Stranded with a Hero (Entangled Bliss)

by Karen Erickson

  “So.” She stopped and looked over her shoulder at him, her face impassive. “Regarding my immediate future, can you give me an idea what I can expect? You know, incarceration-wise?”

  The laughter was gone, but there was not a jot of self-pity in her voice. If anything, it was steely with determination. Whatever she was hiding, she felt justified about it.

  “I’d say our immediate future is hunkering down to wait out this blizzard. We’ll worry about the rest of it later.” He hung up the towel and followed her back into the great room. Her lack of trust irritated him, why he couldn’t say.

  “So we’re taking felony-misdemeanor-whatever off the table, then?”

  “Not until you give me a plausible explanation. And I run the plate to confirm your story.” No telling when he’d be able to do that.

  And there were more immediate things to worry about, under the circumstances. Like bringing in more wood for the fire.

  Frankie sat down on the rag rug next to the fireplace and hugged her knees. Mistral immediately flopped down next to her, angling for a belly rub.

  “Oh come on, it’s Christmas Eve.” She glanced up at him, her eyes wide, sparkling with the flames. “Let’s forget all that and sing carols.”

  He snorted. “Not going to happen.”

  “Come on, Javert. I can tell you have a lovely voice.”

  The reference to the relentless and ultimately doomed character stung. And he did have a good voice. He also played guitar and piano. Played. Past tense. “Forget it.”

  Then she started humming. Silent Night.

  “Sing with me…Sheriff LeClair…or I’ll keep call…ling you Javert…”

  She glanced at him, triumph and challenge on her face.

  The familiar, once-loved melodies brought back the memories anyway, bittersweet sound bytes of the happiness he and Kayla had, before she’d chosen to gamble on her future, instead of their future. The fault lay with both of them, and neither. And he did not want to think about it.

  “Not happening.”

  Frankie’s mischievous smile told him she was insistent on spreading Christmas spirit, one way or another.

  “Go tell it on the mountain,” she sang at him. “Help me go home, forget you met me!”

  He crossed his arms and shook his head. But he couldn’t help smiling. Frankie wasn’t someone a man could easily forget.

  “God rest you Sher-riff Red Le-Clair, I’m not a crim-i-nal.”

  He sighed. “Give it up.”

  Frankie opened her mouth to continue the song, then closed it again and looked away. After a moment she started humming again, only the lightheartedness was gone. To the tune of “Once in Royal David’s City” she sang:

  “Once in rur-al Flathead coun-ty

  Stood a cru-wel Christmas scene

  Dumped for slaugh-ter were the rein-deer

  When an elf did intervene.”

  She stopped then, hugged her knees tighter and scooted nearer the fire. “That’s it. I’m out of lyrics.”

  In the light of the fire, Red could see lines of fatigue on Frankie’s face. But her words rang true, even if there was undoubtedly more to the story.

  “You hijacked a petting zoo? In a stolen truck?”

  “It wasn’t a petting zoo, it was a prison!” Passion brought a blush to her cheeks. “I rescued five reindeer and set them free. In a borrowed truck!”

  “I hate to tell you, but there’re no reindeer outside of Scandinavia.”

  “Reindeer, elk, tomay-to, tomah-to, they were going to be killed and now they’re not.” She tossed a pillow at him.

  “Until hunting season, anyway.” He tossed it back.

  “At least now they have a chance!” She huffed, then glared at him. “So it wasn’t the most thought-out decision I’ve ever made. I’m spontaneous. Sue me. Oh wait. I mean, charge me.”

  “And the rig? What if it stays borrowed longer than expected? Will it get reported?”

  “I’ve got a week.” She spoke flatly now, as if worn out. “We finished handing out candy canes, dismantled the display and got the domestic animals back to their farms. Then Conrad handed the keys to the guy playing Santa and told him where to drop off the reindeer. Elk, whatever. The packing plant, Red! The slaughterhouse! Conrad sentenced them to death, then set off for a cozy family Christmas!”

