The Cowboy Steals a Lady

by Anne McAllister

  Shane followed them to a church. A whole lot of other people were already there. They all went in. Shane sat outside in his truck and watched and waited. He knew what they were doing—rehearsing.

  Time was getting short. And the snow that had begun in the morning was piling up and coming down even harder now. An hour later, when they all came out again, there was already seven or eight inches of it on the ground.

  As Shane watched, Milly and the rest piled into their vehicles and headed off in the same direction.

  Shane followed. They went into a steak house called Huggins's, on the edge of town. There Shane gave up sitting in his truck and went in to sit at the bar. From there he could see the private dining room they'd all entered. He nursed a whole series of ginger ales and tried to figure out what to do.

  He was on his fourth when all of a sudden Milly came out of the dining room, heading for the rest room. Her eyes met his.

  For an instant everything stopped. The laughing. The talking. The clink of glasses. The click of ice cubes.

  And his heart.

  His heart?

  Shane coughed. He gave himself a quick shake and sucked in a deep breath. No, not his heart. His heart was just fine, thank you very much. Beating like it always did. Maybe a little faster even. Certainly it hadn't stopped.

  There was too much smoke in the room. Too little air. He'd been thinking too hard. He looked away.

  She hurried past.

  He gulped the rest of his ginger ale and signaled for another. He downed it determinedly moments later when she went back. She didn't look at him. He didn't look at her. He knew what she looked like, for God's sake!

  He needed a plan, that was all.

  He ought to leave, forget the whole thing. It was insane, sitting here, hovering. But he couldn't just let her marry the wrong man, could he?

  Just then the party broke up and, laughing and talking, Milly and her friends went out.

  Shane thumped his glass down, tossed some bills on the bar and followed.

  Cash would stop her if he was here, Shane assured himself.

  But Cash was in Houston now, getting ready to make the ride of his life. He couldn't do what needed to be done.

  So Shane would do it for him.

  * * *

  In the end it was easier than he thought.

  A guy who made his living based on how successfully he dealt with eight-second episodes of bovine mayhem learned pretty quick that if he was going to win and keep on winning he had to take advantage of every split-second opportunity that presented itself.

  When Milly and the girl from the florist's shop split off from the rest of the rehearsal dinner guests and climbed into the van, Shane got in his own truck, waited until they turned the corner, then took off after them.

  The storm Dennis had wanted to miss had arrived at full force. Now, tucking his casted hand between his arm and his chest, Shane gripped the steering wheel with his good hand and plowed through the snow as he followed the van. Where the hell were they going at this time of night?

  The answer was obvious almost at once. Back to the florist's shop.

  Shane pulled in at the far end of the block, cutting his headlights, but letting the engine idle as he watched them get out and go up to the door of the shop.

  Seconds later they went in and the shop lights went on. They weren't going to put together flowers now, were they?

  But just then the door opened again and they came out, this time bearing some floral arrangements that they struggled to carry through the snow to the van. Milly almost fell with hers.

  Shane shook his head. What the hell was she doing? Arranging the flowers for her own wedding?

  He waited. It took them four trips to finish. Then they shut the lights out in the shop and got back in the van. When they turned the corner, he pulled back out onto the snow-covered street and began to follow once more.

  There was almost no one on the road. Everyone with good sense had got off the streets long ago.

  Shane crept along, staying back far enough so that only their brake lights were visible in the snow. They didn't go far. And by the time he came to the corner where they'd turned, he knew where they were going, and yes, apparently she was doing the flowers for her own wedding.

  They pulled up beside the church and got out to unload. When they finally disappeared inside, Shane drove his truck closer and parked.

  He had just cut the engine when they came out again. With their hands empty, they laughed and swirled around, their arms outstretched.

  Through the fogged-up windshield Shane could just catch a glimpse of snowflakes catching in Milly's hair as she spun.

  He couldn't hear her laugh, but he could imagine it. The memory of that throaty musical tone sent a shaft of longing right through him.

  "Damn." He shrugged his bottom along the cold seat of the truck, trying to find more room in his suddenly snug jeans.

  He really had to find himself a woman! It wasn't like him to lust after another guy's girl. There were plenty of women to go around, for heaven's sake.

  Still he couldn't seem to stop himself from reaching forward with his gloved hand and rubbing the moisture off the inside of the windshield so he could see better.

  The women made another trip and then another. Once they glanced down the street toward where he was parked, and Shane eased himself down low in the seat, hoping they wouldn't notice him, then breathed a sigh of relief and straightened up when they turned and went back in.

  They had just come out again when Shane saw a pair of headlights in his rearview mirror. A light-colored Chevy crept past him through the snow and pulled up behind the van.

  The door opened, and a lanky young man got out. Shane recognized him from the rehearsal dinner. He was blond and hatless, and he was grinning.

  The groom?

  Shane's teeth came together with a snap.

  Then as he watched, the fellow picked up the other girl and swung her around and around. Shane breathed easier. Not the groom. The best man, then. So fine. He didn't care about that.

  As he watched, the guy set the other girl down, and the three of them carried the last of the flowers into the church. The heavy door swung shut behind them.

