Champagne and Cowboys

by Donna Michaels

  “He shouldn’t have run away.”

  “And we shouldn’t have forgotten that he was outside,” she stated gently.

  “Meaning I shouldn’t have forgotten him.”

  “It’s okay. I’m sure he’s close. Just being stubborn.”

  He blinked. “I can’t let you do this. I’ll go.” He reached for his coat, but she touched his wrist lightly.

  “No, Pops, you can’t. Your heart can’t take walking out there in the deep snow. It’s too dangerous.” Her coat was now buttoned, boots on, and she pulled her warm hat lower over her ears, pulling her long hair around on one shoulder. “I promise I won’t go far. I’ll look for his paw tracks and I’ll call for him. If I don’t see anything, I’ll come back. But I have to do this. You know I’ll never rest until I know he’s okay.”

  As if he knew arguing with his daughter was a waste of precious time, he nodded and stepped away from the door. “Just be careful, you hear? You’re all I got in this life and I don’t want to lose you over that old dog who’s quickly reaching his expiration date too,” he huffed.

  She smiled at his grumpiness and kissed him on his bearded cheek. “I love you. Now don’t sit here worrying. And don’t tap into that bottle you have stashed under the sink. Go sit and work on the puzzle you’ve been hanging your head over for the last month.” She winked, grabbed the flashlight from the table and headed out the door.

  The icy wind splashed across her cheeks and the cold air dried up her lungs. She pulled her coat collar further up on her face and her hat lower over her ears. The temperature had dropped drastically in the last hour. Yogi’s paws were at risk for getting frost bite. She wasn’t sure why the dog took off in the first place. It was completely unlike him. Since he was a pup, the yellow lab had been faithful and loyal. His behavior had been unusual this evening, standing by the door, whimpering and whining, until Pops had finally reached his limit and put him outside.

  She didn’t want to think that her father was right and Yogi was on the latter part of his life. The dog held a special place in her heart. And she certainly didn’t want to hear anymore nonsense about her father getting ‘old’ and ready to check out. Since his heart attack last year, he’d gone through an emotional whirlwind. The doctor said it was normal for heart patients to suffer depression after a traumatic experience. Her father had to change his diet, his routine, and not indulge in guilty pleasures like a dozen slices of bacon each morning and a shot of whiskey each night. Lately, she’d become his guardian, monitoring his every move and it wasn’t working out for either of them. In the long run, he would have to make the effort to be healthier.

  There was also the little problem of him trying to convince her all of the time that she needed to settle down. He talked about her love life more and more these days. Why didn’t he understand that she wasn’t ready? She didn’t need his lecture on love, especially not today. She still couldn’t get through the holidays without having a meltdown. They used to celebrate Christmas, but this year they’d handed out presents to the locals then spent the rest of the holiday pretending they weren’t mourning.

  She stepped off the porch, her boots crunched the icy snow as she made her way through the front yard. She couldn’t see very far. The snow came down in a thick blanket. Clicking on the flashlight, she shone the light around the yard, looking for paw tracks. The snow fell so fast she doubted she’d find any evidence of Yogi.

  “Yogi? Come here, boy. Enough of this,” she yelled out into the night. Only her echo came back. “I’m taking your comfy blanket away if you don’t come here right away.”

  She walked a little further and stopped. “You won’t be getting a treat for a week, dog,” she muttered. “I’ll give them to the neighborhood dogs. I’ll give the German Shepard an extra helping, you know, the one you don’t like.”

  Eventually she made it to the trees edging the road. Following the row until she reached the driveway, she looked both ways, seeing no tracks or sign of the misbehaving dog. She wouldn’t think he’d gone to the road, but she thought she’d look to be sure.

  Glancing back, the two-story white house seemed to disappear in the distance. The porch light was a beacon calling her back. Yet she couldn’t go. She couldn’t until she found Yogi.

  Heading toward the road, she faced the wind. The air was so cold that her eyes hurt and her nose burned. Her lungs worked harder to draw air in and puffs of clouds formed upon exhale. She moved toward the main road, hoping Yogi didn’t get hit by a car. There hadn’t been any traffic since a level three alert was placed on their area. People in these parts would have sense to stay inside and not venture out in the weather.

