by Patti Berg
“Are we going to be okay?”
“I told you I’d take care of you. I try to keep my promises.”
It was far too cold to be outside, and he knew they should stay in the truck until the blizzard cleared, but he had to get Sam away from the pickup until he was sure it was safe.
He pulled the handle on his door and it jerked from his hand, smashing against a bank of snow, leaving an opening of not much more than eighteen inches.
“You’re not getting out of the truck, are you?” Sam asked.
“We’re both getting out.”
“We’ll freeze outside.”
And if there was a gas leak, if the truck caught on fire, she could die. That’s what had happened to Beth, and he couldn’t bear the thought of living through something like that again.
“I’ve got to check out the truck, make sure everything’s all right.”
“Okay, you do that. I’ll stay right here and keep warm.”
He didn’t want to frighten her, but he had to get her out of the cab. He uncinched her seat belt, and she slid even closer to his body—if that was possible. “You’re getting out, Sam. Whether you want to or not.”
She sighed, but she didn’t argue.
Holding on to the steering wheel and bracing one boot against the door so he wouldn’t slide completely off the seat, he popped his shoulder harness. His torso slipped a few inches and Sam moved right along with him, as if they were connected.
He managed to get his feet and legs out of the truck and onto the snow-covered bank, and then he maneuvered the rest of the way through the tight opening. With one arm around Sam’s waist, he pulled her out behind him, holding her close when they were on firm ground. Then he scooped her up in his arms.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting you away from the truck.”
“I can walk,” she protested
“I know. I’ve watched you.” He winked. “You’ve got a great walk, Sam.”
Slowly her frown transformed into a smile. “Thanks.”
They were a good thirty feet from the truck when the pelting wind and snow gentled, and a hazy sunlight appeared through the clouds. For the past five minutes he’d been repeating a silent prayer for the snow to stop, and it looked like God had been listening. The reprieve wasn’t something he could take for granted, though. He’d lived on the prairie all his life and knew the storm could kick up again without warning.
He set Sam down in the base of the ditch. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine. A little cold, that’s all.”
“I’ve got to go back and see if I can figure out what we hit, then I’m going to see if I can get the truck out of the ditch. Wait here.”
“I’d rather go with you.”
“I’d feel better if you’d stay. Please.”
“Okay, but don’t be long.”
He took a few steps, then turned back. Her red hair was nearly white with snow. The freckles bridging her nose and cheeks blended with the redness of her skin. Her teeth were chattering—and she had to be the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
“No. I just forgot something important.”
“What?”
He curled a gloved hand around the back of her head, and then he kissed her, hard, real hard. He could have lingered, he could have spent the next few hours kissing her, but, un fortunately, he had other things to deal with now. He tore his lips away and pressed his cheek against hers. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he whispered into her ear. “Real glad.”
He brushed a quick kiss across her mouth, then rushed toward the truck.
Jack’s kiss had stunned her. She hadn’t expected it at all. Sam had been storing memories of Jack’s kisses so she could think about them in the future. They weren’t leading to anything lasting, but the best parts of her life—her mama and Syd—had been short-lived, too. Still, she kept memories of them close to her heart.
She watched Jack near the truck. He got down on his hands and knees and looked underneath, he walked to the front, disappeared from sight for a minute, and finally she saw him reappear on the other side.
“It’s okay,” he called out to her. “You can get back inside now, if you want.”
Walking toward him, she maneuvered cautiously through the mud and snow, with Jack watching her every move. There’d been so much fear in his eyes when he’d hurried her out of the truck. She knew he was thinking about his girlfriend, and the accident that had happened long ago. She died because I couldn’t get her out of the car, he’d told her. And he’d made sure the same thing didn’t happen to her.
She tucked that memory away, too. Jack Remington didn’t know it, but gestures like that were redeeming him in her eyes. She still didn’t think the charade was right, but he was doing it for what he thought were all the right reasons.
How could she fault him for that?
“Did you figure out what we hit?” she asked, when she neared the bed of the truck.
“A cow.”
“Is she dead?”
He nodded. “Her calf’s okay. Half-frozen, but she’ll live.” He brushed a strand of damp, windblown hair from her cheek, and she felt her toes tingle from the gentleness of his touch. “Feel like playing mother for a while?”
“What?”
“I have to mend the fence before another cow wanders onto the road, and I need you to take care of the calf.”
Sam was uncomfortable with the idea, until the bedraggled black calf walked around the side of the truck. The wobbly-legged baby headed straight toward her, and some kind of motherly instinct Sam didn’t even know she possessed took over. Bending down, she wrapped her arms around the calf. “Don’t worry, little one. We’ll take care of you.”
If there’d been time, Jack would have stood forever watching Sam cuddling that calf, but right now he had to get the truck out of the ditch, had to get Sam inside where it was warm, and head for home before Lauren got worried and sent someone out to search for them.
Leading Sam to higher ground, he left her there with the calf while he carefully backed the truck away from the dead heifer and out of the ditch. Five minutes later he was on the icy road. He pulled over to the shoulder, left the truck running with the heat turned on full blast, and went back for Sam.
