Rocky Mountain Hero

by Audra Harders

  “Gabe,” he corrected. He kept his eye on the boy. The ground at the edge of the road had become unstable. Tough telling what might happen.

  Jason continued yanking on the jammed door handle, the entire truck rocking under the force.

  Melanie turned toward Jason. The mud around her shoes acted like quicksand, keeping her glued in place. “Hey big guy, get back here before—”

  The crisp creak of metal filled the air as the truck shifted with a clunk, the front bumper pointing over the edge of the embankment. Gabe swallowed the knot in his throat and sprinted toward the truck.

  Chapter Two

  Leaving her boots in the mud, Melanie leapt toward the truck just as Jason cried out. Gabe scooped up Jason a second before she reached his side.

  Like a walrus slipping into the sea, the truck sank over the edge and slid down the side, the locked wheels creating a muddy channel down the charred slope. The pickup bounced a couple times and came to a halt on a level plane just inches from the next slope.

  “Wow.” Jason strained to see over the edge. Gabe held on, his arm wrapped around Jason’s shoulders. Melanie threw her arms around them both, tugging at what had to be six foot plus of solid cowboy until they all stepped back. Her heart pounded like a ten-pound sledgehammer and her knees went weak. Jason squirmed.

  When her nerves stilled, she released her captives and offered Gabe a weak smile. “Sorry. Thank you.” She tried to smile. “I guess it’s your turn to play hero for all of us today.”

  He didn’t answer. He just stared at the truck and nodded. Flecks of mud splattered his dark brown hair, but not enough to hide the sun-kissed streaks. His tan work shirt streaked with mud clung to his broad shoulders and along the corded muscles of his back. He turned and glanced at her. The unusual shade of his eyes reminded her of her favorite root beer Popsicle, a dark shade of brown shot with spikes of gold. Only this brand of treat came complete with dense, arched brows drawn over thick black lashes. Her stomach knotted at the complete picture of male irritation he presented.

  She’d overstepped her bounds. She didn’t usually hug strange men. She didn’t really hug men at all.

  Jason twisted away and frowned at the truck. “Can I go get my games now?”

  Melanie stared down the mountainside. Her truck, the only dependable thing in her life, stuck at the bottom of a mud slide. A dull ache built around the bump on her head. The games weren’t going anywhere—and neither were they, for that matter.

  Gabe cleared his throat. “Hank, call RJ and Manny. Ask them to come up here and haul the truck down to the parts barn. Manny can get a good look at it there.”

  “I’m on it.” Hank headed back to their pickup.

  Parts barn? That sounded way too involved for her liking. She’d already ruined the man’s shirt. “We don’t want to trouble you. I’ll call a mechanic about the damage. Maybe the garage could send a tow?”

  “We’ll pull it out for you.” His brows furrowed as he studied her truck. “If your husband’s good with tools, it would probably be better to do a bit of home garage tinkering.”

  Jason hung his head and kicked at a clot of road base. “I don’t have a dad.”

  Melanie fought her cringe. Even if Paul had stuck around, she knew breaking things was more his forte than repairing. Especially promises, dreams and hearts. Stiffening her backbone, she squeezed her son’s shoulder and urged him toward a felled tree across the road. “Jason, do me a favor, okay? Go see if Mr. Davidson has a pine beetle problem.”

  Jason wrinkled his nose before darting across the road. She turned back to Gabe. “Mr. Davidson, if you could just give me the telephone number of a station in town?”

  He tilted his head as he looked down the slope. “I doubt the boys in town will know what to do with a vehicle they can’t hook up to a diagnostic machine.” He shot her a weary look. “And the name’s Gabe.”

  “They’ll be up as soon as they finish the gate.” Hank shut the door behind him. “When I told Manny what we had here, he couldn’t hang up the phone quick enough. He’ll have your truck fixed in no time, ma’am.”

  Melanie faltered, the reality of her situation setting in. “Wait. I have to get to Montrose. I can’t just stop here.”

  “You have a better plan?” Guessing he knew her answer, he turned and walked back to his pickup. “It’ll be tight, but the two of you can squeeze in the backseat of the cab.”