  She approached the road and heard a faint bell ringing. She stopped and listened. Was it the bell on Yogi’s collar? Movement drew her attention to a spot about twenty feet away. She caught a flash of a bushy tail. “Yogi, get back here.” The wind carried her voice the opposite direction.

  Running, or rather hopping through the snow, she took off after him, hoping she didn’t fall on the slippery ice. Running out of breath and forcing her legs to move, she finally had to slow down from pure exhaustion. Sucking in her breaths, she scanned the area where he’d disappeared, seeing light flashing through the trees in the distance. A car was coming. Who would be crazy enough to be driving in this?

  “Yogi! Come here!” she screamed, but her voice came back at her. Her throat ached.

  She climbed down into the ditch, clawing at the snow, seeing Yogi in the approaching headlights. As if in a movie, everything slowed, yet her senses heightened. The sound of tires crunching on the snow grew louder. Yogi barked. Rubber scraped on ice. The truck swerved, then a loud thud echoed through the night as it came to rest in the embankment.

  “Oh no,” she whispered.

  Fear trickled down her spine. Her mind raced as she crawled from the ditch into the road. Her boots slipped and she fell to her knees, but she quickly pushed herself back to standing. Carefully, she moved toward the vehicle, the tail lights stark against the dark night. The wheels were still turning and the front was settled precariously in the ditch.

  Dropping to her bottom, she slid on her butt until she came to the driver’s door. Her breathing was heavy in her ears and her heart beat thumped against her chest as she peered through the fogged driver’s side glass. Not seeing anything, she tried tugging the handle, but it was locked.

  “Hello?” She pounded the window. Not doing much good through the thick gloves she wore.

  She would never forgive herself if someone was seriously hurt. Or worse. She should have kept a better eye on Yogi. A feeling of heat spread over her thigh. She looked down, finding the dog standing beside her, his breaths warming her denim-covered leg.

  “Yogi, what have you done?” He wagged his tail, whimpering, his brown eyes glinting in the light of her flashlight. “Oh? That’s all you have to say for yourself?”

  Chapter Two

  Storm heard a knock on the window and then a muffled voice. Was he imagining things? Who would be out in this weather? He blinked and rubbed his eyes. Reaching down his side, he found the latch of the seatbelt and pushed the button. The belt unclicked and his body fell forward, hard against the steering wheel. “Damn!”

  He shut off the engine and the sizzling of the radiator finally stopped.

  Finding the handle, he gave the door a good shove. Nothing. Slight trepidation rolled through him. Was he stuck?

  Pushing the power button to the window, thankfully it lowered. Blustery air swooshed in, taking his breath. He pulled back out of the wind, squinting. Someone stood outside of the door. He couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman because a hat was pulled low and he could see a slither of pale skin.

  “Are you okay?” the soft female voice murmured as a bright light flashed in his eyes. So this was a woman who came to his rescue? Then came a dog’s bark and Storm remembered what had happened. The dog caused him to wreck.

  “I can’t open the door so I’m going to hav
e to climb through the window. First, I’m going to toss some of my things out.” He searched the backseat, feeling around until he found hi s guitar and overnight bag. “Do you mind taking these?”

  “Okay.”

  He handed his items over through the open window. Once they were safe, he grabbed his hat from the floor and passed it over as well. Managing to lift himself up, he used the steering wheel as a brace and shifted his legs through the window. He dropped, feet first, into the snow covered bank. His boots slid and he fell onto his bottom. “Damn snow!” he grumbled. Standing, with the aid of the side of the truck, he swiped the snow off his clothes as he looked up and found the woman standing a few feet away, his hat and guitar in one hand and bag in the other. She had a dark coat and hat and the only thing visible were her narrowed eyes.

  “Who are you?” He attempted to wrap his head around the idea that this woman appeared out of nowhere, in the middle of a blizzard, with her dog. He was certain he was still alive because he had a throbbing pain in his temples.

