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Page 54
to find water, but even he cannot control the weather."
For just a moment, Mike wished that he had done something to inspire Abby's loyalty the way her trail leader had. Was she in love with the guy? The thought made his whole body seem to deflate.
The wet sand beneath Mike's feet became soft and squishy beneath his boots. His own clothes stuck to him. Water poured from his too-long hair onto his face, and he brushed its sopping length away from his eyes. He was glad he had shaved off his mustache and beard that morning, for they, too, would be soaked by now.
He glanced at Abby's back. Her bonnet drooped, and her skirt hung heavily about her legs, impeding her progress. But still she did not complain. In fact, she seemed determined to keep moving as quickly as possible to the other end of the gorge. His admiration grew nearly as intensely as his sensual awareness of her.
But as the rain began to come down in sheets, Abby's steps finally faltered. Once more she turned back toward Mike. Her beautiful face, wet despite the bonnet, frowned in worry. "This is a wash," she said. "It may flood."
"We'll be fine," he said. "The rain has just begun."
The rain intensified, and he took her hand. Looking at him as though surprised, she tried to withdraw it. "I want to help you," he yelled over the storm. The truth was, he did not want to let her go; he wanted a physical connection with her

 
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