  Shane didn't move. He waited.

  And waited.

  For what? he asked himself for the thousandth time. Was he going to sit there all night?

  No, of course not. He was going to make her see sense, make her see that Mike Dutton, whoever he was, was the wrong guy for her.

  How did he know this Dutton guy was the wrong man?

  Shane's fist clenched on the steering wheel. He just knew, that's all!

  The door to the church opened and the guy and the girl who wasn't Milly came out. She turned back, said something over her shoulder, then nodded, waved and shut the door.

  The blond guy looped his arm over her shoulders and they headed toward the van. As Shane watched, they got in and drove away.

  Milly remained in the church alone.

  Shane got out of his truck.

  Suddenly the door to the church opened and Milly came out.

  Once more that night their gazes met.

  He saw a look of recognition on her face—at first startled, then wary, then cautiously smiling.

  He liked her smile. It made him smile back. It made his heart kick over in his chest.

  "You're the guy who was with Cash," she said tentatively.

  Right. Cash. Remember Cash, he told himself.

  "Er, yeah. I gotta talk to you about that," he said. His voice sounded a little ragged.

  "Cash is an idiot," she said flatly, smile fading, eyes flashing.

  She was close enough now that Shane could see the color of her eyes. They weren't really green like Cash had said. They were more hazel, but lit with green fire.

  A man could get burned on a woman with eyes like that—and love every minute of it.

  "He just sat there—like a bump," she said. "I can't believe he didn't
say something! Do something!"

  "Cash?" Shane stared at her. "What about you? Why didn't you do something?"

  "Me? Why should I? It's his problem." She started to brush past, then turned and looked back at him. "Or did he think sending you around to spy on us was enough?"

  Shane felt a sudden heat in his cheeks. "Spy on you? I never—"

  "I saw you," she informed him. "I saw you at The Barrel. I saw you at Huggins's. I saw you park down the street from the shop. I saw you following us here. You were spying."

  Shane scowled at her, his face burning. But he couldn't deny it.

  "So, what're you going to do now? Report back to him?" Her tone was scornful.

  Shane gritted his teeth. His thumb throbbed.

  She sniffed and looked down her nose at him. "Oh, I forgot," she said disdainfully. "You want to talk. Go ahead. Talk."

  Shane Nichols knew a dare when he heard one. And he'd never heard one he could refuse.

  "Too late for talkin'," he said. "Way too late." And he reached out, picked her up, slung her over his shoulder and headed for his truck.

  * * *

  Two

  « ^ »

  "What the—!"

  But Shane wasn't listening.

  He ignored her protests, ignored her fists thumping on his back, ignored the furious kicks of her legs, except one which came far too close to a certain vulnerable part of his anatomy, and kept right on walking.

  Anchoring her butt with his casted hand, he wrenched open the door to his camper with the other, then hauled her forward and let her slide down the front of him. He sucked in his breath at the feel of her, dodged a fist swung at his head and pushed her in through the camper door, slamming it hard.

  "Let me out of here! Hey! You! Let me out!" She pounded so hard the door shook.

  Cursing the cast on his thumb, Shane fumbled with the latch to lock it.

  "Damn you! Open this door!" The whole truck started to shake now.

  In spite of himself, Shane grinned. "Not on your life!"

  There was a moment's stunned silence, as if she hadn't expected him to answer. Then the camper stopped shaking, and she said in a calmer voice, "Let me out."

  "No."

  "Why not? What are you doing? You can't do this!" Her calm was fast deserting her.

  "I just did."

  "You can't! I've got work to do! I haven't finished."

  "You're finished."

  "The flowers—!"

  "Flowers don't matter, do they, if there isn't gonna be a wedding?"

  There was total stunned silence.

  Shane smiled, letting her digest that fact. He waited, still smiling. The silence went on. And on.

  Then, "What do you mean there isn't going to be any wedding?"

  "Stands to reason, doesn't it?" he said cheerfully. "Can't be a wedding without a bride."

  Now the silence was deafening. Well, at least he'd shut her up, Shane thought, satisfied.

  "No … wedding?" She sounded faint.

  He felt a moment's qualm at the sudden weakness in her voice, hut squelched it promptly as he remembered Cash's misery and her own despairing look when he'd walked out with Dennis that night.

  This was what she wanted, damn it! She just couldn't seem to make herself do it. Neither she nor Cash had been able to help themselves.

  Shane was the only one who seemed capable of handling things around here.

  "No wedding," Shane said firmly. "It's for your own good," he reminded her.

  "My own good?"

  He was pretty sure he heard disbelief—and something else … nervousness? panic?—in her voice. He steeled himself against it.

  After all, what did she know? She'd been dumb enough to get herself engaged to the wrong man in the first place!

  "Your own good," he affirmed. "Now you just sit tight there, darlin'. Don't worry 'bout a thing, and I'll get this show on the road."

  He started to walk toward the front of the truck.

  "Wait!" she yelped.

  Shane stopped. "What?"

  Her voice came to him, muffled through the fiberglass of the topper. "You're serious? You're taking me away just until the wedding's over?"

