Stranded with a Hero (Entangled Bliss)

by Karen Erickson

  “It can be rough,” she agreed quietly. “But I’ve found that the only cure for self-pity is helping those less fortunate. Which is almost everyone. So now, yes, I love Christmas again.”

  Red stared at the fire, a pensive look on his face. She expected an argument but once again, he surprised her.

  “I envy you,” he said quietly. “I hate it.”

  What do you know, she thought. She didn’t need to find a homeless shelter after all.

  …

  Red forced himself to laugh. “See? Told you I’m not Javert. I’m Scrooge.”

  The energy in the room had undergone a shift, the scrutiny leaping from her to him in a breath. He hazarded a glance and found Frankie looking at him impassively. How did she manage to look so perfectly put-together, without so much as a shower? She’d gathered her hair into a thick dark ponytail, revealing the creamy skin at her neck.

  “What? Now you’re going to pity me?”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.” She took a sip of coffee, warming her hands on the mug. Her fingers were slender, her nails smooth and unpainted. “Sounds like that base is covered. But fair is fair. What’s your story?”

  Red got up and looked out the window. “My story is that I’m responsible for keeping this place going until Carson gets back and right now it’s under a ton of snow.” He pulled the collar up around his throat, wondering if he should leave the fire going while they were outside, wondering how cold the house would get if he didn’t.

  He glanced at Frankie. “Let’s get out there and do the chores before the next round of this storm hits.” He gathered the dishes into a pile. They’d have to heat another pot of water for washing, so he’d leave them in the sink for now. When he came back, Frankie was still sitting and watching him pensively.

  “What?” She’d lost the wariness of the previous night, he noticed. Was she naive? Or had she judged him to be worth trusting?

  “Oh, nothing.” She rose from the floor in one graceful motion. The dog, naturally, scrambled to her side, awaiting further instructions. “Do you think Rory would mind if I borrowed some jeans and socks?”

  “I think she’d be mad if you didn’t. I was going to tell you to do that anyway.”

  “What?” She looked down at herself. “Not a fan of the yoga-elf?”

  “Oh, you’re rockin’ it, all right.” He gestured vaguely toward her lower half. “It just doesn’t scream ranch-hand.”

  Frankie laughed, a tinkling, musical sound. “Meet you outside?”

  Red crossed his arms. “I’ll wait for you right here.”

  “I forgot! I’m your prisoner.” She batted wide blue-gray eyes at him and he felt himself flush. “Don’t worry, Sheriff, I’m not going on the lam, not in this weather. Who’d keep me from freezing to death during the long, cold nights?”

  Before he could drum up a response, she disappeared down the hall, her laughter drifting back to him, making him feel unaccountably…good.

  …

  Sheriff Red was flirting with her!

  Frankie pulled thick wooly socks onto her frozen tootsies, then rubbed them briskly between her hands. Interesting how cold her extremities were, while…other parts…were toasty and tingling.

  Sheriff Rudolph LeClair was definitely in pain and pretending he wasn’t, acting the tough guy, while hurt oozed out of him every time he moved. She could barely keep from gathering him into her arms for a hug.

  She imagined his big body against hers, how his chest would rise and fall beneath her fingers.

  Holy moly, Frankie. There goes the imagination again. Just because he looks all stern and wounded doesn’t mean you need to leap in and make him all better. Besides, no sane woman wants a man that requires fixing.

  Wait! Who said anything about anyone wanting anybody?

  Stop, rewind, delete, delete, delete. You’re overtired, lonely, stressed and it’s made you certifiably fruit-and-nut-bar crazy.

  His tough lawman act was just that, an act to hide some kind of pain. She didn’t want him. She felt sorry for him, that was all. And she wasn’t about to let him drag her down into his sad little life. Not when there was so much good in the world!

  She pulled open a beautiful distressed pine wardrobe, trying not to feel like the felon Red accused her of being. It was wrong, though, rifling through stuff that wasn’t hers.

