Soon it would be dark and Colt wouldn't be able to see the treacherous currents that threatened to catch his boat and hurl it into oblivion. He thrust the throttle forward, and the boat bucked like an ornery stallion before it plunged ahead at a speed he knew was foolhardy under the circumstances. Power lines down and floating God-only-knew where, swift currents churned up by Hurricane Bethany waiting to suck him under.
"Wait until conditions are better," Wayne had said to him. "Wait until the waters begin to recede and you can see what you're doing."
"Wait and let her die up there? Is that what you're saying?"
"Ann Debeau was at the window. You said so yourself."
"Can you predict whether the waters will rise or recede, Wayne?"
"Wish I could." Wayne knew he was engaged in a losing battle. He put a hand on Colt's shoulder. "Be careful. There are hundreds of people who still need you."
Colt knew that, but right now his focus was on only one, the woman trapped in Windchime House.
He peered through the gray mists and the thickening darkness, wondering if he'd steered off course. Suddenly, out of the gloom he saw it, the tops of massive magnolias and ancient oaks, the gabled roof and book-end chimneys of Windchime House. And in the attic window he saw the light.
Colt gave a whoop of joy, throttled back, and steered his small craft through the swirling waters. Focused on the light in the window, he almost didn't see it, the power line that coiled like a snake in his path.
He swerved, barely missing it. But that was not the last of the obstacles. Trees floated in his path, parts of dismembered cars, entire rooftops.
The venerable magnolia that stood in the front yard of Windchime House was just up ahead, its top standing above the floodwaters like a giant green flag. If he could only make it to the tree, he'd have a chance.
He focused all his energy on the tree.
o0o
The sound woke her. A roaring sound, like a small plane. Disoriented, Ann sat up, the letters scattering about her.
He had come back. Just as he'd promised.
"Anthony?"
She stumbled across the floor, the candle in the window guiding her way.
"Anthony?"
She fumbled at the windows, finally got them unbolted. When she flung them open the winds slapped her in the face, bringing her fully awake, fully aware. She was not in the midst of a war waiting for Anthony; she was in the midst of a hurricane awaiting rescue.
The sound that woke her had ceased, and she strained her eyes into the darkness, trying to catch a glimpse of something, anything.
"Annie!" Colt's voice. But where was he?
"Over here."
A dark object floated past her window, and beyond she saw the beam of light. A boat, lashed to the magnolia tree, and in it stood Colt Butler.
She gave a whoop of joy. "Thank God, you're here. Can you get the boat any closer?"
"No. Too much risk."
"That's okay." She started over the windowsill.
"Wait! I'll come to you."
"There's no need. I'm a strong swimmer."
"We can't go back in the dark. It's too dangerous. Do you have a flashlight?"
"Yes."
"Get it. Train it over this way. Light me a path, Annie."
He secured the boat, then dived into the dark waters.
o0o
A small eternity later he was in the attic. Colt scooped her into his arms and held her close, his heart pounding so hard, the blood roared in his ears.
"I thought you were in New York." He held on to her, unwilling to let go.
"I changed my mind."
"I would have come sooner if I had known."
"You came. That's all that matters."
They swayed together, and never had a woman felt so good to him, so perfect.
"When that helicopter flew in, then left, I thought I was stuck here."
"I said I'd return for you, but of course, you couldn't hear me."
She pulled back to look up at him. "That was you?"
"Yes." She turned pale, and he cupped her face. "Annie . . . what's wrong? Are you all right'"
"It's nothing. I'm fine."
She stepped back from him and wrapped her arms around herself, still pale, suddenly guarded. Colt decided not to pursue the issue. Instead he looked around. In the dim glow of the candle he saw the family portraits lining the far wall. He took in the pallet, the small supply of food and water, the extra batteries she'd brought for the flashlight He nodded approvingly. Ann Debeau was a smart woman. She hadn't merely retreated; she'd planned ahead.
His eyes fell on the clock, and the roses. Colt was inordinately pleased. He swung his gaze around, looking for the orchids but they were nowhere in sight. That pleased him even more.
He'd caught a glimpse of the card that day in the hallway of Windchime House. To be more precise, he'd sneaked a peak when she wasn't looking. Annie had rescued his roses but had left her fiancé‘s orchids behind.
"The lights went out before I could get the orchids," she said as if she'd read his mind.
Colt began to whistle. He was with Annie. Nothing could dampen his spirits now.
She moved the roses out of the circle of light. "I don't want you to make anything of it," she said.
"Like what?"
"Never mind. You're dripping wet. We've got to get you out of those clothes."
"I'd like nothing better."
She blushed. "That's not what I meant."
"I like the way your mind works, Miss Annie Debeau."
"Quit calling me that."
"Quit calling you what?"
"Annie."
"It's your name."
"No, it's not. My name is Ann."
"Charlotte Ann Debeau. Annie." Whistling, he made his way to the attic door. Shining the flashlight, he checked the level of water. Ann looked over his shoulder.
