Table Of ContentHarlequin Special Edition July 2013
Bundle 1 of 2
Marooned with the Maverick
Her McKnight in Shining Armor
Celebration’s Bride
Harlequin Special Edition brings you three new titles for one great price,
available now for a limited time only from July 1 to July 31!
These are heartwarming, romantic stories about life, love and family. This
Harlequin Special Edition bundle includes Marooned by the Maverick by USA
TODAY bestselling author Christine Rimmer, Her McKnight in Shining Armor
by Theresa Southwick and Celebration’s Bride by Nancy Robards Thompson.
Look for 6 compelling new stories every month from Harlequin Special Edition!
Table of Contents
Marooned with the Maverick by Christine Rimmer
Her McKnight in Shining Armor by Teresa Southwick
Celebration’s Bride by Nancy Robards Thompson
Marooned with the Maverick
By Christine Rimmer
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 One
A
t 2:10 in the afternoon on the Fourth of July, Collin Traub glanced out the
great room window of his house on Falls Mountain and could not believe what
he saw in the town down below.
He stopped stock-still and swore under his breath. How could the situation
have gotten so bad so fast? He probably should have been keeping an eye on it.
But he’d been busy, his mind on work. And it was later than usual when he
stopped for lunch and came upstairs.
To this.
He could kick his own ass for not paying more attention. It had to be about the
wettest day on record in Rust Creek Falls, Montana. The rain had been coming
down in buckets since yesterday morning. And Rust Creek, which ran northeast
to southwest through the center of town, had been steadily rising.
Collin had told himself it was no big deal. The creek had good, high levees on
either side, levees that had held without a break for more than a hundred years.
He’d never doubted that they would hold for another hundred.
And yet somehow, impossibly, sections of the levee on the south bank were
crumbling. Through the thick, steady veil of rain that streamed down the
windows, he watched it happen.
The levee just...dissolved, sending foaming, silvery swaths of water pouring
through more than one breach. It was a lot of water and it was flowing fast and
furious onto the lower-elevation south side of town.
People were going to lose their homes. Or worse.
And the water wouldn’t be stopping on the edge of town, either. South of
town lay Rust Creek Falls Valley, a fertile, rolling landscape of small farms and
ranches—and any number of smaller creeks and streams that would no doubt
also be overflowing their banks.
The Triple T, his family’s ranch, was down there in the path of all that water.
He grabbed the phone off the table.
Deader than a hammer.
He dug his cell from his pocket. No signal.
The useless cell still clutched in his hand, Collin grabbed his hat and his keys
and headed out into the downpour.
*
It was a hell of a ride down the mountain.
One-third of the way down, the road skirted close to the falls for which the
mountain was named. The roar was deafening, and the pounding silver width of
the falling water was twice what he was used to seeing. He made it past without
incident. But if the rain kept on like this, the road could easily be washed out.
He’d have himself a real adventure getting back home.
But now was not the time to worry over coming back. He needed to get down
there and do what he could to help. He focused his mind on that, keeping his
boot light on the brake, giving the steering wheel a workout, as he dodged his
4x4 F-150 around mudslides and uprooted trees, with the rain coming down so
thick and fast he could hardly see through the windshield. Now and then,
lightning lit up the gray sky and thunder boomed out, the sound echoing off in
the distance, over the valley below.
Lightning could be damned dangerous on a mountain thick with tall trees. But
with the rain coming down like the end of the world and everything drenched
and dripping, a lightning strike causing a forest fire was probably the last thing
he needed to get anxious over today.
Water. Rivers of it. That was the problem.
There were way too many spots where the streams and overflowing ditches
had shed their contents across the narrow, twisty mountain road. He was lucky to
make it through a few of those spots. But he did it.
Fifteen endless minutes after sliding in behind the wheel, he reached Sawmill
Street on the north edge of town. He debated: go right to North Main and see
what he could do in town, or go left over the Sawmill Street Bridge, skirt the east
side of town and make tracks for the Triple T.
The rest of his family was three hundred miles away for the holiday, down in
Thunder Canyon attending a wedding and a reunion. That made him the only
Traub around.
His obligation to the family holdings won out. He swung left and crossed the
Sawmill Street Bridge, which was still several feet above the raging water. With
a little luck and the Almighty in a generous mood, that bridge might hold.
The Triple T was southeast of town, so he turned south at Falls Street until he
caught sight of the miniature lake that had formed at Commercial and Falls. He
saw a couple of swamped vehicles, but they were empty. He swung left again.
Having been raised in the valley, he knew every rutted dirt road like he knew the
face he saw when he looked in the mirror to shave. Collin used that knowledge
face he saw when he looked in the mirror to shave. Collin used that knowledge
now, taking the higher roads, the ones less likely to be flooded in the troughs and
dips, working his way steadily toward the ranch.
About a mile from the long driveway that led to the barns and houses on the
Triple T, he crested a rise and, through the heavy curtain of pouring rain, saw
another vehicle on the road ahead of him: a red Subaru Forester moving at a
dead crawl.
He knew that Subaru. And he knew who was behind the wheel: Willa
Christensen, the kindergarten teacher.
In spite of everything, the pounding, relentless rain and the flooded road and
the pretty-damned-imminent danger, Collin grinned. Since a certain evening a
little more than four years before, Willa had been running away from him—and
no, he hadn’t been chasing her.
Yeah, he had something of a reputation. People called him a skirt chaser, a
player, the Traub family bad boy. But come on. He had better things to do with
his time than sniff around after a woman who wanted nothing to do with him.
And since that night four years ago, Willa took off like a shot whenever she saw
him coming. Collin found her frantic efforts to get away from him pretty
comical, if the truth were known.
His grin faded. She shouldn’t be out in this mess. The way she drove—so
cautious, like some nervous old lady—she was way too likely to misjudge a
flooded spot, to get all flustered and stomp the brake and end up trapped in the
waters that swamped the low sections of the road.
He knew where she was headed. The turnoff to the Christensen Ranch wasn’t
far past the one to the Triple T. But the way she was handling her vehicle, he
didn’t like her odds for getting there in one piece.
Collin readjusted his priorities, skipping the turn to the Triple T, staying on
her tail.
The rain came down harder—if that was possible. He had the wipers on high,
beating fast and hard across the windshield. Thwack thwack thwack thwack.
Even on high, they could hardly keep up with the sheer volume of water falling
out of the gunmetal-gray sky.
Lightning flashed, a jagged spear of it striking a twisted oak on a rise up
ahead. The red Subaru in front of him lurched to a stop as the old oak crashed to
the ground, smoke trailing up in a shower of sparks. Thunder boomed across the
valley as the Subaru inched forward once again.
Every dip in the road held a churning miniflood. Each time Willa drove that
little red station wagon down into a trough, Collin held his breath, sure she
wouldn’t make it through the swirling waters streaming across the road. But