He lifted the calf in his arms and followed Sam back to the truck, unable to take his eyes off the seductive sway she maintained even through the snow.
“There’s a blanket under the backseat,” he told her, when they reached the truck. “Can you get it?”
She climbed into the cab and, kneeling on the passenger seat, leaned over the back. Jack’s heart slammed against his chest as he watched her skirt slide up her thighs. God, her legs were long. And shapely. And he wanted to run his hands over every sexy inch.
“I’ve got it,” she hollered, grabbing the back of her skirt and pulling it down as she twisted around in the seat. She covered her curves and bare legs with the blanket. Probably just as well, he decided. She’d told him she was heading for home in a few days, and he didn’t doubt her words. But he had plans to change her mind. He had to do it slowly though. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her off.
He slipped the calf into Sam’s outstretched arms, and she wrapped the edges of the blanket around the struggling calf. “Do you have anything else we can put around her?”
He stripped out of his coat.
“You can’t do that, Jack. You’ll freeze.”
“It’s not that cold out here,” he lied, spreading his jacket over wet fur. “Besides, the coat will just get in the way while I fix the fence.”
“Will it take long?” she asked.
“A few minutes. I’ll go as fast as I can.”
She smiled. “Don’t worry about us. My mama used to sing me lullabies. I thought this little one might enjoy one or two.”
A lump formed in his throat as he closed the door, and through the window watched
Sam stroke the newborn’s head and neck, looking like she’d spent a lifetime on a ranch. In spite of the snow, in spite of the cold and wind, she seemed happy to be sitting in the middle of nowhere with a motherless calf in her arms.
He didn’t think it was possible, not after years of failed relationships, but he thought he might have just fallen in love.
As promised, Jack didn’t take long fixing the fence. When he climbed into the cab, Sam thought for sure the temperature warmed a good ten degrees. That was a dangerous feeling, and she knew it.
Oh, Mama. I’m starting to like him far too much, and I don’t know how to stop.
They were on the road in minutes, the tires whining on the icy pavement. Except for Jack calling Crosby to tell him they were on the way, he drove quietly, obviously deep in thought. She continued to hum, stroking the calf’s soft, cool fur, and wished she knew what Jack was thinking.
“Are we almost there?” she asked, when they turned off the highway onto a slushy road.
“Another fifteen minutes or so.”
“Your ranch is in the middle of nowhere, isn’t it?”
“We’ve been on the ranch for over an hour,” he stated. “The house is in the middle of nowhere.” He looked at her and winked. “That’s the way I like it.”
“Pretty big place, huh?”
“Big enough.”
“Do you ever get lonely?”
“Not often. I’ve got family and friends who keep that from happening.”
Family. It was important to him, so important that he’d concocted a charade to keep his sister happy.
She stared out the window at the first hint of moonlight shining on the snow, at the long shadows cast by fence posts and scrub grass. She wasn’t part of his family. She was someone he’d hired. Oh, he might be enjoying their kisses, but that rich man in Palm Beach had enjoyed her mama’s kisses, too, right before he told her she didn’t fit into his world—and left her in tears.
She looked at Jack, at his ruggedly handsome profile, and she knew she had to get away soon, before he broke her heart.
fourteen
Sam had never lived in a house before, and she couldn’t picture herself living in the big, beautiful one she saw when Jack pointed his out. She’d expected a millionaire to live in a stone mansion the size of Fort Knox. She’d imagined formal gardens, although they’d be brown and nearly lifeless now, sprawling patios, and a swimming pool. What she saw was little more than a three-story white farmhouse with black trim, a wide front porch, an old red barn, some corrals, and half a dozen outbuildings. She saw nothing fancy, only something comfortable and well loved.
She saw a home, a real honest-to-goodness home.
A black-and-white dog came bounding out to meet the truck, spinning in circles and barking as they drove up the road.
“That’s Rufus,” Jack told her. “He pretends he’s protecting the place, but he’s never seen a stranger he didn’t like.”
“I had a dog like that once,” Sam told him, remembering the dog she’d called Princess. “She had to have been the ugliest mutt ever conceived—half-dachshund, half-boxer, I think. One ear was gone, and she had a scar across her nose, but that didn’t matter to me. She kept me company when I was alone.”
“Were you alone a lot?”
“Too much.” She faced him and smiled. “My mama worked at night and couldn’t afford a baby-sitter. We had an old black-and-white TV that I’d watch until I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. Sometimes it would still be on when I woke up in the morning. That’s when I’d know that Mama hadn’t gotten home yet, and I’d have to fix my own breakfast before heading off to school. I didn’t like those mornings very much.”
“I wouldn’t have liked it either.”
“It wasn’t being alone that I hated so much, it was being afraid that something had happened to Mama, and…I hated leaving without a kiss good-bye.”
“What about your dad?”
“I never knew him.”
