by Renee Blare
She bucked at Chester’s loud bark. The back of her hand connected with the wood frame on the table and it tumbled to the floor. “Aw, man.”
She scooped up the picture, thankful it was still intact. An older couple, maybe in their mid-fifties, posed in profile against the backdrop of a gorgeous lake. Bianca lifted it to the light. What a beautiful woman. Her eyes captured Bianca’s attention. They resembled Devon’s in shape and color. The cowboy’s parents. She repositioned the picture on the table with its black ribbon on the right corner. A lump welled in her throat. Both of them? “Poor guy.”
Chester didn’t seem to notice her words. He was busy scratching at the front door. Frustration sliced through Bianca. Her stubborn landlord, as temporary as he may be, had adamantly told her not to go outside. And she’d agreed. The dogs didn’t.
“All right, boy, give me a second.” The desperate digging continued as she worked on her shoe laces. Bianca worried that the poor dog would tear his nail beds to shreds. She grabbed her jean jacket off the back of the sofa. “Wow, you really need to go.”
A glance toward the dining room revealed a wide bank of windows where archaic shutters clattered and clapped as the storm pummeled the house. Even with their protection, ice caked the glass behind the thick wood planks. She shivered. “Who lives in a place like this?”
Once again, the thought drove through her brain. She shook her head and moved to the poor pup scratching at the door. By the time she arrived, the dog was a salivating mess. She hooked his collar and tugged, but he didn’t budge from his crouched position. In fact, he locked his legs and sank further to the floor. “Move, you crazy dog, I can’t open it.”
The stubborn animal remained rooted in his spot so she shoved him aside with a foot to the ribs. Opening the door, the blast of cold air took her breath away. Snow swirled into the foyer, and Chester shot out into the white blur.
* * *
His feet felt like two blocks of ice and his hands were numb. In fact, his entire body was. Maybe that was a good thing, considering. He’d managed to return Billy Bob to the barn—barely. How long the goat would last, he didn’t know, and he didn’t have strength to do anything about it. As far as Devon was concerned, it was a miracle either one of them were alive.
He leaned his head against the porch. If he remained absolutely still, he heard music in the wind. It reminded him of the wood flute played by the natives. That hollow, lonely sound calling to him through the night.
His father had spoken of a storm’s melody once on a cattle drive. Devon groaned. If only he could take back the cruel words of an immature teenager—a sob wrenched from his throat and hot tears froze on his eyelashes.
A wet nose pressed against his cheek followed by a warm tongue. Devon roused and opened his eye a crack. “Chester.”
His old friend’s piercing bark sent spikes into his wounded brain. He tried to silence the dog but lack of energy kept his hand at his side like a dead fish. Devon began to order the dog to shut up. Instead, a bellow of pain bounced off the railing when Chester slammed his head into his right shoulder.
Nausea rocked his gut when Devon’s head swam with pain. “Knock it off, boy.”
He pushed the collie away as light poured from the ranch house and lit up the steady snowfall. Footsteps beat at the porch. He lifted his head from the banister. “Bee—”
* * *
“Devon!” Bianca broke the ice crystals from his mask. Chester nudged her elbow and whined. “I know, boy.”
She struggled to lift the slumped figure in the darkness and the collie barked. “I’m trying. Give me a minute.”
Bianca waded through the knee-deep drift in front of the house, circling the depressed area for any way to drag the cowboy onto the deck. Another bark made her wheel on the dog. “Will you stop it already?”
Even as she argued with the frantic animal, Bianca realized she didn’t have a clue what to do for the man lying in a heap at the bottom of the stairs.
“Oh, God, what do I do?” She collapsed beside Devon, her thoughts as jumbled as the snowflakes swirling in the midnight air.
A pull on her sleeve penetrated her discombobulated brain, and Bianca looked down into one swollen but open silver-gray eye. A startled cry shot from her. “Devon?”
“Bee…help me…” The storm whipped the cowboy’s words away as if they were paper in the wind.
“I’m here, Devon. Can you stand?” She touched his arm and flinched when a vice-like grip clamped around her wrist. Bianca cupped his other arm as he struggled to his feet.
“No, don’t.” Even though she couldn’t make out his features, pain hissed and throbbed in the words.
