A New Year's Cowboy

by Rhonda Lee Carver

  “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 didn’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.

  “I found Yogi the hard way.” Storm smiled.

  Charlie looked back, smirking. “Yogi ran out in front of him, causing him to hit the ditch. Cowboy here is staying the night with us and tomorrow we’ll get him taken care of and on his way. Pops, do you mind making us a cup of tea while I take care of that cut on his head?”

  “That I can do,” Brent said.

  “Let me give Yogi some water first,” Charlie said.

  When she was out of ear sho
t, Storm bent close to Brent. “Care to make mine stronger than tea?”

  “I might be able to rummage up some Irish spirits.” Brent’s eyes sparkled.

  “I’d forever be in your debt.” Storm nodded and when Charlie came back, he followed her down the dimly lit hall, all the way to the end and into the bathroom. She was standing by the sink, taking a white box out from under the cabinet.

  “Okay. Have a seat.” The room was barely big enough for one, let alone the two of them. It housed a tub, a shower curtain covered in flowers with matching curtain on the window, a pink towel on the hook, and a selection of female products on the shelf. He inhaled sharply, catching a faint scent of perfume—not the kind that gives a person a headache, but a nice citrusy scent. He was in her bathroom. Why did that thought make his chest tighten?

  *****

  Charlie bit her bottom lip as Storm stepped into the small space of the bathroom. She was determined not to drop her gaze over his body or let it affect her when his arm brushed hers, but it was impossible. The crisp, short hairs on his skin erupted tingles on her flesh. Warmth bled through her shoulders like a warm blanket. She definitely didn’t allow herself to think about why her nipples bunched and prickled. It’d been a long time since she’d experienced that feeling. So long that she could barely breathe. Turning to face the sink, pretending interest in looking through the first aid kit, she sucked in air, demanding her lungs to function normally. Lifting her chin, she saw his reflection and couldn’t deny herself a peek at his profile as he picked up a magazine from the rack and flipped through the pages. He must have found an article of interest because he stopped scrolling, which gave her more time to gather her senses. He’d removed his hat and his longish, black hair laid in waves over his head. His eyes were deep and his prominent jaw was covered in dark stubble. She roved her eyes lower—to wide shoulders that stretched the black cotton, massive biceps, slender waist and large silver belt buckle down to…

  Stop right there!

  She wouldn’t allow herself to inspect his crotch. Nope. No way. Not going to happen.

  Breathing in slowly, feeling somewhat in control, she turned and their knees touched. Why had she suggested mending him here and not in the spacious kitchen? She was socially awkward and had no clue how a woman acts around a man.

  Heat came alive in the pit of her stomach and lowered, settling in her secret spot—a place she’d called off limits for years now. Here in the town of Palms, Tennessee, they didn’t see very many strangers, especially this good looking. In the town of four hundred people, everyone knew everyone and once in a while they got a stray vehicle lost off the interstate. Usually, they’d stop at the diner and get directions—the one she and her father owned and worked together, more her these days since his heart attack. He opened the place along with Charlie’s mom back when they first married. When her mother had died, her father had taken on all of the responsibility of running the restaurant and the rental properties they owned. It wasn’t always easy.

  And then when Sunny died, nothing had returned to normal and she doubted it would.

  A familiar constriction crawled up her throat, but she forced it away. This wasn’t the time to lose her emotions.

  She took out a bottle of ointment from the box. “Hold this.” She pushed it into his chest and he did as directed. He dropped the magazine back in the holder. His eyes were on her, but she concentrated on the bandages.

  Her hand trembled and she pressed her lips together, focusing. He’d think she was some silly goose if she didn’t gather her senses and stop acting like a teenager.

  She looked up. Big mistake. Their gazes met, head on. His whiskey colored eyes danced in the light, and at the same time her heart did a jig. What the hell? She wasn’t only behaving like a teenager, she was one again. Warmth spread over her skin and she blamed it on being in the cold for too long. It had nothing to do with the cowboy sitting three inches in front of her. Not possible. Very possible. Her friends would have been all over him like melting snow. A nun would have to ask for a lot of forgiveness if she was in the same situation.

  He pushed his hand through his hair causing more hair to fall to his forehead. Without thinking, she reached up and swept the strands away, the tips of her fingers brushing his skin, sending electricity racing up her arm. One corner of his mouth lifted—a teasing smile that tugged at the invisible chords in her heart.

  She needed to gain her equilibrium before she did something really stupid and spontaneous and kiss that mischievous half-smile right off his luscious lips.

  With shaking hands, she took the bottle from him and poured a good amount of the antiseptic ointment on a sanitized cloth. Wishing her nerves would calm, she concentrated on her breathing—in and out, in and out—but a naughty image trickled through her brain cells. Sweat beaded between her breasts and her spine tingled. She was losing it fast.

