Stranded With The Secret Billionaire. Marion Lennox
about his shearing problems. What he needed was distraction, and this looked just what the doctor ordered.
* * *
She needed a knight on a white charger. This was no white charger, though. The horse was huge and black as night. And the guy on it?
Instead of armour, he wore the almost universal uniform of the farmer. Moleskin pants. A khaki shirt, open at the throat, sleeves rolled to the elbows. A wide Akubra hat. As he edged his horse carefully down the embankment she had the impression of a weathered face, lean, dark, strong. Not so old. In his thirties?
His mouth was curving into a smile. He was laughing? At her?
‘In a spot of bother, ma’am?’
What she would have given to be able to say: No bother—everything’s under control, thank you.
But her car was sinking and Samson was somewhere under his dogs.
‘Yeah,’ she said grimly. ‘I tried to cross but the creek doesn’t have stones in it.’
His lips twitched. ‘How inconsiderate.’
‘The last creek did.’
He put his hands up, as if in surrender. ‘I cannot tell a lie,’ he told her. ‘I dropped stones in the first crossing but not this one. The first floods all the time. This one not so much. There’s a lot of water coming down. I doubt you’d get back over the first crossing now.’
‘You put the stones in...’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
She stood and thought about it. She had bare feet—a pair of bright pink sandals had been tossed onto the bank on this side. Obviously she’d waded through first, which was intelligent. Driving into a flooded creek with a sandy base was the opposite.
But now wasn’t the time for judging. The water was rising by the minute. ‘Would you like me to help you get your car out?’
And any hint of belligerence died. ‘Could you? Do you know how?’
‘You have cushions on your passenger seat,’ he said. He’d been checking out the car while they talked. A big car might be a problem but this looked small enough to push, and with the traction of cushions... ‘We could use those.’
‘They’re Samson’s.’
‘Samson?’
‘My poodle.’
‘I see.’ He was still having trouble keeping a straight face. ‘Is he likely to bite my arm off if I use his cushions?’
She glanced to where Reg and Bluey were still warily circling Samson. Samson was wisely standing still. Very still.
‘Your dogs...’
‘Are meeting a poodle for the very first time. They won’t take a piece out of him, if that’s what you’re worried about. So Samson won’t take a piece out of me if I borrow his cushion?’
‘No. Please... If you could...’
‘My pleasure, ma’am. I haven’t pushed a pink car out of floodwaters for a very long time.’
* * *
And then he got bossy.
He swung himself down from his horse. He didn’t bother tying it up—the assumption, she guessed, was that it’d stay where he left it and the assumption seemed correct. Then he strode out into the water to her car. He removed the cushions, then stooped and wedged them underwater, in front of the back wheels.
‘Rear-wheel drive is useful,’ he told her. ‘Four-wheel drive is better—it’s pretty much essential out here. You didn’t think to borrow something a little more useful before driving off-road?’
‘This is a road.’
‘This is a track,’ he told her.
He was standing almost thigh-deep in water and he was soaked from pushing the cushions into place.
‘I should push,’ she offered.
The lips twitched again. ‘I’m thinking I might just have a bit more muscle. Could you hop in and switch on the ignition? When I tell you to accelerate, go for it. Straight forward, and as soon as you feel the car get a grip, keep going.’
She thought about it for a moment and saw a problem. A big one. ‘Um...’
He paused. ‘Um?’
‘Are there any more creeks?’ she asked, her voice filled with trepidation.
‘Any more creeks where?’
‘Between here and Malley’s Corner.’
‘You’re headed for Malley’s Corner?’
‘Yes.’ She tilted her chin at the note of incredulity in his voice. It was the same incredulity she’d heard from every one of her family and friends.
He paused for a moment. The water level rose an inch.
‘We’ll talk about it later,’ he said curtly. ‘We have minutes to get your car clear before she’s properly swamped. Get in and turn it on.’
‘But are there more creeks?’
‘A dozen or so.’
‘Then I can’t get to Malley’s Corner,’ she wailed. ‘I need to go back the way I came. Can you push me back to the other side?’
‘You want to do a U-turn in the middle of the creek?’
‘No, but I don’t want to be trapped.’
‘I have news for you, lady,’ he told her. ‘You’re already trapped. The only hope we have of getting your car out of this water is to go straight forward and do it now. Get in your car and I’ll push or it’ll be washed away. Move!’
She gave a yelp of fright—and moved.
* * *
She was in such a mess.
Actually, if she was honest, she wasn’t in a mess at all. She was perfectly dry. Her little car was on dry land, still drivable. Samson had jumped back up into the passenger seat and was looking around for his cushions. It looked as if she could drive happily away. There were more creeks but for now she was safe.
But she had a cowboy to thank, the guy who’d saved her car—and he was the mess.
Though actually... She should be able to describe him as a mess, she thought. He’d shoved the cushions under her back wheels to get traction and then, as she’d touched the accelerator, he’d put his hands under the back of her car and pushed.
She’d felt the strength of him, the sheer muscle. With the acceleration behind him he’d practically heaved the little car free.
She’d stopped and looked back, and her cowboy—her rescuer—was sprawled full length in the water.
When he stood up he almost looked scary. He was seriously big, he was soaked and he was spitting sand. He did not look happy.
When he reached the bank she backed off a little.
‘Th...thank you,’ she ventured. ‘That was very good of you.’
‘My pleasure, ma’am,’ he said with obvious sarcasm and she winced.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘All in a day’s work. I’ve heaved stock from bogs before this. Your car’s not much bigger than a decent bull.’ He wiped away some sand and she had a clearer view of his face. He had deep brown eyes set in a strongly boned face. Strength and capability and toughness was written on every inch of him. This wasn’t the sort of guy she ever met in her city life.
‘Do you live round here?’ she managed and he nodded.
‘Over the