Bianca offered a nod in the darkness and moved to his other side. He labored to his feet, and she braced him around the waist. She didn’t move as he swayed. “When you’re ready, we’ll try the stairs.”
“I’m fine.” His declaration bounced off the top of her head and disappeared into the night. Bianca paused and looked up at him, but he merely adjusted his injured arm to his side. “Let’s go.”
Devon took a step forward only to have his legs buckle beneath him. She caught him amidst a flurry of yapping from Chester but couldn’t hold him and they tumbled to the ground. She groaned and rolled to her knees.
“Devon, don’t move without me.” Bianca brushed the snow from her face. “I can’t support your weight like that. You’ll hurt us both.”
“Sorry.” The breathless word came from the bent head as the cowboy trembled beside her.
Bianca reigned in her frustration and rubbed her sacrum. She couldn’t stay mad at the man. He was injured. “That’s okay. Come on, let’s get you inside.”
* * *
“What do you mean, they don’t know?” Angela dropped the salad bowl. The impact sent lettuce and tomatoes into the air before they scattered across the kitchen floor. She fell to her knees, tears streaming down her cheeks. “They’re supposed to.”
Pete lunged to his wife’s side. The bowl slid from her hands as he helped her to her feet. “The entire area’s shut down because of the blizzard, honey. Nothing’s moving in north central Wyoming or southern Montana right now. They’re trying, honey.”
“They’re what?” Angela lurched away from her husband. “Don’t tell me what they’re not doing to help our daughter and say they’re trying, Pete. For all we know, she’s hurt or worse.”
A sob shook her chest and she pressed the back of her hand against her mouth. Anger surged to the surface, choking her. She grabbed the bowl off the floor and threw it, ignoring the explosion of glass in the sink. “They need to find her.”
The kitchen rang with her shout. Pete leaned against the counter. At the almost imperceptible quirk of his eyebrow, Angela turned away and put both hands on the stove. “Don’t look at me like that.”
His strong fingers dug into her shoulders. The tension seeped from her tired and achy muscles as they began their familiar massage. A backward step brought her into his warm body and his arms encircled her waist. “We can’t sit here and do nothing, Pete. Our baby needs us.”
The chest pressing into her back vibrated with her husband’s moan. His cool lips caressed her cheek before he rested his chin on the top of her head. “I agree. Bianca needs us…now more than ever.”
He turned her, and his intense gaze halted her protests. Pete’s eyes flickered to the window. “We may not be able to help find her in Wyoming, but that’s all right because you already know what the most powerful thing you can do for our daughter is, Angela.”
No. Her head rolled with the intensity of her rejection. Don’t say it. I can’t hear. Not right now. Oh, prayer had its uses. But it was the last thing she wanted to do. Besides…she wasn’t weak. She was mad.
Chapter Five
Bianca blocked the dog with the bedroom door and blew out a breath. She stepped away when Chester whined. “Not now, buddy, maybe later.”
He barked at her and cocked his head. When the Border collie
plunked down on his back leg, she sighed. Animals. She didn’t do dog talk well. Even Mimi was a challenge. And here she was, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by a houseful of pain in the rear critters.
Frustration snaked through her at the sight of his pathetic brown eyes. Bianca moaned. “I will, I promise. Now stay.”
She eased the door closed and inched closer to the man hunched on the side of the bed. The dim bedside lamp cast a pale shadow across his bare back. Bianca cringed at the large bruise coloring the skin along his upper torso as well as the red marks slashed across his shoulders. No wonder the guy couldn’t drag himself up the porch stairs.
Bianca puffed a strand of hair out of her eyes. She studied the dark room with its pine furniture and brown fabric. It definitely was a man’s space. Her breath caught when he turned. Black and blue marks stretched around his ribcage as his arm hung awkwardly at his side. She rushed to the bed. “Why didn’t you tell me you broke your arm?”
“I didn’t.” His words hissed through his teeth when she touched his skin. “But I did crack my collarbone, I think…maybe a rib or two.”
A soft woof pushed under the door, and Bianca offered the beat-up cowboy a tiny smile. “I can let him in if you want.”
Devon shook his head and stared at the floor. “Not right now—” Claws against wood sliced through the air, accompanied by Chester’s deep whine. “Knock it off!”
