Colton 911: Cowboy's Rescue. Marie Ferrarella
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could find in the lone closet as well as in the tall chest of drawers were his clothes. Debating, Maggie finally decided to borrow one of his flannel shirts, but there was no way in the world that she was going to put on a pair of his jeans. Jonah Colton had a good eight inches or more on her, not to mention about eighty or so pounds—if not more. Any of his jeans that she would have put on would have come parachuting down.
She listened for a moment to make sure Jonah hadn’t come back, but only silence met her ears. Moving quickly she stripped off her utterly soaked shirt and put on one of the button-down work shirts from the closet.
Just as she thought, it fit her like a tent. She tied the ends together to make it nominally shorter.
Even so, it was way too big for her. It felt roomy enough for two of her to fit into the shirt.
Maggie had just finished assessing herself in front of the freestanding large mirror when she heard the front door open and then close again. Holding her breath, she hurried out to make sure that the person she heard was Jonah and not someone who had stumbled upon the cabin while looking for some shelter from the storm.
She released her breath when she saw it was Jonah.
“Is your horse all tucked away and dry for the time being?” Maggie asked as she joined Jonah in the main room.
“For now.” His eyes swept over her. He did his best not to laugh. “I see you found something to wear—sort of,” he tagged on, his eyes sweeping over her. “And you kept on your jeans,” he realized. “Why?” Jonah asked, tossing off the rain slicker and heading for his bedroom.
“Well, decency is the first reason that comes to mind,” she answered. “You and I aren’t anywhere near the same size and while I can get away with sporting a pup tent as a shirt, there’s no way I could wear a pair of your jeans without constantly worrying that I was about to wind up executing a pratfall.”
“Point taken,” he answered, his voice floating in from the back where he had disappeared. “Wow,” he cried, “it feels good to peel off these wet clothes.” He seemed only half-aware that she was there.
He might only be half-aware of her but that definitely was not her problem, Maggie thought. To say the least, she was exceedingly aware of his presence. So much so that she was trying hard not to envision the way he looked right now, standing in his bedroom, bare chested and who knew what else was bare—trying to decide what to put on to replace his wet clothes.
“You know,” he said as he came out, startling her, “I do have a belt that I can lend you. It would help to keep my jeans up for you,” he offered.
She couldn’t help staring at his waist. Flat and muscular, her guess was that his belt would still be way too big to her.
“You might not have noticed,” she told him, “but I’m a lot smaller than you are.”
“Oh, I noticed, all right,” he assured her.
Jonah had become keenly aware of every single inch of Maggie years ago, long before this hurricane had hit. He’d noticed her when he had still been an ugly duckling and she had been a swan. And she was right. Her waist was way smaller than his. He thought of a solution.
“I have a length of rope you could use around here somewhere,” he said, looking about the living area.
“That’s okay,” she told him, waving away his suggestion. “They’re practically dry.”
“Liar,” he teased. But he wasn’t about to push this. Jonah rolled up his sleeves one at a time. “You said you were hungry.”
Her eyes were drawn to his muscular forearms, and she remembered the way his arms had felt around her. Belatedly, she realized that he was probably waiting for her to answer.
“Starved,” she told him, still looking down at his forearms.
He rummaged through the pantry that was right next to his refrigerator. “I’m afraid all I can offer you is either a box of sugarcoated cornflakes, or half a loaf of bread. Anything else—if I had it—would require a stove and electricity to make it edible.”
Turning toward her, he held out the box of cornflakes in one hand and the loaf of bread in the other.
“Both,” she said without any hesitation. “I don’t remember the last time I ate.” Her stomach rumbled as if on cue. She flushed as she glanced down, self-consciously. “But obviously my stomach does.”
“We’ve all been there,” he said, glossing over her rumbling stomach to help her cover up her embarrassment. “Have at it,” he told her, handing her the box of breakfast cereal and the partial loaf of bread.
Maggie accepted both. If this was all he had on hand, he obviously didn’t believe in stuffing himself. “I see that gluttony isn’t one of your vices.”
Jonah laughed, appreciating that she had retained her sense of humor despite the situation she had endured.
“No, but curiosity is.” And then Jonah became serious as he asked, “What the hell were you doing out there with a hurricane about to hit the area? You were taking an awful chance with your life.”
Rather than make up an elaborate excuse, Maggie leveled with him. “To be honest, I forgot all about the hurricane. Besides, the weather bureau is usually wrong with its forecasts more than half the time, anyway.”
He watched her go at the cornflakes as if they were going out of style. She wasn’t kidding about being hungry.
“You forget about Bellamy and Donovan’s wedding, too?”
“No, I didn’t,” she answered, a little indignant that he would think she was such a scatterbrain. “I just thought I’d have enough time to get to Live Oak Ranch and then get back. When I left for the ranch, the wedding was a day away.”
He supposed she had a point. But he had another question. “And just what was so important at the ranch that you had to go right then?”
Maggie waited until she’d had consumed another handful of cornflakes before answering. “The answer to a riddle.”
Jonah frowned. She wasn’t being clear, he thought. Was that on purpose, or was she just as in the dark about her so-called “mission” as it sounded?
“What kind of a riddle?” he asked.
Rather than just give him another vague answer, Maggie leaned forward and pulled out the map she had hastily tucked into her back pocket just before the threat of being swept away by the rushing waters had her climbing up into the tree.
Then she told him the whole story, such as it was. “A couple of days ago, I got a letter from my attorney informing me that my former late father-in-law, Adam Corgan, had left instructions in his will to send this map and the note he wrote to me after he was dead.”
Well, he could see why that had aroused her curiosity. It would have aroused his, as well.
“May I?” Jonah asked, nodding at the map and note in her hand.
Maggie held out the papers for him to take. “Sure, go right ahead.”
Jonah read the note twice and was no more enlightened than he had been a minute ago.
“‘The truth shall set Elliott Corgan free.’” He read out loud, then looked up at Maggie. His brow was furrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Maggie shook her head. “I have no idea. I found the tree,” she told him, indicating the map. “That was the one I was clinging to when you rescued me earlier today,” she explained. “But I didn’t find anything there that made what was in the note any clearer. To be totally honest, I have no idea why Mr. Corgan would have wanted me to have this, or what he was cryptically trying to tell me. None of it made any sense to me.”
“It’s suspicious, all right,” Jonah agreed, frowning as he glanced at the note again. Something was