Читать книгу: «The Baby Blizzard»

One

By the time the pale blue Cadillac began its horrifying slide across the snow-shrouded road, Jack had been trailing behind it for several hours.

It had passed him first on the highway north of Casper. Although it was hard to believe now, when he had to fight the roaring wind and blowing snow to keep his big four-wheel-drive pickup on the road, Jack had been bored at the time. He’d been bored with the unchanging grayness of the sky, the unseasonably mild temperature, the desolate sameness of the surrounding plains.

It had seemed an oppressively dull January day.

It was that very dullness—and its failure to distract him from the black mood he’d been unable to shake since seeing Jared and Elise at the lawyer’s office—that had made him take note of the Cadillac.

Plain and simple, he’d been looking for a diversion.

What he’d received instead was a blow to the armor of his indifference.

He scowled, adjusted his grip on the steering wheel as the wind buffeted the truck, and admitted he just didn’t get it. So what if the Caddy’s driver was a woman? That didn’t explain why something as meaningless as the glance they’d exchanged the first time she passed him should affect him like a punch to the belly.

Hell, she wasn’t even pretty. Striking, maybe, with that mane of hair the exact same color as his favorite sorrel mare and the sort of lush, full mouth that put a man in mind of all sorts of sinful things.

But not pretty.

Except maybe... when she smiled.

Which she had, he recalled irritably. She’d smiled straight at him, all Mona Lisa-knowing, when he drove past the filling station in Kaycee where she’d stopped to gas, up. Just the memory set his teeth on edge. Clearly, she’d misunderstood his reason for slowing, assuming it was so he could take a second look at her. In truth, he’d merely been trying to get a bead on the weather, since it had started to snow.

Now, he narrowed his eyes against the river of white beating against the windshield. Grudgingly he conceded that—although his view of his fellow traveler had been partially blocked by an open car door—for once reality had lived up to the initial advertising. A man would have to be blind not to have noticed that her legs were long and slim, her arms and shoulders willowy, her provocative mouth balanced by a stubborn chin and dark, intelligent eyes. Just as he’d have to be obtuse not to conclude from the way the gas jockey had been scurrying around to do her bidding that the parts he couldn’t see were as compelling as those he could.

So okay. For a woman who wasn’t pretty, she’d been something to see with that soft, amused smile on her face and all that shiny hair blowing in the rising breeze.

Not that he cared, of course—except in the most elemental way.

Jared and Elise had seen to that. Between them, they’d cured him of caring about much of anything. Just as they’d relieved him of all his pretty ideals, his Pollyanna view of the world, his foolish hopes and secret dreams.

Maybe that was why the discovery that his libido wasn’t dead after all was such a shock. For three years, since the humiliating day in the judge’s chambers when he’d learned just how big a fool he really was, he’d divorced himself from intimacy. He’d banished want and need from his vocabulary. And he hadn’t felt a twinge of desire—for anything or anyone.

Until today.

Jack gave a snort of disgust and wondered what had come over him. There was a whale of difference between viable lust, where you had an actual acquaintance with the person you hankered to touch, and some pointless fantasy about a total stranger. That’s why it was so galling to have to admit that ever since the stranger in question had overtaken him again at Crazy Woman Creek—and had the salt to wave as she whipped past—he’d found himself wondering all sorts of things.

Such as whether that russet-colored hair was natural or not. And if her wide, full-lipped mouth would taste tart, like cherries, or as sweet as ripe berries. And how it would feel to have those long, luscious legs wrapped tightly around his waist.

And whether she made a habit of smiling at just anyone.

Foolish. Simply acknowledging such thoughts was enough to make the tops of his ears feel hot. Particularly when there were far more important matters to be pondered.

For example: Where exactly did she think she was going? He’d assumed she was headed for Gillette until an hour ago, when she’d gone north at Buffalo. Then he’d guessed she must have friends or family in the tiny town of Gweneth, until she drove straight past the turnoff. He’d been hanging back, puzzling over that, when she’d stunned him by slowing down and turning onto Johnson County Road Number 9.

That was when he’d decided she was either lost or crazy or both. Because other than the Double D, which they’d passed some twenty minutes back, the only ranch for the next forty miles was his. And he knew damn well she wasn’t coming to see him. Except for business, nobody came to see him anymore.

Not since he’d given away his son.

The familiar anguish splintered through him. Ruthlessly, he forced it away, reminding himself that it was over and done. It was then that the Cadillac began its inexorable slide across the road.

