A Brush With Love by Rachel Hauck Page B

Dang, the girl had wheels. He caught her in a few strides and was about to swoop her into his arms when Ginger disappeared, face first, into a slop of mud, the flashlight sinking with her hand while her purse and duffle floated beside her like useless life preservers.
    “Ginger?” He bent for her, swallowing his laugh. It really wasn’t funny. No . . . it was hilarious. “Are you all right?” He looped her bags over his head, settling the straps on his shoulder. What was another ounce of mud or two sinking into his shirt? “Here, let me help you.” He offered his hand but she refused.
    “Mud. I hate mud.” Ginger pushed to her feet, bringing up the flashlight, letting loose a blended laugh-cry. She shook her fist at the storm. “You can’t beat me.”
    “Come on, Scarlett O’Hara, let’s get to the house. We can argue with the storm from the other side of warm, dry walls.” He took her left hand, striding forward. But a dozen steps in, Ginger went down again.
    “That’s it. Sorry, Ginger, but—” Tom swung her duffle bag to one side as he ducked down and hoisted her over his shoulder in one swift move.
    “Whoa, wait a minute, what are you doing?” She hammered her fist against his back, kicking.
    “Simmer down.” He picked up his pace, his feet chomping through the water and thick, sucking mud. “I want to get to the house without you falling into the mud every five feet. Hey, can you pass me the flashlight?”
    She was light, an easy load. One he wouldn’t mind shouldering for, well, the rest of his life. But the history . . . Not between them, but their parents. Did she even know?
    “Nothing doing. I hand you the light and you drop me, leaving me out here all night.”
    Tom jogged on, double-timing it. “I just picked you up. Do you seriously think I’d leave you out here?”
    “Well, you do have a reputation for leaving a girl without so much as a by-your-leave or kiss-my-grits. Now, really, put me down.” She kicked, pushing on his shoulders, trying to get free. “I don’t need to be rescued.”
    “Really?” Without a by-your-leave, kiss-my-grits? So, she did remember the night they were supposed to eat pizza and watch a movie. Tom had wanted to call her that night but he’d spent the time battling with his dad, refusing to pack his suitcase until his baby sister came out of her room, hysterical with tears. Stop it! Stop fighting.
    “Tom, put . . . me . . . down.”
    “Seems to me you were losing that battle with the mud.” She struggled against him but he hung on. “If you keep squirming, I’m going to drop you.”
    “Good, do it. Better than being carted around like a sack of seed.”
    He should’ve let second-thoughts surface before releasing her but she seemed so intent on her demand. So . . . he let go, sending Ginger to the ground. She plopped into a soggy puddle and bobbled for balance while Tom continued on, plowing through the rain and muck.
    “Hey!” Her call bounced through the raindrops. “What’s the big idea?”
    He turned, walking backward, seeing nothing but the white glow of her flashlight. “You said, ‘Put me down.’ ”
    “And you believed me?” Her sloshing and complaining trailed after him, the white light bobbing, until she finally caught up, whapping him on the back of his head.
    He laughed, feigning a yelp, and caught her around the waist, spinning her around. “My mama taught me to respect women’s wishes.”
    “You think she intended you to dump a girl to the cold, muddy ground?”
    “Yes, if that’s what she demanded.” Slowly he set her down, her lean frame against him, shivering and soaked. Her breath mingled with his, their heartbeats in sync. Even with the flashing light aimed behind him, he could see every inch of her face. “Ginger—”
    “Tom, I-I’m—” She gently freed herself from his embrace, from whatever his heart was about to confess. “Freezing. We’d better get to the house.” Ginger aimed the light ahead,