  Her shoulders sagged as she grabbed her boots out of the rut and hobbled after him, the mud soaking through her socks and squishing between her toes. This wasn’t happening. All because of dead video game batteries and a washed-out road, her dreams of a new beginning for her and Jason were slipping away on a mud slick of their own.

  Reaching down into the truck bed, he pulled out a blanket and handed it to her. “Here.”

  He shrugged into a rain slicker while she wrapped the blanket over her shoulders and pulled the front ends together in her fists. Not pretty, but at least she’d protect the backseat from too much mud.

  A squeal echoed from across the road. Jason had found an unscorched lodgepole pine, his shimmy already placing him halfway to the top. A few more branches up and he’d be eye to eye with a squirrel.

  “Jason.” She waved her arm back and forth. “Come down so we can go.”

  He slid down between the branches and, with a short leap, hit the ground. She snagged him as he tried to run past and pointed him toward the ranch truck. His mouth fell open. “What if someone steals my games out of Ol’ Blue?”

  Gabe stepped up beside him and stared at the bright yellow pickup. With a smudged knuckle, he rubbed the bottom of his jaw. “Ol’ Blue?”

  Melanie shifted her weight. A stone dug into her bare foot. Before she could answer, Jason brightened. “Mom bought it blue and had it painted, but the name kinda stuck.”

  Gabe stared at the vehicle and then, tilted his head to view the slope it had slid down. A faint crease in his cheek appeared as he nodded in understanding. “I see. Stuck.”

  Following his gaze, the meaning of his words hit home.

  She was stuck. In the middle of nowhere. Surrounded by strangers. And no one to call for help.

  She couldn’t even pay for repairs on her truck beyond a flat tire.

  The exhilaration she’d awakened with that morning at the thought of creating a new and better life for her and Jason now sank away in the tracks of the old yellow truck leading to the bottom of the muddy slope. A sick lump settled in her stomach.

  So close. She’d been so close to holding her dream.

  Lord, what do you want from me?

  Gabe stared out the window of the truck as Hank drove the dirt lane to the ranch house. Fence repairs demanded attention, the cattle were nowhere near sorted, and Zac waited for reports Gabe hadn’t finished. If his day unraveled any more, he’d be sitting down to dinner when the rooster crowed in the morning.

  On top of that, the responsibility of the auction raced through his head. He glanced down at his watch and wiped the dirt off the dial. One-thirty. A chance he’d make it to town before Doc Hutchins left on his rounds hung by a slim thread. He shifted against the seat of the truck, pressing against the spot on his lower back where Melanie had caught him in her embrace. For a moment, the urge to wrap his arm around both of them and keep them safe had swept over him. How could a man prepare for a zinger like that?

  How did he recover?

  Gabe caught sight of Melanie in the rearview mirror, her eyes wide and cheeks stained with color beneath the dirt. Nerves danced in his shoulder at the memory of her soft arm pressed against him as they sat stuck in the rut beneath the truck. With his weight, he could have hurt her when his foot slipped and he’d tumbled down beside her. And then she’d asked if he was okay.

  Elbow propped against the window, Gabe slumped his jaw against his knuckles. Wildfires, reduced stock and limited pasture—he’d thought he’d pretty much run the course of God’s plagues.

  He’d thought wrong.<
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  The truck turned the bend and broke out of the trees into the ranch compound. A yellow Labrador retriever barked as they pulled up in front of the house. Gabe opened his door and caught a handful of scruff as the dog barreled over him, planting muddy paws across his lap and flopping against Hank. Gabe nabbed the wagging tail before wet dog hair plastered the dashboard. “Fletcher, down.”

  The dog tilted his head, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth in a pant. He pawed the wheel and a sharp blast of the horn filled the air. Gabe pointed at the ground. “Out.”

  Fletcher scrambled back over his lap, launched off the seat and trotted toward the open door of the ranch office.

  “Does he bite?” a small voice called from the back.

  Gabe looked over at the boy with blond hair and blue eyes just like his mother’s. “Not unless you’re dinner.”

  A smile broke out across the kid’s face. “Cool. I like dogs. Can I go play with him?”