Jack frowned as he brought the truck to a stop right next to the barn, and she wondered if she’d said too much. She’d never told anyone about her past. Not the good times, especially not the bad. But the words had spilled so easily today. Somehow she’d known that Jack wouldn’t laugh, wouldn’t condemn, or even ask for explanations.
But why should he? Their relationship was temporary.
Sam’s door was yanked open before Jack shut off the engine. The man standing beside the truck had at least a week’s worth of gray stubble on his face. He was stooped, wiry, and stood as if he had an invisible horse between his legs. “I take it you’re Arabella,” he croaked. He scooped the calf, the blanket, and Jack’s coat from Sam’s lap and offered her a marginal smile. “I’m Crosby, Cros for short. Don’t matter which one you use. You’ll find I ain’t too particular about things, least of all formality.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Crosby.”
He looked her up and down and shook his head. “You ain’t a bit like I expected.”
“What were you expecting?”
“Someone a damn sight more finicky. Someone who sure as hell wouldn’t hold a wet critter in her lap.” He leaned forward and looked at Jack. “You done good this time, boy.”
“I think so.”
The masquerade had begun again. It was time for Jack to make necessary comments like that. Time for her to put on an act and hope she could stifle the fluttery feelings that crept into her heart every time he uttered something nice.
Crosby boosted the calf higher in his arms, aiming his next words at Sam. “Hope you can cook. I already served supper, so you’re gonna have to fend for yourself. Lauren’s upstairs primpin’ and cryin’. Been doin’ that most of the day.”
“What about Beau?” Jack asked.
“He’s had a bee up his butt all afternoon. He slammed out of the kitchen soon as the blizzard went through. I imagine he’s around somewhere. Sulkin’ more than likely. Don’t think he’s too anxious to meet his future ma.” Without another word, Crosby turned and walked away.
“I don’t want to cause any problems between you and your son,” Sam said, realizing that they hadn’t talked about the boy at all on their drive.
“Beau and I have a whole hell of a lot of things to work out between us. You’re just one of them, so don’t worry about it.”
“What about Crosby? How does he feel about me being here?”
“That’s the nicest greeting I’ve ever heard him give anyone.” Jack smiled. “I think he likes you.”
Sam laughed, as she attempted to rub the circulation back into her legs. “Is he family?”
“Closest thing to it. He came to the ranch in the early thirties and hasn’t left since. My grandpa told me once that Cros had killed a man in a barroom brawl and came here looking for a place to hide.”
“Do you believe it?”
Jack nodded. “He’s never told a soul about what he did before he became a cowboy. If he killed someone, I imagine they had it coming. If he’s felt any guilt, he’s kept it to himself. I only care about what he is now, and I’d trust him with my life.”
Those were some of the nicest words Sam had ever heard. Jack didn’t care about Crosby’s past. Maybe hers wouldn’t bother him either—if they had a real relationship, which they didn’t.
Climbing out of the truck, Jack came around to the passenger side to help Sam out. A gust of wind stung her cheeks as she stepped onto the dirt and gravel, and without warning her legs gave out beneath her.
Jack swept her up in his arms and carried her toward the house.
“Put me down, Jack. I can’t have you carrying me everywhere.”
“If I put you down, you’ll fall flat on your face.”
“My legs fell asleep while I was holding the calf. That’s all.”
“I think there’s more to it than that.” His brow narrowed into a frown as he pushed through a side door. “When was the last time you ate a decent meal?”
“I had biscuits and g
ravy at Denny’s right after you called, and I ate on the plane. You’re not my mother, Jack. Don’t worry about my eating habits.”
“Okay, let’s talk about your sleeping habits. Had more than a few hours lately?”
She hesitated, trying to remember.
“You work too hard, Sam. That’s gonna change while you’re here.”
“Don’t bet on it. And you’d better start calling me Arabella before you foul up your little game.”
He raised an eyebrow, his look quelling her words. “I’m taking you upstairs. I’m going to run you a bath, and you’re going to soak in it. It’s about time someone made you relax.”
She liked the sound of a bath. She’d spent too many months cleaning up in the bathroom at Antonio’s, or in the institutional-like showers at the KOA. The thought of lazing away in a tub, one filled with bubbles, maybe, sounded delightful.
Better yet, she liked the thought that Jack cared. Of course, there was always the possibility that he didn’t want anyone seeing his fiancée looking unkempt and definitely unrefined. That seemed the most logical explanation. Still, she wove her arms about his neck and enjoyed the moment.
He was the only man who’d ever carried her, and she had to admit she liked the feeling.
As he walked through the house, she tried to take in the layout and decorations, but she got lost in Jack’s even breathing, the steadiness of his heartbeat, the warmth of his lips brushing her cheek when he turned to her and smiled, and the sound of his boots on the hardwood floors and stairs.
He opened a door and carried her into a room that boasted little more than a big brick fireplace with an old, overstuffed tweed chair positioned in front of the hearth. A large, oval braided rug covered the floor between the fireplace and an antique oak dresser. A matching highboy sat on the other side of the room, and against the far wall, with windows on either side, was the bed.
She shivered.
“Are you cold?” he asked.