Jack watched in disbelief as the vehicle drifted sideways through the heavily blowing snow, spun slowly around in a heart-stopping three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turn, then disappeared from sight as if sucked into a black hole.

Instantly he eased up on the accelerator. There was no question of driving on. Jared had always claimed he was a Boy Scout at heart and, as Jack had been bitterly reminded in Casper again today, old habits died hard.

But he wasn’t going to think about that now. It was over, done; past. He was alone, irrevocably on his own. Or would be, as soon as he made sure the Cadillac’s driver was okay.

The thought brought him up short. Dismay splintered through him. Hell. He was actually going to have to meet this woman. Leave it to you, Sheridan. You can’t even enjoy a little red-blooded, from-a-safe-distance fantasy without reality screwing it up.

In the very next second, he clamped down on his wayward emotions. This wasn’t about him, he reminded himself harshly. This was about someone in trouble, someone in need of help. At the very best, she was going to be bruised and shaken, distraught about what had happened. And at the very worst—

Jack shoved the idea away. It was bad enough he had to get involved at all. No matter what condition this woman was in, he wasn’t going to let himself care on a personal level. He’d do what he could to help, one stranger helping another, but that was it.

That was how it had to be.

Keeping an eye on the dim outline of the fence that marched along the road to his left, he let the truck roll to a stop and took a long look around.

Nothing. He could see nothing but swirling sheets of snow reflected in the beams of his headlights. He let loose a single scathing curse. Shifting the transmission into park, he pulled on the emergency brake and doused the lights. He squeezed his eyes shut, allowed them a moment’s rest from the eerie onslaught of white, then slowly opened them and surveyed the area.

There. Ahead, and down a long, shallow slope to his right, was a gleam of red. He released a breath as he identified it as a taillight. Now that he knew where to look, he could see the rest of the Cadillac, too. It was barely visible, resting at an angle, with the wheels on the passenger side sunk into the shallow creekbed that paralleled the road. Snow, driven by the howling wind, was already starting to pile against the hood and windshield. The car’s pale blue paint blended perfectly with the monochromatic landscape.

His heart gave a twist. In another few minutes, with twilight graying swiftly to night, he never would have seen it.

He switched the headlights back on, then reached around and grabbed the coil of nylon rope and the heavy-duty flashlight he kept behind the seat. He shrugged into his sheepskin-lined coat, flipped up the collar and jammed his Stetson more securely on his head.

After a moment’s consideration, he elected to leave the truck running as a hedge against the cold. That decided, he hefted the flashlight, shoved open the door and plunged into the heart of the storm.

She was not going to panic, Tess Danielson told herself firmly.

Okay, so she’d had a little accident. On a remote, not-so-well-traveled road. In the middle of nowhere. During what was distinctly starting to look like a blizzard.

While she was willing to concede that the situation didn’t look good, she was not going to give in to the dread skating along her spine.

Although... a nice loud scream might make her feel better.

A smile curled through her. Slowly, she let loose the breath she hadn’t known she was holding and forced herself to breathe deeply and evenly. Things couldn’t be too bad if she still had a sense of humor. Well, they could; as a Wyoming native, she’d grown up on tales of hapless motorists who got caught in this kind of weather and weren’t found until the first spring thaw.

But that wasn’t going to happen to her.

She refused to let it. She hadn’t spent twenty-nine years bending the world to her will to give up now when it really mattered. Not when she’d only recently come to understand what was really important. Not when there were still so many things she wanted to experience. And not when she had someone else—she glanced protectively down at the ripe curve of her belly—depending on her.

She tugged on her seat belt, frowning when the buckle refused to budge. Stymied, she sat there and reconsidered that scream, but only for a second. The first thing she’d done once the car came to rest was turn off the engine. Already the air around her was starting to turn frosty. While that was better than risking carbon monoxide poisoning from a blocked or bent exhaust pipe, it was still far too cold for useless gestures.

She reached over, snagged her oversize down parka from the passenger seat and draped it around her.

And told herself—again—not to panic.

After all, she wasn’t going to freeze to death in the next few minutes. If worse came to worst, she’d simply find her handbag, grab her nail scissors and hack her way through the belt.

If the scissors were there to grab.

Tess resolutely raised her chin and told herself she was not going to worry about that, either. She had an ace in the hole, she reminded herself, recalling the big, fierce-looking cowboy with whom she’d been playing car tag for the past several hours. He hadn’t been that far behind her. He must have seen what had happened. More than likely, he was on his way to help her at this very moment.