  But when she saw the waffle-weave long johns, she yelped with joy. She had to meet this Rory, she thought, as she pulled them over her legs. A pair of old-looking blue jeans went over them, then a snug undershirt, t-shirt and hooded sweatshirt on top.

  Runway model she wasn’t, she decided, when she looked in the mirror. But if Rory had a pair of, what did they call them—shit-kickers—and a down-filled parka, she’d be able to take whatever Red threw at her.

  He’d donned his heavy outerwear and was waiting at the door. Mistral got up, tail wagging, and nudged her with her shaggy muzzle.

  “You wanna come with us, don’t you, honey? Of course we’ll take you!” She bent down and ruffled the dog’s ears, her legs feeling like sausages from all the layers.

  “Nope.” Red pulled a knitted cap low on his forehead.

  “Why not?” Frankie looked up at him. “This is her place, she knows it better than you do.”

  “She’s safer inside. Rory made it patently clear that if anything happens to this dog, it’s my head on a platter. She loves that mutt and I’m not about to give her a chance to run off.”

  “What are you talking about? You let her outside to do her business, don’t you?”

  He looked away. She saw the collection of fancy collars and leashes hanging beside the door.

  “Wait. We’re surrounded by a gazillion acres of wilderness and you make her poop on-lead?” She put her hands on her hips. “No wonder she hates you.”

  “She doesn’t hate me. I don’t want her to get lost or hurt, that’s all.”

  “You really don’t know dogs, do you?” Frankie pushed past him and pulled the door open, ushering the dog out before he could grab her. “There you go, Mistral. Let’s leave this mean, mean man behind and go make snow angels.”

  She slipped on her boots and stomped through the path the dog had made.

  “If she disappears, it’s your head on that platter, not mine,” Red yelled after her. “And she’s not coming in my truck.”

  Frankie reached the truck and wrenched open the door. “Oh yes she is.”

  He’d left the keys in the ignition. This really was remote country, if you could do that without courting theft or vandalism. She turned it. The engine stammered and sputtered, and refused to catch. Dang! She couldn’t wait until it warmed up.

  Red stumbled through the drifts, yelling at her.

  “Oh, we got him good, didn’t we, sweetheart?” The dog wriggled and lapped at her cheek.

  She wasn’t going to actually drive the truck—there was no hope she could maneuver through the snow—but Red clearly didn’t know that.

  “Don’t worry,” she whispered to Mistral. “He’s mad at me, not you.”

  But just in case, she made the dog sit next to the window.

  Chapter Five

  “Are you out of your mind?”

  “Probably,” she said with a grin. “But until you lock me up or send me packing, we’re a unit, me and Mopsy-face. Deal with it.”

  She scrubbed her nose against the dog’s scruffy muzzle. The dog wiggled and slurped her face. They were a cozy pair, he had to admit.

  With him the third wheel.

  “What if she’s freaked out by the wind and we have to waste time chasing her?”

  “She won’t.” Her smile faded at his tone.

  “What if our timing’s off and the next wave of the storm hits before we’re done? What if we all end up stranded? In the dark?”

  Frankie put her arms around the dog, her shoulders hunched.

  He turned the key in the ignition, hoping the block heater had done its job, hoping she hadn’t flooded it.
<
br />   ”This is a serious situation, Frankie. I’m just being cautious.” The starter clicked and sputtered. “Looking on the bright side doesn’t solve everything, you know.”

  After a couple of ominous rattles, the engine roared to life. Red breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t worried about getting stuck between here and the barn—the yard was sheltered enough to keep the drifts manageable. But he felt better having access to a working vehicle while they checked the livestock since they’d need a place to warm up between tasks.

  Carson had warned him that if a blizzard hit, it would take days for the main roads to be cleared. And as they bumped and plowed through the hard ridges of polished snow, Red could only imagine how dangerous those roads would be.

  He glanced at Frankie, sitting silently, the big dog sprawled on her lap. He wished he hadn’t mentioned the dark. Sure, a cold snap like this was serious. But Carson and Rory left them well prepared. It would be a lot of work looking after the stock, and they had some long nights ahead of them, but they’d be fine. Frankie would get away with nothing worse than a case of chapped lips.