  “You bet, if—”

  Jason shot through the open door faster than a squirrel after the last nut of the season. Melanie tried to catch him, but too late. “Jason, wait.”

  Her brows drawn, she angled her chin toward the open door. As she puffed out a breath, the family resemblance between mother and son solidified in Gabe’s mind.

  Hank laughed. “That boy has more energy than a coon-hound on scent.”

  “He’s been cooped up for three hours in a truck.” Melanie clutched the blanket ends together.

  “He’s a boy, ma’am.” Hank cut the engine and climbed out of the truck.

  “Every inch of him, I’m afraid.” She dropped back against the seat.

  Gabe unlatched the door and swung around. Melanie sat squinting into the sun, making her look more like a wistful little girl than the mom of a rambunctious boy. No woman had the right to look so feminine with mud streaked across her face and an army blanket clutched to her chin. He shoved his door wide. “Welcome to the Circle D.”

  Angling out of his seat, he held the door open with his knee and offered a hand. Melanie pulled the edges of the blanket tighter. Gabe tugged the slicker over his head and tossed it in the back of the truck.

  The kitchen door opened. “Gabe? Manny said someone had a wreck on the ridge?” His mom stepped out, cup and towel in her hand. Setting them down, she hurried across the yard to the truck. Her brows shot up as she gave him a quick once-over. “What happened to you?”

  “Bad road.” Mud coated his back making him feel like a moth outgrowing his cocoon. He needed a shower. His guests probably wanted one, too.

  “Hmm, mighty big puddle.” Grace Davidson trained her keen eyesight on the newcomers. “Anything serious?”

  “Just a little dent. Nothing Manny can’t fix.”

  Melanie snagged her foot on the edge of the blanket as she slid out of her seat. The rough wool tangled around her bare ankle, throwing her off balance. Gabe circled her waist with his arm and bent down to loose the fabric. Skin as soft as the belly of a newborn foal grazed his rough fingertips.

  Melanie glared at him. She bit her lip and grabbed at the blanket edge beneath her foot. Her ear pressed against his jaw. “Meet Grace Davidson, my mother.”

  “Welcome to the Circle D.” She tilted her head and gave Melanie a high brow. “Though by the looks of it, our welcome isn’t too warm.”

  Fishing out from beneath the blanket, Melanie held out her hand. “Sorry to be a bother. Our truck had a little incident.”

  The clang of steel fence panels from the loading corrals beside the barn filled the air. Gabe twisted around to see a muscular Charolais bull pace the perimeter of the pen, his furry, white head butting the rails every few feet. Charolais stock on a whole had reasonable dispositions. Just his luck to get the exception to the rule. Ol’ Milk River just hadn’t been able to put his rodeo life behind him.

  Gabe pushed past them and ran across the compound, every muscle in his body strung tight as a new line on an old pole. The top rail of the pen rattled and he prayed the posts around the corral held in place.

  “Hank. Grab the rope.” He swept his hat in the air over the bull. “Manny! Open the chute!” He yelled at the bull butting his head against the dented fence panel. If the Charolais broke loose, no telling what—or who—he’d tear up. Another slam against the panel and Gabe lost his foothold on the rail. Snagging at the top post, he held tight, bracing for Milk River to slam into him again.

  Chapter Three

  “Jason,” Melanie yelled, as she caught her son by his shirt collar. “Stay back!”

  “Mom! He’s going to rip down the fence!”

  As Jason struggled toward the cattle pens he obviously wasn’t listening to the danger in his own words. The way the fence panels rattled, she didn’t doubt the whole thing might come down. “Jason, let them handle it. Stay out of the way.”

  Even as she cautioned him, she and Jason followed the crowd. Melanie scooped up the edges of the blanket wrapped around her and stumbled along, clenching her jaw each time she stepped on a rock with her bare feet.

  She held Jason back a good distance from the pens, not wanting him to get in the way. Gabe stood on the third rail, his hat in his hand as he waved the bull away. The animal shook his head and swung around. White hide and black eyes flashed as the massive body connected with the panel again. Melanie stood in shock, sensing the waves of anger rolling off the animal.