Unless his heart turned out to be as black as his expression and he simply drove on.

Tess gave herself a shake. Knock it off. This is Wyoming, remember? Not LA. or New York. Around here, people look out for each other. He’ll stop. So he looks a tad forbidding. He’ll probably turn out to be reserved or shy, a real cupcake of a guy—

“Ma’am?” came a forceful baritone shout.

A light flashed through the window. Momentarily blinded, Tess brought up her hand as the car door was unceremoniously wrenched open.

“Are you okay?” Her rescuer had to holler to be heard over a sudden roar of wind. Even so, his voice was distinct—dark and demanding. A perfect match for his face, Tess decided, as she stared at him in the faint illumination of the dome light.

Forget shy. Forget reserved. Forget cupcake.

Think intense. Think guarded. Think formidable. From what she could see beneath his hat—shadowed eyes, a straight blade of a nose, a slash of cheekbones, an imperious mouth—he was even more forbidding up close than he’d been from a distance.

“Are you hurt? Answer me.”

Intimidating or not, she’d never been so glad to see anyone in her life. Relief slammed into her, making moisture sting her eyes and her voice catch in her throat. She swallowed hard, suspecting as she looked up at that uncompromising face that he’d hate it if she burst into tears. She knew for a fact she would. She swallowed again and tried gamely for a lightness she didn’t feel. “It’s about time you got here.”

He froze in the act of hunkering down. His eyes, pale green in the murky light, narrowed. “What?”

Forget a sense of humor, too. Tess raised her voice. “I’m fine.”

He continued to stare, as if he didn’t believe her. “Are you sure?”

She considered the dull ache in her lower back, concluded the pain scored no more than a two on a scale of one to ten, and opted to ignore it. “Yes.”

“All right, then.” Relief lightened his face, but did nothing to soften its angular planes. “Give me your hand and let’s get you out of there. This storm’s getting worse by the minute.”

She shook her head. “The seat belt is jammed. I can’t get it unfastened.”

His eyes flickered over her jacket-covered body. Inexplicably, his jaw bunched for an instant before his expression smoothed out. He hooked the flashlight to his belt, twisted sideways so that he faced her, leaned close and reached around her. His forearm, hard and warm even through the padding of his heavy coat, brushed against the mound of her belly. “What the—?” He went very still. “What is that?”

Tess stiffened. “What’s what?”

“That... lump.”

She stared at him in disbelief, oddly aware of the weight of his arm against her. “That’s not a lump,” she informed him. “That’s me. I’m pregnant.”

He gave her a long, blank look, then snatched away his hand and rocked back on his heels. “Well, hell,” he muttered, looking away. “It figures.”

The words, clearly not meant for her ears, carried with crystal clarity during a momentary lull in the wind. She raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

For one long second, he remained silent, the hard line of his mouth even harder now. Then he shook his head and gave the slightest shrug. “Forget it,” he murmured. He leaned forward and once more reached around her, and an instant later the belt gave way. He ducked back as if he couldn’t get away fast enough. “Come on.” His voice gruff, he stood.

She stayed where she was. “But the car—”

“Isn’t going anywhere. Not now. Probably not for a while. Even if I could see to winch you out, the road’s too icy to get any traction. In case you haven’t noticed, it’s dark—and getting darker.”

Tess looked around in surprise. He was right. As incredible as it seemed, with the snow falling and the wind roaring, she’d been so intent on him, so totally taken with their exchange, she’d actually forgotten about the weather.

Which appeared to be getting worse. And still she hesitated. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Oh, for—” Annoyance flashed in those leaf-green eyes before he quickly got himself under control. “Jack,” he said flatly. “My name is Jack Sheridan, okay?”

“And I’m Tess—”

“Terrific. So listen, Tess. We need to get to my truck. Now. While we still can.”

He was right, of course. Annoyed at herself for behaving so foolishly, Tess swung her feet to the ground, trying to figure out why she felt compelled to challenge him.

The answer came a moment later, as she began the awkward process of extricating the rest of herself from the car. Without warning, Jack leaned in, grasped her firmly above each elbow and lifted her out. Then. in a few brusque, capable movements, he bundled her into her parka, zipped it, reached into the car and retrieved her car keys, pocketbook and overnight bag. “Here.” He handed her the first two items. “Put your keys away and sling the shoulder strap of your purse around your neck so your hands are free, okay?”

That’s when Tess knew. She’d never done very well with authority figures, and this guy was more than a little bossy. He was autocratic.