  He stole another look. Maybe not. Her lips were fine, smooth and plump. She kept her gaze on the window. A muscle in her jaw twitched.

  “What now? Am I thinking my positive thoughts too loud?” She turned on him then, but not in fear. “You find what you’re looking for in life, Red. You want to see disaster all around? Go ahead. But don’t drag me into your pit of despair.”

  She waved her hand toward the field. “Look around you! Have you ever seen anything so beautiful? The whole world is a sculpture! Everything sparkles and I can feel the light soaking into my heart, chasing out the darkness.” She aimed her blazing eyes at him. “Can’t you feel it?”

  He gulped. He was pretty sure that whatever he was feeling had more to do with the crusader in front of him than with the environment.

  “It’s an adventure, Red. A week from now it’ll be a memory. We might as well make it a good one, don’t you think?”

  Instantly, an image flashed into his mind. The two of them snuggled together in a snow cave, keeping each other alive while the storm raged.

  Of course, in such a situation, the smartest thing would be to skin down and share all the layers. He became suddenly aware of the pressure of her thigh against his.

  They’d generate some heat, all right.

  He forced himself to move his leg away from hers.

  Maybe Frankie’s relentless positivity was a bid to manage her fears. Maybe it was her way of helping. It was, he confessed to himself, a lot better than flailing hysteria.

  Maybe he was being too tough on her. Frankie didn’t need him making things worse.

  “If we get stranded, I’m not sleeping with the mutt,” he said, maneuvering the pickup into a sheltered spot next to the main barn. “Not that we will. Get stranded. I mean.”

  It was a sad attempt to lighten things up, but Frankie latched onto it with both hands.

  “We’ll share her,” she chirped. “Dogs have a lot of body heat, you know. I wouldn’t dream of keeping her all to myself. That would be selfish.”

  She put an unnecessary emphasis on the last word.

  “Sharing body heat is smart.” He put the truck in park, leaving the engine running, then turned to look at her. Sparks flared between them. “But skin-to-skin is the best way.”

  Her eyes darkened and a smile tickled her lips. “Some people will do anything to survive. Maybe I’ll keep the dog to myself after all.”

  “Good thing I’m here to make sure we get back to the house safely.”

  “Come on, Sheriff, enough flirting. Let’s get to work.” She reached past the dog to open the passenger door. “I’ll even let you hold my hand, if it makes you feel better.”

  A gust of wind pushed the door closed, barely missing the dog’s eager nose.

  “Whoa,” said Frankie.

  Red leaned across her and pulled the door shut tight. “Slide out my door.” His arm pressed against her body, soft and pliant, and he heard a little hitching breath as he pulled away.

  Red slid out of the truck, held his door open and helped Frankie down. He had a sudden image of her, backed up against the truck, him holding her there, his arms and legs on either side of hers, her lips parted, stormy eyes looking up at him…

  As Frankie stepped down, the dog pushed past them both, leaping down into the snow. Frankie’s boot slipped, she grabbed his shoulders and for a moment, his daydream turned vividly real. Her face was next to his, her eyes startled and unguarded. He felt the warmth of her skin, saw the pink flush on her cheeks and heard her intake of breath when his gaze dropped to a tiny crack in that full bottom lip. Had he missed that earlier?

  She stepped away too quickly and he realized his hands were on her torso, his thumbs nearly grazing the underside of her breasts. Or they would be if she weren’t wearing so many layers. He snatched his hands away and she pressed her arms against her sides, both of them reacting as if she’d been naked.

  “Oops, that was close,” he said, acting unaware. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, fine. Sorry about that.” She forced a laugh, then brushed snow off the front of her jacket. She turned to face him. “Lead the way, Boss. I’m all yours.”

  In front of them, the dog bounded and cavorted, her ears flopping, the happiest Red had seen her since his arrival.

  …

  Good job, Frankie. Fall into his arms, now that’s subtle.

  “Subtle like a sledgehammer,” she muttered to herself.