  Tears quivered through the fatigue. If all this was as true as it sounded, he couldn’t blame her. But still, if she’d broken the law…

  “Sounds like a real asshole. But we need to focus on the facts. You were working for this Conrad guy?”

  “That’s right. Stand back. I’m clawing my way to the top.”

  She looked so miserable he wished he could stop questioning her, tuck her under a thick blanket and let her sleep. But it wasn’t quite jibing yet.

  “Oh come on, Red. I have a real job in Kalispell, teaching. I’m on winter break. The whole point of this elf gig was to get those wild animals back where they belonged and I wasn’t about to let a golden opportunity slip through my fingers!”

  “So this was your plan all along? To drive them out by yourself? In a storm?”

  “It was a fluid situation,” she continued. “Things hadn’t exactly gone my way and this was my last chance. Santa wanted to go home to his own family so once Conrad was gone, I offered to take them instead. They were already loaded, all I had to do was drive. It was perfect.”

  Red frowned. “If you say so.”

  “Three River Ranch is famous in animal rescue circles. I figured what better place for them than a mustang sanctuary?”

  She sounded pouty. He glanced at her lips. Definitely pouty. He wondered if she knew what lips like that did to men. Again, he corralled his thoughts.

  “You drove all the way out here. And you figured you could release your ‘reindeer’ and no one would notice? Have you no idea how closely Carson monitors his land?”

  “I follow the Three River Ranch sanctuary on social media. I knew the family wouldn’t be home.”

  “Facebook should be registered as a weapon.” He’d warned Rory about posting personal information, yet every time he turned around there was another picture of the three of them with the horses, or around the dinner table, or celebrating Lulu’s latest finger painting.

  “All I had to do was drop them off, return the truck and trailer and everyone’s happy. It was my one chance, so all I could do was try to beat the storm. But Madame Universe wasn’t on my side. A six-hour drive turned into twelve. And then I got stuck. You know the rest.”

  She sniffed, got to her feet and made herself a comfy spot on the couch. “Now you’ll turn it into a federal case and my reindeer will end up back in lockup anyway. Or worse.”

  Frankie pulled her feet up and cocooned herself in the blanket without looking at him. She was cold, tired, disappointed and, he realized with a pang, probably still nervous about the power outage situation, not to mention being stuck in close quarters with a strange man. Hell, if she wasn’t, she should be. She might be tough and spunky and laugh at his concern all she wanted, but any woman was smart to be wary.

  His jaw clenched at the thought of her being hurt or even threatened.

  “Look,” he said. “I can’t do anything about what you’ve just told me until the weather clears. It’s late and we’re both exhausted. What do you say we forget about the law and just be a couple of strangers stranded during a storm? Deal?”

  “Forget the law.” She yawned. “Good one, Javert.”

  Suddenly the jibe rankled past enduring. “You could cut me a little slack, too, you know. I’m doing the best I can here.”

  A little frown shadowed her face briefly, but then it softened. “I’m sorry, Red. You’re right.”

  “Good.” He hadn’t expected her to cave so quickly. “So, um, I’ll keep the fire going and the wood supply stocked, you do your magic with the canned goods. This storm could last a few days. We might as well figure out a way to get along.”

  “Gue
ss I don’t have much choice, do I? I’ll sleep here.” She patted the cushion next to her and instantly, the big dog leaped up. “Mistral stays with me.”

  “Perfect,” he said. “I hate fleas.”

  “You’re so warm,” she mumbled into the dog’s curly coat. “G’night, Sheriff.”

  She folded herself into the corner of the couch, her head pillowed on one bent arm, and was asleep almost immediately. For a moment, Red allowed himself to look at her, really look at her.

  Why was a pretty little thing like her all alone on Christmas Eve? Surely she had people waiting for her somewhere. That husband or boyfriend she had neither confirmed nor denied. Surely someone knew enough about her harebrained scheme enough to try and stop her. Or at least worry about her.

  Yet Frankie wore solitude like a cloak and relentless optimism like armor.

  He tucked a quilt over her carefully, so as not to wake her. What kind of man let a woman he cared for end up alone with a stranger in the middle of nowhere? No matter how resourceful and independent she was, Red would never have let her do something this risky.