Which was a pretty petty concern, she chided herself a second later, when the wind nearly knocked her off her feet and he immediately leaped forward to steady her. Holding her firmly against his broad, hard chest, he turned to block her from the wind. “You okay?”

She lifted her chin and nodded, surprised to find that his face was several inches above hers. She was tall herself, and it wasn’t often she had to look up at anyone. For a heartbeat, they stared at each other. His eyes really were the most extraordinary color—

“Shoot.” He uttered the sibilant word with such disgust it sounded like an expletive. “What the hell is your husband thinking, letting you run around like this in your condition?”

It wasn’t a question, and Tess knew it. For some reason, she wanted to answer him, however. “I’m not married.” She had just enough presence of mind not to add that if she was, it wouldn’t be to anyone who thought in terms of “letting her” do anything.

“Forget it,” he replied, in what she was starting to recognize as his stock answer in awkward moments. “I’ve got a line running to the truck,” he went on, all business again. “All you need to do is stay close to me and we shouldn’t have any problems. When I turn around, I want you to put your hands under my coat and grab on to the back of my belt. Whatever you do, don’t let go. Understand?”

Tess didn’t need to be told twice. The driving snow stung her face and brought tears to her eyes, while the cold was so bitter it hurt to breathe. “Got it.”

He searched her face. Satisfied with whatever he saw there, he finally gave a curt nod. “Good.”

He turned and picked up her overnight bag as if it weighed nothing, then held his ground as she ran her hands up the backs of his denim-clad thighs and over the hard curve of his small masculine behind. Beneath the heavy coat, his cotton-clad back felt firm and solid. Heat rolled off him like a furnace. She took a half step closer and curled her fingers around his belt:

He set off, adjusting his step to her shorter stride. She held on tight, her universe condensed to the broad back in front of her, and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. It was no mean feat, given the sloping, uneven ground and the clumps of frozen bunchgrass that kept trying to trip her up.

Although the entire trip probably didn’t last much more than a few minutes, to Tess it seemed to take forever. Accustomed to being fit, she’d found the change in her center of gravity in the past few months exasperating. Now, she gritted her teeth, frustrated by her own helplessness as she repeatedly stumbled and slipped. In several instances it was only her rescuer’s iron strength that kept her upright. By the time they reached the truck, her lungs burned, the pain in her back was a solid six, and her face felt frozen.

“You okay?” Jack asked as he tossed her bag into the pickup’s bed before he yanked open the door.

“Sure,” she lied, leaning wearily against the wheel well. Out of breath, she mentally apologized to him for her earlier intolerance.

“Good.”

He’d lost his hat. He looked younger without it. His windblown hair was dark and thick, as glossy as a child’s. For some reason, that bothered her. Before she could decide why, he stepped over and dusted the snow from her head and shoulders with his gloved hands. Then he lifted her up, swung her around and deposited her on the car seat, where he brushed off her pant legs, stripped off her snow-caked boots and tossed them, the rope and the flashlight into the narrow storage area behind the seat. “Scoot over,” he instructed. Stamping his own booted feet, he yanked off his gloves, shrugged out of his coat and climbed in beside her.

Tess slid over to give him more room, steeling herself against the pain squeezing her back. The well-insulated cab seemed hushed after the din outside. It was also pleasantly warm. In contrast, Tess felt chilled to the bone. She began to shiver, her teeth chattering like maracas.

Something that might have been compassion flared briefly in Jack’s pale eyes. He turned up the heater fan, retrieved his coat from the back of the seat and tucked it around her. “That better?”

She nodded, incapable of speech.

That appeared to suit him just fine. Mouth set once again in a grim line, he pulled her shoulder harness around her and buckled it. Then he secured his own, released the brake and put the truck in gear. It rolled forward, fishtailing a little before the tires caught.

Tess pulled his coat tighter around her, burying her face in the soft shearling collar. The distinctive scent of horses and damp leather, familiar from her childhood, tickled her nose. Oddly comforted, she leaned back and closed her eyes.

She wasn’t sure how much time passed, but eventually she began to feel less like a Popsicle and more like a person. She stretched, sighing with pleasure at the stream of hot air from the heater that blew over her stocking toes as she tried to find a position that would alleviate the persistent pain in her back.

She wound up canted sideways, toward her companion. Veiling her gaze with her lashes, she covertly studied him. She had to admit she was a little intimidated by his continuing silence. Her reaction surprised her. She’d grown up around cowboys, and she was no stranger to private, taciturn men.

