Stranger in Paradise

by McIntyre, Amanda

  She blinked and gave him an odd look.

  “Excuse me?” She questioned his frank and admittedly unsocial behavior through chattering teeth. “I don’t know any Dalton, but I’d like to meet him if he happens to have a map.”

  The woman obviously had no fear of being out alone in this weather, nor did it seem she was afraid to knock on any door of any strange house out in the middle of nowhere.

  “Listen, I’m sorry to be a bother, but I want to make sure I’m on the right road. It seems maybe I might have missed my turnoff. Are you familiar with the town of End of the Line?” she asked, stomping the snow from her faux-fur fashion boots.

  The winding mountain road was dotted with an array of old mining towns with fewer than fifty or so residents and End of the Line happened to be one of the largest. “Sure, I know where it is.” Her cheeks and the tip of her nose were pink from the cold. She smiled and sniffled, and it pulled Wyatt from his reverie. “Pardon my manners. Why don’t you come inside and get out of the cold.” To her credit, he saw the hesitation in her eyes before she stepped around him and into the foyer. The scent of peppermint and winter air tickled his nose, and he noted sprigs of blond hair sticking out from beneath the furry rim of her hood. Sadie leaped up and placed her paws on the woman’s chest.

  “I’m sorry. She’s really quite friendly.”

  The woman pushed her face to Sadie’s and ruffled her fur. “She’s a sweetheart, she is,” the woman cooed, apparently forgetting he was standing there.

  Wyatt cleared his throat and reached out to move Sadie down, though it seemed the two females had become fast friends.

  “I went down to Big Timber for the day,” the woman began. “Then this snow started just out of the blue.” She waved her hands as she spoke.

  No gloves, just as he’d thought.

  “Between the dark and the snow, I’m not sure if I’d already passed by my turn to town. Thankfully, I saw your lights from the road and took a chance someone might be home.”

  “Isn’t it a bit risky for someone your age to be out alone on night like this?” He frowned as he shut the door. He leaned back against it and folded his arms over his chest in the same fatherly manner he’d seen Jed display a million times.

  Her gaze shot to his, and she pushed off her hood, raking her fingers through her hair, sending spiky, short-clipped platinum blonde tresses in all directions. He wasn’t much for short hair on women and frankly preferred dark to light hair. But on her, it seemed to fit with her slight build and mesmerizing baby blues, which, he noted, looked as though they could launch daggers.

  She chuckled. “So what are you, just some cowboy serial killer just chillin’ here by the fire, waiting for your next victim?”

  Put that way, sure it seemed silly.

  She fished in her jacket pocket, and as she retrieved a tissue, a little blue mitten fell out. “Hopefully that wasn’t the line you used to pick up your wife.”

  Wait a minute; do I look like a married man?

  She bent over and so did he to retrieve the mitten.

  “Did I say I was married?”

  Maybe she was the one who was married. Then again, she looked very young. He scooped up the mitten and handed it to her.

  “Uh, no, I just assumed.” She shrugged, not meeting his eyes.

  “Assumed?”

  She licked her lips. “Based on your age and all.”

  My age?

  “Hey, but at least you’re the gentlemanly serial-killer type.”

  Wyatt released a sigh. This conversation was spinning wildly out of control. “Of course I’m not a serial killer.”

  “That’s a relief,” she muttered.

  “Look, I was trying to make a point.” He wanted to explain that she was mistaken about the wife thing, but he didn’t have a clue why it should matter one way or another.

  “Yeah, I appreciate your concern.” She stuffed the mitten in her coat pocket and swiped the Kleenex under her pert nose. “But news flash, I’m not as young as I look and I guess one day I’ll be grateful for those genetics. Right now it’s frustrating, particularly in bars and with people like you.”

  “Like me?” This woman was spry, but her attitude more than made up for her size. “What do you mean? I’m trying to be the nice guy here.”

  “Listen, mister. I teach a second-grade class and if you don’t think you have to be tough, I invite you to try one day with them.” She looked him over. “They’d chew you up. No offense.”

  “None taken.” He frowned, finding her spunk sexier than he should.