"How high was it yesterday?" he asked.
"The third step from the top."
"Good. It's not rising."
"How soon do you think we can leave?"
"Not until the storm system has moved on and these floodwaters become less treacherous. It could be a few days." He grinned at her. "Now, what was that you were saying about getting me out of these wet clothes?"
Ann felt selfish to the core. Colt had risked his life to rescue her, and all she could think about was protecting herself. The only excuse she had was temporary insanity.
From the minute he'd stepped into the attic she'd been overcome with an overwhelming sense that she was in some kind of time warp. Every time she looked at him she saw the face in the photograph, Anthony Chance, fighter pilot, artist, her grandmother's lover.
Furthermore, she felt stirrings she'd never felt before, a deep emotional pull that went beyond the physical. Everything about him linked him to the man in the love letters, his looks, his stance, his smile. She'd practically fainted when she found out he was a pilot too.
He was looking at her with that quirky half smile of his, and all she wanted to do was curl against him and wrap herself in his strong arms once more. She'd felt safe there, but more, ever so much more, she'd felt a sense of rightness, of belonging, of fate.
She'd never felt that way in Rob's arms.
The minute that thought entered her mind, she was ashamed of herself. Extraordinary circumstances gave birth to strange emotions, strange behaviors.
Everything would fall into its proper place once she got back to New York.
"I didn't even say thank you for braving those waters to come to me. Please forgive me. I've been incredibly thoughtless."
"There's nothing to forgive. When there's an emergency, I do what I can to help."
His statement was like a dash of cold water. She'd thought his heroics were all for her.
Colt's smile took the sting out of the words. More than that, it made her toes curl and her heart lurch.
It was going to be a long night. Ann turned quickly to the trunk.
"You can't sleep in those wet clothes. There might be something in here that will fit you." She rooted blindly, going more by feel than sight. In the window the candle flickered.
"Here. Let me help you." Colt was beside her, holding a flashlight.
That was the last thing she needed, him kneeling beside her, setting off fireworks underneath her skin. She'd blame her trembling hands on fatigue if she didn't know better.
The beam of the flashlight caught the stack of letters she'd hastily stowed when she went back for the flashlight, and on top, the photograph.
"My God." Colt picked up the picture and held it under the beam of light. "That's unbelievable. Who is this?"
"Anthony Chance."
"Your grandmother's artist."
"Her lover."
The words were out before she could stop them. Colt looked as if he'd been shot. He swung the beam of light toward her grandmother's portrait, then back to the photograph.
The silence was electric. So caught up were they in the mystery they'd discovered, they didn't hear the wind pick up speed, didn't hear the distant rumbling of thunder.
Colt cupped her chin and trained the light on her face. "Incredible," he said. "They could be you and me.
"But they aren't," she whispered.
"Do you know that for a fact?" She didn't answer, couldn't answer. "Do you believe in reincarnation, Annie?"
"Don't call me that."
"Why?"
"Because that's what he called her ... in the letters."
Colt traced her face with the tips of his fingers. "Didn't you feel it, Annie? From the very beginning. There's something special between us."
She shook her head vigorously, trying to deny the truth. But there it was, staring her in the face. "I won't let it be true."
"You can't stop your feelings any more than you can stop any other powerful force of nature. They're just there, Annie, like the sun rising in the morning or the evening star shining in a darkening sky."
He was still touching her face, and she wanted to lean into his touch and purr. She wanted to pull him down to the antique quilt and wrap herself around him so close, she couldn't tell where her skin ended and his began. She wanted to make love to him, real love, the kind that built slowly, with hot, lingering kisses and heady explorations.
"What are you thinking?" he said.
She couldn't tell him. She didn't dare.
"I'm thinking that you're going to catch pneumonia and die in those wet clothes." She pulled free and rummaged in the trunk until she came across a pair of pants and a white shirt, vintage, smelling slightly of mothballs.
"These should fit." She thrust them into his hands. "I'll turn my back."
He chuckled as if she'd made a joke. "So, what happened to him? Why didn't they marry?"
"I don't know yet. I've just started reading his letters."
"I'd love to read them ... if you offered. But of course they're your family history, not mine . . . You can turn around now."
The clothes were a perfect fit. Nervous sweat popped out on her brow.
"From the cut and style I'd guess these were your grandfather's."
"No. He was a very small man. So was my father."
Colt lifted his eyebrow, but she was grateful he didn't speculate. Ann didn't want to think about Anthony Chance anymore. She didn't want to puzzle over the bizarre similarities.
"I'm afraid I can't offer you much in the way of sleeping accommodations. I didn't expect company."
"I'm glad to see you still have your sense of humor.
"Better to laugh than to cry." She handed him the antique quilt.
He took the quilt, and along with it her hand. His eyes never left hers as he planted a kiss in her palm. "Sweet dreams, Annie."