammit!” Jeremiah slammed the brakes and then smacked the wheel with the palm of his hand.

I was tempted to say we should try and drive over it anyway, but I’d lived here long enough to know better. It only took a couple inches to make you hydroplane and I’d seen cars washed over bridges in less water than this.

“If we turn back, we could still get over the other bridge and find another way around,” I said, looking over my shoulder.

“Turn around, how exactly?” Jeremiah turned to me, clearly pissed. “There’s no shoulder and we’ve got a trailer.”

“I don’t know!” I threw my hands up. “A three-point turn? Or a thirty-point turn, whatever it takes.”

He shook his head. “There’s no point. By the time we get back to the other crossing, it’ll be flooded too.”

I made an exasperated noise. “We have to try. We can’t just stay here.”

He gave me a side-long look. “Oh yes, we can.”

My mouth dropped open. “And if the water keeps rising?”

“I’ll back up some. It’s higher ground here, and unless the river rises another ten, fifteen feet, we’ll be fine.”

Was he joking?

Apparently not, because he put the truck in reverse, and actually managed to back up in a straight line even with the trailer attached. It might’ve impressed me if he wasn’t suggesting we just—what? Stay here until when? Until the water went back down again? That could be—