Under Grumpy Gardener.

There was no mistaking who that was.

“Right. Feel better?”

“Not at all,” I retorted. “I hope you don’t get stuck, or one of us might not make it through this storm alive.”

“Couldn’t agree more.” He glanced at my foot. “Need help getting that boot off?”

“Not from you.”

“You should take some ibuprofen and rest with it raised above your head,” he said, zipping his coat back up. “Just in case.”

“I know how to look after myself.”

“I’m sure you do. Just giving you some friendly advice.” He nodded and opened the door.

“Friendliest you’ve ever been,” I muttered.

“Talking to yourself again?”

“It’s a habit.”

This time, I could swear he laughed, but he left before I could confirm either way.

My ankle was hurting, and after a minute of trying to get the boot off, I kind of really wished I’d taken him up on that offer to help me.

Ah, well.

Emily would have to get over the dirty floors.

Thankfully the kitchen had windows that overlooked the driveway, and I got there just in time to see Miles securing the gate behind his silver Jeep. I shook my head as I watched him get in and drive towards the floor waters.

There was no way he was getting out. The man was a fool.

This was the fundamental problem with being a woman. Nobody ever listened to you.

At least nobody ever listened to me.

As much as I hoped he would in fact make it through the water, I knew I would be getting a call from him in the next ten minutes asking for my help, so I put my phone on loud and waited by the window for the inevitable.

***

“Fancy meeting you here,” I said, closing the door to the old black Jeep we rarely used.

Miles glared at me. The little light that had been left had fully waned, and the only visibility we had was courtesy of the lights on our cars.

My lips twitched at the sight of him. “I don’t like to say this, but I told you so.”

“All right, all right,” he grumbled. “Do you really have a winch on that thing?”

“Yep. But I would like to hear you tell me I was right.”

He sighed. “Princess, I’m soaking wet. Can you gloat in the dry?”

“Not. A. Princess!” I snapped, turning to open the car door.

“What are you doing?”

“Turning the car around so I can save your miserable arse, or should I just drive back up to the house and leave you here?” I shot him a look and got in. I shut the door and maneuvered until the Jeep was now backing up to him, then got back out again. “You can hook this up. I’m still soaking from my earlier jaunt, my foot hurts, and I’m not about to wander through three feet of water.”

“Four,” he muttered, taking the winch from me.