  He stopped dead.

  Whoa, Nelly. This was not his business. Frankie was not his woman.

  She was, however, his problem.

  She mumbled in her sleep and he corrected himself. Not his problem.

  His responsibility.

  Red didn’t realize what he was humming until after he’d settled another knitted throw over Frankie’s small body. She snuggled against it, a sigh of satisfaction slipping between her lips.

  He kept humming, soft soothing tones, sweet words to calm and ease a troubled soul.

  A lullaby.

  Chapter Four

  Frankie woke to the smell of coffee. Against her will, her eyes cracked open. Instantly, she squeezed them shut against the shock of air, burrowing deep into the layers piled on top of her.

  “Still cold?”

  The sheriff. With a groan, she pulled the blankets completely over her head. “Frozen.”

  “Not likely,” he said. “Not with that mutt crammed next to you.”

  She shifted her legs and the dog grunted.

  “Morning, Mistral.”

  Frankie felt one end of the couch lift up, then the other, as Red scooted her closer to the fire. Mistral clambered off, grumbling at having her den disrupted.

  “Better? I didn’t want to move you during the night. Wouldn’t look good for me if you caught fire.”

  Frankie poked her head out of her burrow to find Red looking at her. Snowy daylight made her squint but it was the view that left her speechless. Whisky-colored eyes bracketed by concern lines so perfectly placed they might have been drawn by an artist. Sculpted cheekbones that begged for touch. Brown hair, kissed with fire, just long enough to make her want to brush it back.

  He lifted a quilt off the makeshift stand in front of the fire and draped it over her, pushing the edges in snugly at the sides. Did his hands linger against her body? Or was it her imagination?

  Then the warmth seeped down through the layers, rolling over her like a wave. She shuddered in ecstasy and another groan slipped through her lips.

  “Feels good, doesn’t it? I’ve been rotating blankets in front of the fire.”

  “Pure. Heaven.” Then it occurred to her. If Red had been feeding the fire and warming blankets all night, when had he slept? She struggled to a half-sitting position, leaning on her elbow. “Um. Need me to take a turn?”

  The dog shook herself and ambled over to the door.

  He laughed. “Don’t worry, Sleeping Beauty, I caught a few winks. You look like you’re not quite done though, so sit tight. Breakfast is almost ready. After I look after the beast, anyway.”

  She had to admit, she was comfy. But now that she was awake, she needed a bathroom. Her hair was probably a disaster. Her teeth were definitely mossy. With a huge sigh, she slipped out from under the cozy pile. She wrapped the top-most quilt, the warmest one, around her and stumbled to the bathroom, where she completed the fastest morning routine in the history of hygiene. Thank God the Grangers kept a supply of new toothbrushes on hand.

  When she came out, she felt nearly human again. Mistral bounded to her as if they’d been separated for hours, but politely resisted jumping up against her. Snow and ice covered the top of her wooly coat. She’d be soaked when it melted.

  Then the dog shook herself again. Problem solved.

  Frankie hoped the hardwood was well protected, but hunted down a rag to mop up, just in case.

  She passed a window and threw back the drapes and met a wall of white, brilliant and blinding. The outside world might have disappeared for all she knew. She craned her neck to look beyond the drifts and caught the barest glimpse of treetops and farther, a ridge of mountain.

  “Hungry?”

  She turned to discover that Red had spread a couple of covered pans and one small pot for them on a low table in front of the fire. Plus a French press full of coffee. A shiver of anticipation ran through her again at the smell.

  “Starved!” She sank down cross-legged on the cushions he’d piled on the floor. “This smells amazing. Worth waking up for, in fact. And you let me believe you couldn’t cook! From now on, we share kitchen duties, Sheriff.

  He tipped his head modestly. “I make a mean campfire breakfast, I’ll admit. But trust me, that’s the extent of my culinary skills. Cream and sugar?”

  She doctored her java for maximum sustenance while Red dumped enormous piles of fluffy yellow scrambled eggs, crispy bacon and steaming baked beans onto their plates.