  “All I need is for you to tell me the name of the road that I need to turn on to get back to town and then you can return to planning who your next victim will be.” She smiled and damn if there wasn’t a twinkle in her eye.

  Mouthy as all hell. He pinned her with a puzzled look. “Listen, lady, for the record, not everyone up in these mountains is as hospitable as me. Besides, you don’t carry a map in your car?”

  Her gaze narrowed. She brushed an errant strand of blond hair from her eyes. “If you’re the best in hospitality these mountains have to offer, no wonder everyone calls it the land that time forgot. And no, Mr. Triple-A police, I don’t happen to have a map in my car. It didn’t come in the welcome wagon basket.”

  Wyatt eyed her, not knowing whether to help her or toss her cute behind out in the snow. He figured, though, he’d brought on some of her saucy attitude. “The Git and Go in town keeps them right by the counter,” he tossed out, the sparring between them eliciting a tingling of arousal. By God, that hadn’t happened since his old girlfriend, Jessie, a mistake he did not intend to make again. Wyatt carefully reeled in his wayward emotions, holding his gaze steady on hers in a display of wills.

  She chewed the corner of her lip and then raised an eyebrow. “Good to know. Listen, as riveting and by the way, educational that this experience has been, I'll just scoot along and let you get on with... whatever it is you do out here. I appear to have tapped out your quota of hospitality for the season.” She reached around him and grabbed the doorknob. He moved aside, flustered why he felt so agitated. Hadn’t she heard a word he was trying to say? “Listen, obviously you’re new around here.”

  She glanced up at him. Her arched brow spoke volumes.

  “It’s just that these storms can pop up rather unexpectedly through the mountains, kind of like a squall. Half the time radar doesn’t even catch them until it’s on top of us. When you’ve lived here long enough, you’ll know better to be prepared before venturing out.” It was clear from the way her blue eyes scalded him that she didn’t appreciate his speech on safety. He glanced down at his feet and kicked himself for sounding like her father. It was a gut reaction. If something needed to be fixed, he approached it without hesitation and used his common sense. To those who didn’t know him very well, he supposed that he could sound a bit overbearing, perhaps even bossy. From the look on her face, he’d nailed both pretty good. Her smile was tolerant at best.

  “Do you know the name of the road or not? I’m tired, I’m lost, and frankly, I don’t need the fatherly lecture.” She held tight to the doorknob, eyeing him a second more, then flipped up her hood and yanked on the door. “Never mind, I’ll find it, thanks.”

  He swiped a hand over his mouth, sensing what he was about to do was not be a good idea. He put his hand over hers. Having sworn off dating for more time than he cared to admit, he was admittedly out of practice with how to handle a female—a tired and feisty one, at that.

  Her back stiffened and those blue eyes snapped to his, flashing thunderbolts. He dropped his hand, trying to decide whether he needed to raise his fists or not. “Okay. There’s no need to get all riled up. Simmer down. I’m just trying to give you a few tips on survival up here in these mountains. Give me a second. I think I may have an extra map. It will be easier to show you where the turnoff is.”

  “Simmer down? Right, cowboy.” Her mocking whisper was as good as a slap to the back of his head.r />
  Maybe he had it coming.

  “Nice place you have here,” she called from the entrance to the great room. The vaulted ceiling carried her voice through the rafters.

  He glanced up and saw her taking in the rustic interior. “My father… um, stepdad, built it.”

  “Impressive.” She craned her head back to look overhead. “I think my apartment alone could fit in this room, maybe—five times over.”

  Wyatt retrieved an old map and walked toward her, letting his gaze travel up the tilt of her neck as she gazed up at the ceiling. Her chin dropped suddenly and her eyes met his. Zing! Wyatt nearly stumbled over his feet at the impact. He covered his faux pas by blaming poor Sadie and clearing his throat, handed the girl the map. Nope, cowboy, you do not want to go there. However, his treacherous body, too long without a woman next to it, had entirely different ideas. Wyatt steered his mind from heading down that dangerous path. “You want to take the lane out here back to the main road.”

  She tossed him a dubious look. “Amazingly, I figured as much.” She opened the map, folded it, and moved to his side. “Now what?”