  The nervousness was still there in her voice, but she sounded almost hopeful now. Shane reckoned she'd come to her senses at last.

  About time. Except… "There isn't gonna be a wedding. Remember?"

  "Oh. Right." Her voice wobbled a little. "I forgot."

  Shane rolled his eyes. Obviously she wasn't the brightest bulb in the chandelier. Clearly it was that hair and those eyes that Cash found so appealing, not her intellect.

  Well, in some women—like this one—that would be enough.

  Was enough.

  Something he shouldn't be thinking about, he reminded himself firmly. He sucked in a deep breath. "You just settle down there on one of those bunks an' relax."

  "Relax? While I'm being kidnapped?"

  "You're not bein' kidnapped. You're bein'—" he groped for the right word "—commandeered."

  "Commandeered?" There was a wealth of doubt in that one word.

  "Whatever." He hunched his shoulders against the sting of the snow. "I'm not gonna stand out here in a damn snowstorm and argue with you. This ain't the ransom of Red Chief, you know. Just sit tight now and let me get movin'."

  * * *

  Moving where?

  Kidnapping, no commandeering, women wasn't something he did every day. Since he hadn't intended to, until she'd virtually dared him, he didn't have a clue about where to take her.

  He could hardly take her back to Mace and Jenny's. His brother was pretty tolerant. But even after he explained why he had Cash's girlfriend locked in the back of his camper, Shane doubted Mace would give his wholehearted approval. And Jenny would undoubtedly figure he was setting a bad example for the children.

  So what did that leave?

  He couldn't take her to a motel. The minute he turned his back, she would pick up the phone and call for help.

  But he couldn't keep driving around, either. Not in weather like this.

  He didn't know how much longer he would be able to keep going. The snow was coming so hard and thick and fast that by the time he reached the outskirts of Livingston and was headed north into the valley he could barely see.

  He had to find somewhere to stash her until the wedding was over, and he had to get there. Fast.

  His eyes scanned what was visible of the foothills of the Bridgers, and that's when he remembered the cabin.

  It was Taggart Jones's cabin. But Taggart was a kindred spirit. He wouldn't mind Shane using it for a while.

  A lot of people had used that old cabin over the years. Mace and Jenny had lived there when they were first married. Mace had gone back there when he was sulking last year, trying to convince himself that Jenny was better off without him. Taggart had used the cabin himself when he was married the first time. And Jed McCall, another pal of Mace's, had lived there with his nephew before he'd married ol' man Jamison's daughter and moved to the neighboring ranch. Mace had said that Noah's brother's father-in-law had lived there for a while, too. Thus it was, Shane reasoned, available for anybody who needed it.

  Even for a kidna—er, commandeering.

  He didn't think anyone was using it presently. And once they were in, nobody would bother them. Nobody could!

  There would be no phone. No paved roads. No way to walk out once they got in and he'd disabled the truck. And nobody likely to bother coming clear up there to look for a missing bride.

  Shane drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, relieved to find such a perfect solution. Cash wasn't going to believe it when he came back and found Milly waiting for him.

  See? There were some things even a guy with a bad thumb could do!

  * * *

  They weren't going to make it.

  By the time he found the right road, there was so much snow that he hated to stop and open the gate for fear he would never get moving again.
But the new tires he'd bought this fall gave him his money's worth, and the four-wheel drive he almost never used going down the road had paid off, so far.

  But even so, it took more than an hour to get up a road that would have taken him fifteen minutes in good weather. Once he almost slid into the ditch. Twice he had to back up and take a run at a hill again.

  He made one. He didn't make the next. They were almost there when his luck ran out.

  He had to stop partway down a slope and walk over a rise just to be sure he was following the road at all. As he got out, the wind whipping down the mountains, blew enough snow to blind him. Hunching his shoulders, Shane tucked his bad hand between his ribs and his other arm and headed toward the ridge. Behind him he heard knocking on the camper's window.

  Ducking his head and pulling down his hat tight, he ignored it and forged into the wind until he reached the top of the ridge. He began to think maybe he should have picked somewhere a little more accessible. He considered turning around.

  A look back squelched that idea. He could barely see the truck. The wind had already obliterated the tracks it had made. The road was no more visible behind him than ahead of him.

  He turned and studied what he could see of the landscape. It was, for the most part, white on white. There were few trees. He tried to gauge where the road would be in relation to them. When he thought he had figured it out, Shane turned and headed back.

  Milly's face was pressed against the window. She knocked again.

  He shook his head. This was no time for discussion.

  She mouthed something, but her voice was garbled by the wind.

  Shane shook his head again. He wasn't stopping to talk. Another half hour and this road was going to be impassable. Hell, it was probably already impassable.

  He got back in the truck, started it, put it in gear, said a prayer, eased his foot down on the gas, edged forward slightly to get some momentum.

  He got some. Enough to slide sideways into the ditch.

  "Damn!"

  Shane knew without even getting out to look that he didn't have a snowball's chance in hell of getting it back on the road by himself. Even if he dug for hours, he couldn't do it. And he couldn't dig for hours. Not with his thumb.