  And where did subtle enter into it anyway? She slipped on the running board, that’s all. And the shoulders beneath his jacket were rock solid, his grip on her body firm and his face, so near hers, with those smoky, concerned eyes—

  Wait.

  She didn’t…like…Sheriff LeClair.

  Did she?

  Apparently he made her weak in the knees. Literally.

  She watched him shoveling snow away from the barn door, the hard lines of muscle bending and flexing as he chopped away at the drift. She hadn’t felt this body-slam of interest in so long, she barely recognized the signs. Yeah, the sheriff definitely rang her bell.

  She imagined touching the bare skin beneath his jeans, how the icy flesh would warm beneath her hands…

  Bells rang all over the place.

  He straightened up, leaning on the shovel. He wiped snow from his eyes and nodded toward the barn.

  “Give it a yank,” he told her, breathing hard.

  She jumped. “What?”

  “The barn door.” A slow smile broke over his face. “You know? That thing we’re trying to open?”

  “Right.” She stumbled over the rough path and yanked as directed. The door stuck, then opened suddenly, sending Frankie flying backward.

  “Whoa there filly.” Red caught her handily, setting her back on her feet as if she weighed no more than the shovel. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were throwing yourself at me.”

  Mistral scooted through the door ahead of them. A burst of closed-in air rushed at them, steeped in the cloying smells of horseflesh and hay.

  “You wish.” Then the thick, black air reached stony arms toward her and blindness struck fast and hard. Frankie’s feet wouldn’t move. Weren’t there any windows in the place? She reached back to grip Red’s sleeve. “How are we supposed to see where we’re going in here?”

  He took her hand in his and pulled the door shut behind them. “You’ll adjust.”

  Frankie blinked as they shuffled into the cavernous room, hanging on to Red like a life preserver. From somewhere to her right, she heard Mistral whine. Or was it her left?

  “I can’t see.” She swallowed, hard. Even at night, there was usually enough small illumination—night-lights, streetlights, headlights, candles, fire—to make it tolerable. But here, the true dark combined with impenetrable walls and stagnant air to make it suffocating.

  Her lungs sucked and scraped. She couldn’t tell if her eyes
were open or shut, what was up and what was down. She might have been underwater. She felt around with her other hand for something, anything, to orient herself.

  “You okay?” said Red. He caught her flailing hand and stilled it next to the other, his large gloves surrounding hers. The firm touch grounded her and the tingling in her legs lessened.

  “Yeah. Of course.” But her voice was too high and her breath was still coming too quickly. “I’m fine.”

  “You will be, sweetheart,” said Red, his voice low and smooth. “Slow down. Breathe.”

  “I am.” She sucked in a couple quick gulps of the murky air. “See?”

  “Slower.” He moved his hands upward, until they gripped her upper arms. “In and out. In and out.”

  “I can’t!”

  And then his gloved hand was on her chin, tilting it up.

  “Look at me.”

  “I can’t! I can’t see anything!” Panic swelled and she struggled against him.

  “Francesca! Stop. Look at me.”

  There was no irritation in his voice, no judgment, no disgust, not even amusement. Nothing but calm and control. Security. Safety.

  Frankie blinked again and then, out of the dark, she saw a glimmer. His eyes. She gripped his jacket and pulled him closer, her gaze latching onto his face.

  Like his voice, his expression was serene, radiating ease and well-being. And warmth. Her knees wobbled.

  “Here. Sit.” Without breaking eye contact, Red patted something next to her, then pushed her onto what felt like a bale of hay.

  He was right. After a moment or two, she found she could breathe again. And, like he said, it wasn’t completely dark. The glow of small, snow-covered windows appeared. Her eyes needed to adjust. But still, she clung to him, and he let her, watching intently as she collected herself.

  A bony head butted her knee and Mistral whined again.

  To Frankie’s horror, hot tears welled up. Instantly she looked down and pulled away.

  “No you don’t,” said Red, tugging her back and peering into her face until she returned his gaze. “Frankie, what’s going on?”

  This time she read worry in his eyes. Her tears receded. She swallowed.

  “Nothing, Red.” She tried on a wobbly smile. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to scare you.”