  “I’m Charlie Lindon. I live a short distance that way.” She used his guitar to aim in the direction behind her.

  “I’ll take those things.” He took his hat and mashed it on his head, then relieved her of his guitar and bag, hooking both of them over his shoulder. “I’m—”

  “Bleeding. Your forehead.”

  He pushed back the rim of his hat and wiped his head, looking down at the moist crimson smear on his fingers. “It’s nothing. Just a scratch.”

  “Looks like more than a scratch,” she murmured, leaning in to investigate the wound closer. He got a whiff of her—strawberries and crème—and he instantly felt a tug low in his gut. He must be tired, or still reeling from the accident, or both to react this suddenly to a stranger. She held the flashlight, inspecting his head, and he got a good look at her eyes. Were they blue? Green? Her bottom lip was trapped between her teeth as she continued to examine at his head.

  Movement at her feet made him look. The scraggly dog dang near killed him. “Is that yours?”

  She didn’t take her eyes off his forehead. Now she was touching him, her finger tips probing the skin around the cut. The warmth of her touch felt amazingly good. “Yes. That’s Yogi.”

  “Well, Yogi, that will cost me my career,” he muttered and pulled back from her touch, immediately irritated, not by her as much as the fact that he had a familiar ache growing in his body. How could he feel anything but regret after he’d wrecked his only means of transportation? Max was going to kill him.

  “I know he ran into the road…I saw him. I tried to catch him, but you were driving fast, and the curve…well, I-I…” She pushed her hat back. A shock of pale blonde hair fell to her shoulder.

  He looked into her gaze, wishing he could make out her features, but it was too dark. She moved the flashlight and the light feathered across her face. He caught a glimpse of a trembling bottom lip. Sympathy broke through his annoyance. Here she was, standing in the bitter cold, shivering. But he couldn’t let her get off so easily. “What owner would allow a dog to roam in this weather?”

  “Who would drive in this snowstorm?” She tilted her jaw. “And Yogi usually stays close to the house.”

  “I was caught in the snowfall unexpectedly.”

  “Radio stations within a hundred miles in every direction are warning people of the icy conditions. You’re not from around here. License plate says Alabama.”

  “It’s a rental.” He blew out a long breath and stepped across the snow. A cool blast of wind leaked in through his thin T-shirt. His balls shriveled into peanuts. No wonder the lady and her dog were both shivering.

  “Do you have a coat?”

  He blinked. “I wasn’t planning on sightseeing,” he practically growled. “I’m only passing through.”

  “Passing through Tennessee in the middle of a snowstorm unprepared?” One brow snapped up. The dog growled, as if he sensed the change in her tone. He liked the dog a little more now. He was protective of his owner. She nuzzled Yogi’s fur. “Relax, boy. You’ve done enough this evening.”

  “I can’t agree more.”

  She sighed. “Don’t forget who was driving without caution.”

  “Okay, I should have been driving slower, but little did I know Yogi here would be a roadblock.” He looked at the front of the truck and moaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. The snow was still falling and it was cold enough to freeze his balls. He just wanted to get into a hot shower. “I need to find shelter and deal with the truck tomorrow,” he mumbled. There wouldn’t be any cabs out in this weather. He’d have to find the closest hotel, which might be a problem in the middle of nowhere.

  “Well, you can’t stay out here all night. You’ll freeze to death. And that,” she pointed at the cut, “needs cleaned ASAP.”

  He looked up and down the road, the tire tracks completely covered now. “Is there a hotel or bed and breakfast close?”

  “No.”

  His luck wasn’t improving. “Nice.”

  She sighed. “Like I said before, I live right over the hill. We can walk there. You’re welcome to stay the night, and tomorrow morning we’ll get you where you need to go if the weather permits.”

