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She stood at the top of the creek bank, unused to standing back and letting someone else do what she could have done herself. As the man and horse stepped over the edge, Londyn held her breath.
Nash led the mare down the steep bank, both slipping precariously in the mud.
When they reached the creek bed, the water rose around them. Butterscotch had no problem navigating the rush of water. For Nash, it was a little more of a struggle. The creek had gone from nothing more than a trickle to knee-deep and rushing with the rain runoff.
Nash struggled, had his feet swept out from under him, caught himself on Butterscotch’s halter and made it the rest of the way across.
He handed the lead to the ranch hand and slid down the bank into the creek. After making sure he was steady, he waded slowly through the rushing water and climbed the slippery creek bank to stand beside her.
With rain running down her face, Londyn shook her head.
Nash slung mud off his hands as best he could, then held one out to her.
She took it, mud and all.
As soon as they carefully stepped over the edge, their feet flew out from under them. They slid down the bank and into the stream.
By that time, the flow had become a raging river. Nash and Londyn were swept away.
Londyn fought to keep her head above water, with Nash holding her hand in a vice-like grip.
All she could see in the occasional moment with her head above the surface, was the light shining into the creek further upstream where they were supposed to have crossed.
They’d gone several yards down the river when she was yanked to a halt by that grip on her hand. Waves rushed over her head for so long she thought for sure she would drown. Then, the grip on her hand tightened. She was pulled up and out of the water onto a tree branch growing out of the side of the bank.
Nash pulled her up onto a thicker branch and into his arms.
“Are you all right?” he yelled about the roar of the river, his arm tightening around her.
Londyn coughed the water from her lungs and wrapped her arms around his waist. “I am now.”
He held her close, his arms like vices around her.
Londyn was so cold she couldn’t tell who was shaking more.
A light above their heads bounced toward them. When it finally came abreast of where they clung to the tree, it shined down on them.
When they could finally see the tree branches, Nash loosened his hold on Londyn and helped her climb the limbs ahead of him, following, ready to catch her should she slip and fall back.
Londyn finally made it to level ground, out of the creek and away from the slippery bank.
Before she could ask, the ranch hand said, “Don’t worry. The mare is tied to a tree.” He led them back to Butterscotch.
Exhausted from their impromptu swim and attempted drowning, Londyn trudged along beside her horse, glad for the halter to hold onto when her knees buckled or she tripped over a rock or stubby vegetation.
What felt like hours later, they arrived at the road where the truck and trailer waited.
Mitchell and two more of his ranch hands took charge of Butterscotch. The mare walked right up into the trailer without a problem.
Londyn climbed into the back seat, wet, muddy and so cold her teeth chattered.
Nash slid in beside her, pulled her into his arms and held her all the way to the ranch house. Having almost lost her in the raging creek had shaken him more than he could have imagined.
As they rolled into the barnyard, Nash frowned.
Though the equipment vans were still parked in front of the barn, many of the other vehicles belonging to the cast and crew were gone.
“Where did everybody go?” Londyn asked.