Jack didn’t seem to be thinking so much as brooding, however. And that tight look on his face was hardly benign. In point of fact, he had the air of an individual who kept to himself not because he preferred his own company, but because he didn’t trust anyone else’s.

And yet...he had come to her rescue. And for all his brusque manner, his hard-fingered hands had been carefully gentle every single time he touched her.

More to the point, what did it matter? Soon they would both go their own ways, never to clap eyes on each other again—

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you it’s rude to stare?” Jack asked abruptly.

Tess started, then forced herself to relax, the willful part of her nature asserting itself. It was one thing to privately confess that she found him intimidating. Letting him know was something else entirely. “You’re right,” she said calmly. “Sorry.”

“You want to explain what you’re doing out here?”

Why, she wondered, did he have to be so abrupt? “Visiting my grandmother.”

“Ah.” He imbued the single syllable with a wealth of disdain. “But instead you got lost.”

“I wasn’t lost. I missed my turn.”

“Right.” He didn’t sound as if he thought much of that, either. “I don’t suppose it occurred to you when the snow started to fall that maybe you were out of your league?”

“I grew up here,” she said patiently. “I know about snow.”

“Huh. Could have fooled me.”

“For your information, the only reason I had a problem was because I slowed down to let you pass, so I could turn around.”

He snorted. “Because you were lost.”

If he was trying to annoy her, he was doing a good job. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“I suppose it’s all right for you to be out in a blizzard?”

That granite face didn’t change. “Damn straight. I’ve got heavy-duty snow tires, four-wheel drive, and I know what I’m doing. Besides, I’ve got obligations. If I don’t get home, my stock won’t get fed.”

“Where’s home?” She was certain he hadn’t lived around here when she was a teenager. She’d remember.

“Cross Creek Ranch. We should be there in another few minutes.”

Tess made no effort to hide her surprise. “Oh. But—”

“Look,” he said sharply. “I’m not wild about taking you there, either. But we need to get in out of this storm while we still can, and mine’s the closest place for miles.”

Tess let a moment of silence pass. “Are you finished?” she asked finally.

His jaw bunched. “Yeah.”

“Good. For the record, going to your place is fine. It’s extremely nice of you to offer, and I appreciate it. I appreciate everything you’ve done.”

“But—?” He kept his gaze glued to the road as he carefully braked to make a wide left turn, the headlights flashing across a sign that bore the ranch’s name above a stylized carving of a rocking horse.

“When I lived here, this ranch was owned by some people named Langston.”

He shot her a sharp glance as they rumbled across a cattle guard marked at both sides with orange reflectors. Around them, the landscape was hard to make out. The few trees and low-rising hills were nothing more than a series of ebony shadows against a charcoal night shrouded with blowing snow.

He slowed even more as their ride grew bumpier over the graveled drive. “You really used to live around here?”

She sighed at his obvious skepticism. “Yes. At the Double D. Mary Danielson’s my grandmother.” That earned her a single sharp look. “I can’t figure out how I missed the turn for the driveway.”

He was silent. He shifted the automatic transmission into low as the truck slid on a shallow grade. “Maybe,” he said finally, “you weren’t looking in the right place.”

She waited for him to say more. When he didn’t, she had to swallow another sigh. “Do you think you could explain that?”

He shrugged. “Your grandma cut a new road a few years back, when she had to redrill the well at Shell Butte. That must’ve been right after I bought out Langston, and that’s been—” he shifted the truck back into regular drive “—seven years ago.”

“Oh.” Even though there was no way she could have known, she felt foolish. Perhaps that was why she was less than enthralled with his next, comment.

“Too bad you don’t bother to come home more often.”

She frowned,. taken aback by his obvious disapproval. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

“Yeah? Well, it is when I’m stuck with you.”

“Trust me. Just as soon as the storm passes, someone from the Double D will be over to get me.”

He gave her another narrow look. “Your grandma left three days ago for an extended vacation.”

“What?” She felt momentarily disoriented, the way she had when her car began to slide.

“It’s one of those things you’d know about if you kept in touch—or were here because you’d been invited.”

She bit off the instant retort that trembled on her lips. She’d be darned if she’d justify her behavior to him. She wasn’t about to explain that she’d both written and called ahead, stating her intention to visit and supplying the date of her arrival. Or that her grandmother’s departure was the older woman’s oblique reply, an apparent payback for Tess’s own decision to leave ten years ago.