  “You don’t know me from the next chump. It’s not safe asking a complete stranger back to your place.” Although this bit of information might not land in his favor. She could easily change her mind on her offer and he could end up sleeping in his truck. Maybe she recognized him? She could be a fan and attack him just as soon as they were behind closed doors. He swept his gaze down her. She was no taller than his shoulders and weighed about the same as his guitar so he shouldn’t have any trouble holding her off if she decided to go stalker on him. No, she seemed completely unimpressed with him, meaning she had no clue who he was or where he came from.

  “I’ll venture that if you had bad intentions, you wouldn’t be out on this back road in the dark, during a blizzard. And for theory’s sake, if you give off one bad vibe, Brent Lindon will shoot another hole in your head before you can blink. He can shoot a moving squirrel from one hundred feet away. I’m sure he wouldn’t miss you blindfolded and one arm tied behind his back.”

  “Husband?”

  “Father.”

  “How old are you?” He’d guessed at least twenty-five, but these days a man could never be sure. Not that it mattered. He wasn’t looking anyway.

  “Old enough to know better than to answer that question.” Did he detect a smile in her voice? “By the way, a man should never ask a woman about her age. It’s quite rude.”

  “Blame it on the head injury.”

  “Even in the lack of sufficient lighting, I’d say you cracked your head good enough to draw blood, but nothing serious.” She turned and started slowly up the white bank, pulling her hat back low on her ears. When he didn’t follow right away, she stopped and looked at him, “You coming or are you waiting for frost bite?”

  “Hang on one second.” He reached inside of the truck, across the steering wheel and grabbed his phone from the holder. He pressed the button and groaned. No service. What had he expected?

  Sticking his cell in his back pocket, he followed her tracks. His boots slipped, and with the guitar and bag hanging off one shoulder, he had a difficult time navigating his way on the snow. Using the truck as leverage, he carefully climbed the embankment, finally making it to flat ground, but not before his fingers felt like they were going to fall off. “You said close, right?” His words came out more as, “Boo ed cose, ite?” His lips were shivering and numb.

  “Yes, just a little further.”

  She understood his mumbo-jumbo?

  By the time Storm could see the light on the front porch of the house, he couldn’t feel his toes in his cowboy boots. And his nipples were dangerously hard.

  “Right there it is,” she said. “See, that wasn’t far.”

  “Says the one with the coat, gloves and hat.”

  If she comprehended what he said, she di
dn’t acknowledge either way.

  Once they’d finally made it to the front door, he was never happier to see the inside of shelter more in his life. The warmth oozed through his clothing, but his skin stung. He stomped his boots on the welcome rug just inside the door, squinting as pain radiated through his feet. Little good it did to get the snow off his boots when he was melting like an ice cube onto the polished wood floor. The dog raced around Storm and into the next room, plopping down in front of the fireplace. He wanted to do the same, but had to mind his manners.

  An older man appeared around the corner, his grey eyes narrowing as he limped toward Storm. He didn’t blame the other man one bit for the suspicious expression.

  “I see you found Yogi.” The silver-haired man stopped a few feet away, looking Storm up and down as if sizing him up. “And a stray.”

  “You must be Brent Lindon, sharp shooter from what your daughter has told me.” Storm held out his hand, grateful he didn’t see any guns close by. He didn’t want to get chased back out into the cold at the barrel of a shotgun.

  A glimpse of a smile danced at the corner of the man’s thin mouth, but didn’t erupt into anything other than a dash of pride. He looked at Storm’s empty hand a good three seconds before finally placing his palm into Storm’s much larger one. “And you are?”

  “Storm Rich.” Usually when he said his name he saw recognition in a person’s gaze, but neither of them showed any acknowledgement of who he was. He liked that, in an odd way.

  “So my daughter has been bragging about my shooting skills again, huh?” Brent winked at his daughter. “I’m a sharp shooter? I have to say, I’ve never missed my target. I have a nice gun collection I don’t get around to using as much as I’d like.”

  Charlie was busily slipping off her boots, taking off her coat and hanging it on the hook. “Well, let’s not rub it in too much, Pops. He’ll not sleep a wink tonight.”

  Storm didn’t say a word.

  “Looks like you’ve had a bit of an accident,” Brent said, pointing to Storm’s head.