  Standing in front of a stranger touching him, or rather his wound, wasn’t nearly as awkward as needing to keep a straight face as the prickles exploded like fireworks in her groin. Her core muscles tensed and she had a strong urge to squeeze her inner thighs together.

  What had come over her? She wasn’t desperate, nor was she looking for a man.

  Pressing the cloth to his head, a mantra rolled through her mind. Dab, wipe, and repeat. Dab, wipe, and repeat. Dab, lick, and repeat. Kiss, lick, and repeat.

  Oh holy heck!

  “How does it look?”

  “Fantastic…I mean…it’s not bad. No stitches needed.” Her words came out as a squeak. She dropped the cloth in the trash can.

  “Are you a nurse?” His husky voice made her nerve endings tremble. Did he feel the draw between them too?

  “I worked as a veterinary’s assistant for a few years. You learn a lot watching a doctor help animals.”

  He chuckled. “I guess I’m pretty damn lucky then.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far. Good thing you didn’t need stitches. I can’t even sew a button on straight.” Needing to concentrate on something besides the intensity of his eyes, she cleared her throat and asked, “So you turned off the interstate because of screwed up GPS directions, huh?”

  “How’d you know?”

  “Why else would you have taken a wrong turn?”

  “I have a feeling it happens a lot.”

  She shrugged as she poured more antiseptic onto a clean cloth. “That’s the only time we get strangers out here in these mountains. We’re set quite a way off the highway.”

  “I couldn’t see ten feet ahead of me because of the snow. I tend to believe most things don’t happen by chance though. I could have gotten stuck and frozen to death. Now that would have been a lousy Christmas present.”

  She blinked. “Were you on your way to see family?”

  “No.”

  Getting the feeling he wasn’t going to expand his answer, she didn’t push. “Just last year we had a man drive right off the mountain. He wasn’t found until three days later. He didn’t make it.”

  Some of his tan faded. “Nice to know.”

  “You should feel even luckier now. Could have been so much worse. You had no business being out on the roads and should have pulled over into one of the gas stations off the highway. You have a city boy’s mentality.”

  “I have a feeling you say what’s on your mind.”

  She moistened her lips. “To a fault.”

  “No fault in letting people know where they stand with you. You said you ‘used’ to be a veterinary’s assistant. So why’d you quit?”

  “Pops had a heart attack and I was needed at the restaurant.” She found a bandage from the box.

  “That’s very self-sacrificing. A humanitarian as well as unselfish.”

  “I never thought of it that way, self-sacrificing. He’s been there for me through everything.” She unpeeled the plastic from the bandage, then the sticky back. “What’s your story? I saw the guitar. Seemed like a prized possession.”

  “Music is my life.”


  “That’s either a good thing or a bad thing.” She placed the bandage onto his wound, her knuckles grazing his skin again. She jerked and he looked up at her, his eyes dark and mysterious. She found herself leaning closer…

  “Tea is ready,” Her father’s voice made her jump and she bumped the box with her elbow, sending it crashing to the floor. The items scattered across the ceramic tiles. She bent and quickly picked up the bottles and packets, dropping them back into the box, not daring to look at her father in the doorway or Storm.

  Her father’s footsteps were heard fading back down the hallway and she tilted her chin. Her jaw dropped. She was eye-to-zipper with the cowboy and the bulge was unmistakable. Heat scorched her veins. She stood so fast that dizziness washed over her. “We’re done here.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Storm splashed his face with cold water. His forehead was on fire from Charlie’s touch. They’d almost kissed. At least he thought they’d almost kissed. Maybe he’d just imagined it since he’d wanted to bad enough. He’d never been this caught up in an impulse before. He’d only met her an hour ago, definitely not long enough to take things to a new level.

  He grabbed the frilly pink towel from the hook and dried his face. Inhaling, his nostrils flared. A trace of her nice scent remained on the towel. Yeah, he’d gotten a good whiff while she was standing in front of him mending his forehead, creating something dangerous behind his zipper.

  Good thing he hadn’t kissed her. If what she said was true, Storm would have found himself at the end of a shotgun. Charlie had certainly flown out of the bathroom like a bat out of hell. Had she seen the evidence of his attraction for her? Would she think he was a pervert? After all, what man got turned on by a woman putting a bandage on his head?

  Hell, who could blame him? The thin shirt she had on didn’t hide the darker shading of hard nipples. They were three inches from his face, mocking him, luring him into touching—better yet, tasting.

  “Get ahold of yourself!” he said to his reflection.

  He was only here for one night. Tomorrow he would grab another rental and be on his way. He’d forget all about tonight and go on with life.