  Damn, if she hadn’t taken the words right out of his mouth. He glanced down and decided the sooner he got her on her way, the better for both of them. “You turn right at the top of the hill, then go north on eighty-nine. In about five miles you should see a sign on the right, for the scenic overlook.”

  She nodded. “Okay, yep, I remember it. I just couldn’t recall the name.”

  “It’s county road forty-five and it ought to be clear. Dusty’s bar is at that end of town. He likes to keep the secondary road open for his customers. Usually does it himself.”

  “You think he’s still open?” she asked, busily refolding the map.

  He bit his tongue, wanting to advise her about going alone to the old pub. He knew firsthand the sort of unsavory characters who sometimes came in from other towns. There can be some unsavory folks who hang out there from time to time." He should know. It's where he’d met Jessie, the woman he’d planned to be with the rest of his life. He’d given his heart to her completely, only to discover a couple of months later that not only did the guys go to Dusty’s to find a little fun, but so did Jessie. Suffice it to say he hadn’t been back to Dusty’s in over a year, and the whole affair had left him with a bitter taste in his mouth about dating. He swept his gaze over the woman as she prepared to leave and wondered how many hearts she’d left in her wake. “I’ve never known Dusty to close early for any reason, especially on a night like this. He believes travelers out there might need a hot meal or a place to stay.”

  “Seems like a nice man.” She didn’t say whether or not she had planned to stop there. “Okay, great, thanks again. Sorry to have bothered you.” She presented him with the map.

  “Keep it. You never know when you might need it again.” When she turned her back, he made a face at how his comment probably sounded and hoped she had not caught it.

  “By the way….” She turned on her heel and with a decisive poke with the map nailed him in the chest. “You’ve been so generous with your advice, let me give you some.” She pressed her face close enough that it sent his brain scrambling. “Try a little lemon juice on those beef stains.” She trailed the map down his shirt and tossed him a wink before sprinting out the door to her car.

  The wind nearly tore the storm door from his hand as he watched her climb into her car. “Drive safely.” Stunned by her blatant comment, his response, too late, was swallowed by the wind. He stared after her and realized she hadn’t asked his name, nor offered hers. He wasn’t terribly surprised in retrospect, given that he’d treated her as though she was twelve. Something about her jangled his nerves. Maybe it was her attitude that reminded him of Jessie and his defenses just shot up. He followed the headlights as they bounced up the lane and disappeared from sight and then closed the door. “Like I’ll ever have to worry about running into her again, right girl?” He ruffled the dog’s fur. “Do I look like a serial killer to you?”

  A small laugh escaped his lips. He sauntered back to the coffee table, thinking about the strange encounter and the fact that he’d probably need to reheat his stew. To his surprise, he found the dish empty—clean as a whistle. Sadie wagged her tail as though to say thanks for the treat, then realizing his displeasure, ducked her head and slunk back to her bed, where she curled up and looked up at him with a woeful expression. Her soft brown gaze shot to his, silently pleading for absolution. Isn’t that just like a female? With the face of an angel, they sucker you in and the next thing you know you’re in a world of hurt. His thoughts sprang back to his recent encounter with eyes the color of a summer sky. Wyatt released an uneasy sigh. Sure as the north wind blowing fiercely outside, he felt the swirl of the impending storm stirring inside of him.