  Another slam into the panel, and Gabe lost his foothold. Melanie tasted bile as she watched him hook his arm over the top rail and regain his hold. The bull bounced against the rails. Gabe yelled and waved his hat much like the other cowboys positioned around the pen.

  Metal clanked against metal. The bull bellowed, his sights set on the open gate into another chute. The bull bucked across the pen, snorted and trotted out. Corral panels locked together and voices rose above the clamor of the disgruntled bovine.

  Gabe hopped to the ground and cradled his bruised arm. Melanie searched for further danger before approaching the injured cowboy. An uncomfortable mixture of awe and fear churned in her belly. This was not the kind of place she and Jason needed to spend time. As soon as her truck got pulled up to the road, they’d be on their way. Didn’t matter if she had to drive to Montrose with a dented fender.

  They needed to get out of here.

  “Are you okay? That bull didn’t look happy.”

  He stood shaking his injured arm, his chest rising and falling in a rapid beat. “Nothing worse than a cranky animal having a bad day. I can’t always vouch for the dispositions of the stock my brother sends home.”

  This was a gift? Melanie peeked through the rails at the bull standing quietly in the back pen, swishing his tail as if nothing was wrong. “So, what does your brother have against you?”

  Gabe stared at her a moment. A grin tugged at his lips. “This isn’t a bull for me. It’s for the auction we’re having.” Gabe looked over his shoulder. “All the stock you see in the pens here is up for auction.”

  “You’re going to let some poor unsuspecting person bid on that killer?” Her mouth fell open. “That’s worse.”

  “A bull is a bull. It’s the nature of the beast.” His brows drew together, sharpening his dark gaze. “No one is going to buy a killer. The auction discloses the history of every animal.”

  Her heart slowed and she regained a small measure of composure. This was none of her business. What did she know about working ranches? Nothing. And she planned to keep it that way without offending her rescuer any further.

  She offered a weak smile. “Good luck with that.”

  His brow raised, and in the back of her mind Melanie didn’t think he’d formed a complimentary opinion of her.

  “Wow.” Jason scooted around the side panel, his mouth open and eyes wide. “Are all your cows like that?”

  “That would be a bull, Bud. He’d get mighty ornery if he hears you calling him a girl. Some of the rodeo stock my brother sends me have a bit of attitude.”

 
Jason planted his foot on the bottom rail of the panel and stared at the empty pen with wonder. “That’s a real bucking bull?”

  “He was.” Gabe bent down and picked up his muddied, battered hat, slapped it against his leg and settled it on his head. He gripped the top rail and rattled the pen with force. Jason snapped around.

  “Don’t ever underestimate an animal, Bud. They’ll throw you for a loop quicker than you’ll know what hit you. Do me a favor? Don’t go near this bull or any of the livestock alone. Stick with Fletcher, okay?” He stuck out his boot and swatted dust and mud from his jeans. “If you want to see any of the animals, ask me or Hank to go with you.”

  “Sure, Mr. Davidson.”

  Gabe hunkered down to eye level. Melanie took a step closer, her senses on high alert. If this cowboy wanted to chew someone out for ignorance, he’d better deal with her.

  “Hey, Bud.” Gabe softened his tone. “Around livestock, things can happen pretty fast, and we don’t take much time with formality here. I know your mother has taught you right, but just think, if you’d seen that bull charging me, which would get my attention faster—‘Mis-ter Da-vid-son,’” he enunciated, “or ‘Gabe!’?”

  “Gabe?” Jason questioned in a small voice and turned to look at her.

  She caught Gabe’s earnest gaze and released her breath. She nodded at Jason. He turned back to the cowboy.

  Jason cleared his throat. “Gabe.”

  Gabe pretended to evaluate. “One more time with feeling.”

  Jason took a deep breath. “Gabe!”

  The cowboy grinned and patted Jason on the back. “That’ll get my attention every time. Gotta keep the name short and sweet.”

  “Like you call me Bud?”

  “That’s right.”

  Jason thought a moment, and then peered up at him again. “What will you call my mom?”

  Every drop of spit dried in her mouth. Melanie swallowed hard at the thought of anyone getting hurt, including the commanding cowboy. She dropped the edge of her blanket.