Chapter 21 #2
Besides, Daphne was with Lucy. And he had full confidence in Daphne’s heart to care for and protect his little girl. The revelation settled over him with a little surprise blended in. Love did that, didn’t it? Wove its way into the cracked places of a heart and shored it up to hope and trust again.
He loved Daphne Austen.
And once he got back to her and Lucy, he planned on telling her outright.
With a deep breath, he crept the truck across the flooded structure, river water already lapping over the concrete to slap
against the tires. How long the bridge would last was anyone’s guess.
He’d already passed a few that had collapsed inward, swallowed by water and soft earth. Hopefully, this one wouldn’t be next.
He’d barely crossed the bridge when he brought the truck to a stop.
From his elevated perch on the old gravel ridge, Finn could take in the valley below—and the sight gutted him.
Granny D’s house sat low, tucked near the bend in the creek like it always had, but now that creek looked more like a bayou.
And her two-story white farmhouse looked like an island rising from a pond of murky, brown water. The yard was gone and water
rose to the windowsills and lapped against the porch steps. Her old Buick under the carport was nearly submerged, just the
roof and antenna poking out like a periscope.
He surveyed his options.
No way he could risk taking the truck down into that. One wrong turn and they’d never make it back to the road.
He threw it into Park and yanked the keys, shoving the door open and stepping into the thick, squelching earth. Mud sucked
at his boots with every step as he half ran, half waded toward the house.
Where was Granny D? Surely she would’ve gone upstairs by now.
He sloshed forward, the water creeping higher with every step. Debris floated past—a flower pot, a bucket, a birdhouse spinning
slowly like a lost top.
He reached the porch steps just as another wave sloshed against them, soaking his jeans to mid-thigh. “Granny D!” he shouted, slapping the side of the doorframe.
No answer.
Dear Lord, help me find her.
He shouldered the door open and stepped inside. The water spilled in behind him, dragging mud and twigs and heaven knew what
else. The pieces of furniture had already begun to float, knocking lazily against each other like bumper cars.
He turned toward the stairs, and there she was, standing at the top, a basket perched in her arms—and, sweet mercy, was that
her cat inside it?
Rembrandt’s orange fur was plastered against the sides, eyes narrowed with full feline judgment, as if this flood were somehow
Finn’s fault.
Typical cat behavior.
His attention moved back to Granny D, who seemed perfectly fine. In fact, was she smiling?
“I knew you were a hero from the first time I saw you, sugar,” she said, starting down the stairs with the poise of someone
hosting a dinner party rather than surviving a natural disaster. “You had the hair for it.”
He nearly laughed, despite the water now reaching the base of the banister. “That theory might be tested today, Granny D.
We’re in quite a fix.”
Her expression sobered. “I didn’t mean to put you in such a bind, handsome. Harry Coleman called not an hour ago and told
me to come up to the inn for the night. Just to be safe. But by the time I packed a bag and wrangled Rembrandt, the porch
was nearly underwater and the car was covered up to the windows.” She shook her head, the weight of the situation finally
showing. “It came on fast. Faster than anything I’ve ever seen.”
He offered her a grin to try and douse the worry lines around her eyes. “At least you saved the most important thing, of course.” He gently nudged the basket free from her arms.
“Ain’t that the truth. They say if you leave a faithful cat behind, they come back to haunt you. And I reckon nothing haunts
quite like an angry cat.”
He volunteered his free arm to her, and she took a strong hold as he helped her the rest of the way down the stairs. The water
inside reached his calves—her thighs. And it was rising.
Fast indeed.
“Oh gracious.” Her voice pitched higher, probably from the chill. A set of bowls floated by. “My second husband got those
for me. Never did like ’em all that much.”
Finn shook his head. Humor in disaster. He could respect it. It was his leaning too.
He tugged her through the narrow entry and shoved open the front screen door with his shoulder, bracing against the weight
of water. This was mad! All of it.
It didn’t make sense, the speed of it all. His gaze rose to the mountains surrounding them. Unless . . . the water pooled,
didn’t it? Rushing down from those heights to the lower levels. Causing it all to converge in the lower streams and rivers
that were already swollen from days of rain.
He focused back on the task. Getting Granny D to the truck.
But how on earth was he going to get her through even deeper water in the front yard to make it back to the truck?
“Well, handsome, I thought my swimming days was over a few decades ago, but looks like I’ll be giving it another try, don’t
it?”
Heaven help him. He had no idea how to make it through the hip-deep water with a hobbit-sized woman and an irritable cat.
Then something caught his eye.
Across the flooded yard, tethered to a post at the edge of what used to be the creek but now looked more like a canal, was a boat.
From Granny D’s third husband, wasn’t it? The fisherman.
A small skiff. Rusted. Paint peeling.
But an option.
“Granny, wait here with Rembrandt.” He pressed the basket back into her arms. “I think we’ve got a way out, and you won’t
even have to take a swim.”
She followed his gaze. “Old Rusty?” Her face lit up. “It’s a good thing you’re as smart as you are handsome.”
He almost smiled, eyes flicking toward the hill where the truck waited. If he could get her in the boat and navigate the calmer
stretch of yard, they could reach the truck. Then drive out.
Within a few minutes, he’d sloshed through the water, dragged the boat to the porch, and tied it to the railing to keep it
steady.
And that’s when he heard it.
Felt it.
A low, distant roar—not thunder. Deeper. Guttural. Unnatural.
He froze.
His head whipped toward the hills just as a plume of mist and tree branches exploded from the distant tree line. A chill swept
down his spine.
The dam.
“Granny D—” He grabbed her by the waist, her eyes wide now. “We need to go. Now.”
Without waiting, he lifted her and the cat into the boat and scrambled in after her.
“Whew!” she huffed. “I ain’t had a man touch my waist in twenty years.”
He might’ve laughed if his adrenaline wasn’t spiking. The first surge of water hit just then—a wall of runoff crashing through
the creek bed and slamming into the yard.
“Hold on to Rembrandt—and the boat,” he said, shoving Old Rusty free just as the next wave struck. “It’s going to get rough.”
They weren’t in the direct path of the breach—thank God—but they still got the brunt of the runoff. The water slapped the
hull, spinning them halfway around before Finn dug an oar into the current and fought to stabilize them.
Old Rusty, despite its name and peeling paint, was a sturdy, flat-bottomed thing. Built for this kind of shallow water. But even it
groaned under the strain.
“Ever been on the back of a bull, handsome?”
He glanced at her. Laughed despite himself. “Granny, you’re a legend.”
The current surged again, pulling them hard toward the bend in the creek. Debris whipped past—broken limbs, a section of someone’s
fence, and what once might have been a lawn gnome. Finn rowed hard, teeth gritted, shoulders screaming.
Granny D let out a low whistle. “You row like a man who’s done this before.”
“Rowing team at school,” Finn muttered.
“Did they teach you how to dodge tree trunks too?”
A log barreled past. He grunted, pivoting them with a sharp sweep of the oar.
They reached the wider stretch of the creek—a natural runoff. The turbulence ebbed slightly, and Finn took the moment to breathe
and reassess.
They weren’t out of it yet.
The house behind them was half submerged now. Water gushed through the windows like the whole thing had sprung a leak. The
Buick under the carport was gone, vanished beneath the surface.
They passed a pickup truck caught sideways against a tree, half submerged. Finn used it to push off, guiding them onto a safer
path, he hoped.
But what was happening on Main Street? How had the dam break impacted them?
He had to get back to Lucy and Daphne, but how? There was no going back to the truck now.
The only option was forward—following the current and praying it led to higher ground.