Page 20 of Maple Kissed by the Mountain Man

He kept hold of my hand as we descended. I didn’t tease him about it. I wanted to, but I also wanted him to keep holding my hand.

Ford glanced down and caught me staring.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“That’s my line.”

“I wanted to see how it sounded.”

“And?”

“Suspicious.”

He tugged me effortlessly around a patch of mud, his thumb pressing firmly into the back of my hand.

“Pay attention.”

“I am.”

“To the trail.”

“That wasn’t specified.”

By the time we reached the creek, brown water rushed between the banks, muddy, violent, and much higher than it had been an hour ago. White water churned over the rocks we’d used earlier.

Ford stopped so fast I nearly ran into his back.

“That looks worse,” I said, looking at the swollen current.

“It is.”

“Can you carry me across again?”

“No.”

The answer came fast, harsh enough to make my stomach tighten.

“You carried me before.”

“The water was lower. The current is too fast now.”

“What about the other crossing? We’re not under a time crunch now.” I brushed the hair from my face. My braid was starting to unravel.

We followed the rising creek until we reached a narrow bend. The remains of a wooden footbridge stretched between the banks. A heavy pine tree had fallen across the center, wiping out the bridge.

“That does not look good.” I stepped closer, grabbing the back of his shirt.

“No, it doesn’t.” The rain came down faster.

“What do we do?”

Ford looked at the sky, then at the roaring water. “We wait.”

“Here?”

“On higher ground.”