  ***

  Aimee gripped the steering wheel and tried to convince herself her body’s uncontrolled trembling had more to do with the cold than her unplanned meeting of the dark-eyed cowboy. She fumbled with the heat, one eye on the view in front of her, and tried to see where the snow had drifted across the road. Abandoning her efforts to stay warm, she leaned forward to stay focused, watching the snow-matted signs so she wouldn’t miss her turn. Her mind drifted back to the handsome stranger’s dark hair and how it curled slightly at the ends. Those gravy stains on his white T-shirt were hard to miss, and she realized she’d interrupted his dinner. Probably just in from his chores, he had that comfortable in-for-the-evening look about him in his worn jeans and unbuttoned shirt that flashed ideas of snuggling on a couch on such a cold night. She hadn’t seen any photos indicating a wife or kids as she waited for him to retrieve the map, but given his bristly attitude, she wondered if he’d recently come out of a difficult relationship. He seemed to be a man of integrity, appeared successful, and Lord in heaven, from a pure physical standpoint, he was her idea of a cowboy, from his honed muscles, and the perfect fit of his worn jeans to the glint in his espresso-colored eyes. And he was doing well. Any doubt of that ended the moment she walked into the spacious great room. With a cathedral ceiling, it was a gorgeous blend of a rustic lodge and modern comfort. Honey-colored pine rafters formed the open framework, running the entire length of the ceiling. Two leather couches faced one another in front of a massive, handcrafted stone fireplace and a set of wingbacks upholstered in a rich black-and-red plaid rounded out the warm and inviting seating arrangement. Massive woven area rugs, in reds, golds, browns, most probably handcrafted by local American Indian artisans, accentuated the gleam of the warm, polished dark wood floors. It was as grand as anything Aimee had ever seen. Her head was on a swivel as she took in the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and the wall of windows across the back of the room. A large-screen television hung over the grand fireplace and what looked like an open office area overlooked the back of the house. She felt as though she’d walked into a layout of American Cowboy magazine. How in the world had she missed seeing such a tall, cool drink of fine in town?

  The sight of a large buck standing at the edge of the road snapped her back to the present. No match for him in her Subaru, she slowed and waited, her eyes darting back and forth to the rearview mirror, hoping no one would come around the bend and reared her. The animal’s ebony eyes sparkled in the glare of her headlights and she swore he looked right through the front window, defiantly challenging which of them would move first. He turned his head majestically over his shoulder and a female deer with two fawns appeared, inching cautiously to his side and then past him. His head came up and his gaze met Aimee’s as his family crossed the road, blending into the darkness on the other side. She stared in rapt fascination at the protective way he watched them. Then, when he was certain of their safety, he followed, ignoring Aimee’s presence entirely. Her heart beat in wild exhilaration at the sight. Aside from her recent encounter, it was the first exciting thing that had happened to her since moving to this remote area. She had to admit, there was a stirring in her blood as she noted the rema
rkable likeness of the stag’s intense gaze to the cowboy she’d just met. Aimee eased the car forward and realized suddenly she’d been so flustered by the circumstances that she’d forgotten to ask his name. Perhaps more disappointing, however, was he hadn’t bothered to ask hers. Still, the overprotection of a complete stranger was endearing, in an old-fashioned way. Surely, someone in town could tell her about him.

  She drove carefully down the narrow road, flanked either side by pine trees, grateful that someone with a large truck had driven through the pass recently, leaving a clear path for her to follow. “Finally,” she said with a sigh when she saw the outline of Fred’s Garage at the edge of town. Not much farther, should be this place called Dusty’s. She’d known about it, but as the new second-grade teacher, debated whether it was wise to frequent the only bar in town. However, in End of the Line, it seemed to be the only place to socialize besides Betsy’s Café. She hoped it wouldn’t be too busy on a night like this. A quiet drink sounded good.

  She slowed and searched the array of pickup trucks parked in the gravel lot. The pink neon light flashing Dusty’s was an enticing welcome to her frazzled nerves. She passed the first drive, battling the wisdom of turning in, and saw her last chance looming beyond a short snowdrift, a few feet ahead. With a sigh, she yanked on the wheel and pulled her car into a spot between two massive pickup trucks. She sat for a moment, still debating the social consequences, but her need for a peaceful drink outweighed the potential for scandal. She locked the door, hooked her purse over her shoulder, and headed for the front door, almost dissuaded by the catcalls of two older men who were leaving. She ignored them, pulled open the door, and hoped at least one of them was sober enough to drive. The music of the jukebox blared in the near-empty room and she felt the stiffness in her shoulders relax. Raucous male laughter filtered in from the back room, where she surmised a pool table must be. Cautiously, she unzipped her jacket and looked for a quiet spot where she could be alone. She spotted a seat at the end of the bar. A couple sat in one of the corner booths, so wrapped up in each other that Aimee decided the place could be on fire and they wouldn’t notice. Yet other than the couple, those involved in a pool game, and the bartender, the bar was virtually empty.