  “Look at you! Working a can opener and everything! I was so proud of myself last night.”

  “You inspired me. Hope you’re not a ketchup-with-eggs sort of girl. I couldn’t find any.”

  She grimaced. “Gross. But this coffee? Amazing.”

  He lifted his mug. “Merry Christmas, Frankie. Sorry we’re snowed in.”

  “Merry Christmas, Sheriff. You’re not God, so don’t worry about it.”

  For a few minutes, the only sounds were the soft clatter of utensils accompanied by the crackling fire. Then with a sigh of contentment, Red pushed his plate away and topped off their mugs.

  “So.” He crossed his arms and leaned back. “You haven’t once mentioned how worried your husband or boyfriend or parents or siblings or uncles and aunts and grandparents must be,” he paused for a breath, “to have you suddenly missing on Christmas.”

  The sudden warmth in Frankie’s cheeks was not, she knew, due to the fire. She wrapped her fingers around the mug and leaned over it, letting her hair fall around her face.

  “I wondered how long it would take you,” she mumbled.

  “Everyone’s got a story. Figured I’d give you a chance to offer, that’s all.”

  She couldn’t escape the weight of his gaze.

  “Fine,” she said with a huff. “Mine’s short but here it is. Like I said last night, I’m a teacher. At least until spring. I’m covering a maternity leave, so I’m trying not to get too attached. Only child, no extended family. Parents on a Christmas cruise.”

  Again.

  “What do you teach?” he asked.

  “Music.”

  “Ah, hence the musical confession.”

  “I confessed nothing!”

  “Do you enjoy it? Teaching music?”

  “I love it,” she said, without hesitation. “There’s nothing like watching a child learn to sing, especially the little ones. They’re not self-conscious yet and they don’t resist expressing their joy. They feel it with their whole bodies and that’s how it comes out. It’s contagious.” She stopped. “I’m rambling, aren’t I? Sorry.”

  “Your work’s important to you,” he said. “I get that. But aren’t you forgetting something? The whole husband-boyfriend situation? Don’t tell me you’re avoiding the subject? Not fearless Francesca Sylva.”

  “I’m single.” She felt her lip curl as the word left her mouth and hoped she didn’t look bitter. “No
need to mock me.”

  She heard the snap in her words and regretted it. She didn’t want to alienate Sheriff Red any more than she already had. But did he have to ferret out that particular nerve so quickly?

  “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, surprising her. “Christmas is tough for single people.”

  “I’m guessing you speak from personal experience.”

  “I do.”

  “The house-sitting job was a clue. You’re not exactly weeping and wailing about the turkey you’re missing today.”

  He said nothing.

  “Well, come on then. Out with it.”

  “Nope.” He lifted one eyebrow and those whisky-colored eyes sparkled at her. “I ask the questions, remember? So, continue with your story. Surely you don’t expect me to believe that a woman like you is Forever Alone at Christmas?”

  She bit back a smile at the reference to the pathetic potato-shaped Internet meme.

  “Not forever, I hope. But for the next six months at least, I’ve got twenty-eight kids, lesson plans, concerts, band, and whatever projects I can fit in on the side. It’s enough.”

  “But you’re still alone over the holidays.”

  She looked directly at him. “I move around the county a lot, following the teaching jobs. It’s not conducive to a long-term relationship. I have a ton of friends, but they’re scattered. So each Christmas, I choose a worthy project, something I believe in, to keep me busy. This year I rescued Conrad’s reindeer. I enjoy Christmas, I do.”

  She stopped herself, hearing the desperation in her voice.

  “Admit it,” said Red bleakly. “It’s a day to get through.”

  She’d had a few rough Christmases, before she decided not to wallow. You’re as happy as you decide to be was her motto. So she’d managed to find meaning in a season that for too many people was overflowing with unrealistic expectations, financially devastating, and emotionally exhausting. She’d intended, until this little glitch, to return Conrad’s truck and spend the rest of the holidays serving plates of festive fare at a homeless shelter.

  But she understood that whatever Red was going through, he hadn’t come to the same conclusion yet.