Page 2 of His Texas Claim

“Other one too,” I said, gripping her wrist firmly. “When I say pull, you pull straight up. Not toward me.”

“Straight up,” she said. “Got it.”

“And…pull.”

I pulled.

The mud let go all at once, a wet crack, and she came up out of it with one boot and one bare, extremely muddy foot. I hardly got a chance to inspect the damage, though—she jerked forward, lost her balance, balled her fists in my shirt…and we both went down.

Me flat on my back in the damn creek. Her on top of me.

Both of us drenched.

I sat up fast, pushing her off of me and into the water herself. She sputtered, shaking her head and sending a spray of water over me.

Given the May heat, it didn’t feel awful, if I was being honest. Not that I was going to say that to her.

“I am…so sorry,” she said. “My god.”

“You’re fine.”

“You’re soaked.”

“So are you.”

She pushed up to stand, succeeding only in wobbling for a second before sliding on the algae again. Mud caked her pants and one side of her shirt, creek water everywhere, one boot gone.

“This is going great,” she muttered. “You’d think I’ve never been outside before.”

I gave her a look. “Wait—you’ve been outside before?”

“Funny,” she said, barking a laugh. “Very funny.”

I stood, barely managing to keep my footing on the creek bed myself, then extended my hand. She eyed it.

“You sure you want to help me again given what happened last time?”

I shrugged. “I’m already wet.”

Once again, she took my hand.

This time, neither of us went down; we got back to the bank, actually, wobbly but at least not stuck. Buck stayed sat where he was, watching her with that characteristic Heeler stare. She tromped down a ways, then knelt to lift a bag I hadn’t seen from a little way’s downstream.

That was when I noticed she was bleeding.

“You’re hurt,” I said. “Cut on your heel; you should sit down.”

“I’m fine,” she said, not even looking at it. “I’m so sorry—this is extremely embarrassing. Didn’t mean to trespass, I’ve just been following the creek for…well, I’m not sure how long. The fence felt more like an obstacle than any official borderline.”

“Sounds like trespassing to me,” I said.

“I know that now…but there are fences everywhere in this state,” she said. “Old fences, new—no reason for me to think anyone would even notice me.” She peeled off the bag’s zipper flap and pulled out a hard plastic case. “Officially, formally, I apologize. Unofficially, the creek doesn’t stop for property lines and neither do the things living in it.”

“The things living in it?”

She popped the case open. Inside, nestled in wet foam, was the last thing I’d expected to see.

“Things like…frogs,” I said.