Bianca took a step back but, with one last bark, the dog abandoned his attempts at access. Silence settled on the room. Her hand trembled as she reached toward the cuts marring his torso. “I can bandage these.”
“No, I got it.” He didn’t lift his head, his tone dismissive. When she didn’t move, his eyes cut upward. Remorse shimmered in the steel. “Give me a bit, ’kay? I’ll be out in a few.”
Chester gave her a woof when she padded into the other room. Devon Dawson was a bewildering man. Not that she cared. He was rather cute, even if he was cantankerous and beat up at the moment.
Bianca glanced at the hearth. Mimi cringed when the older dog took a long swipe at her ears with his tongue. She grinned. Well, if those two can get along, there’s hope for the world.
“Where would he keep your food, Chester?” Bianca spun slowly on her heel. The ranch house was similar to her folks’ place in Texas. An older style home, the master bedroom, main living, and dining area were on the ground floor with additional bedrooms upstairs. A mudroom peeked from the rear of the kitchen. “Over there?”
She moved across the room, but a bag on the counter brought her to a halt. Bianca peered in it and pulled out antibiotic ointment, a cone collar, a small bottle of pills. Pistol. The wounded collie snoozed by the fire.
Not only did she have an injured cowboy, his best friend needed cared for as well. But first things first. Right now, the little guy needed to eat.
Sliding the container in her pocket, Bianca closed in on the mudroom, only to have a large room off the kitchen stop her in her tracks. “Whoa, where’d that come from?”
A sunken sunroom of sorts hid in the shadows. The shades covering its bank of windows were drawn, casting the room into complete darkness. Bianca skirted the island in the middle of the kitchen and examined the cozy area. I could fall in love with this place.
Bianca backed away from the room. “I’ll check you out later. Right now, I have three hungry mouths to feed.” Her stomach growled. “Make that four.”
After searching the drawers and canisters on the counters, she checked under the sink, but didn’t find anything except empty grocery bags. Typical man. She strode into the mudroom and tripped over her feet. A small cry of surprise slid between her fingertips. “Oh, wow.”
This room looked exactly like her mom’s. From the cupboards lining one wall to the washer and dryer with matching sink. An even more astonishing fact? Everything was clean.
Did the guy use it at all? Curiosity was her biggest downfall, but in this case, she needed to find food. Not only for the animals but herself, also. Bianca glanced around the tiny room, her eyes landing on the closet door across from her. She couldn’t do that unless she looked.
Mimi’s pitchy whine, followed by Chester’s low bark, came from the living room. The pups were playing. Bianca chuckled. Her little one had found a new friend. That was a good thing. At least she wouldn’t be officiating any dog fights.
She patted her noisy belly. “Okay, okay, I get the point, but the dogs come first. I’ll need to feed them before I can take care of us. Too bad I don’t know where anything is.”
Maybe she should ask Devon? Bianca bit her lip. The thought of disturbing the cowboy in the other room made her cringe. The man was a bear. An injured one at the moment. No, he needed his rest.
Instead, she twisted the knob.
Her jaw dropped. This wasn’t a closet. Bianca stared into the yawning darkness. She jiggled the light switch, but nothing happened.
Bianca groaned. This chore was getting harder by the minute. Maybe he has a flashlight. She retreated and began to search the closest cupboard and continued until she located one buried beneath a stack of rags under the sink.
A quick scan with the beam and she realized the room was big. In fact, it resembled more of a cellar. Was that a chifferobe in the corner? A mirror? Boxes? Maybe the Christmas decorations are in here. Not that she’d use them.
Bianca didn’t need to search long for the dog food. Her toe located it three feet inside the doorway.
“Owie…owie.” Pain shot up her shin and she hopped around on one foot.
She swiped at the tears in her eyes and directed the light at the two plastic containers next to the wall. A couple of steel bowls sat on top of them as if waiting for dinner. Shining it farther down, she noted that someone, probably Devon, had taped bag labels to the front. He’d also penned “1 cup” on the lids with a marker.
Bianca leaned closer, squinting in the dim room. “This one must be for Chester.”
After reassuring herself that the other bin contained food acceptable for Mimi, she filled the bowls and scooped another cup. Returning to the kitchen, she found a bowl for her under the island.
Bianca spun on her heel with her hands full of dog food and stopped. Mimi and Chester stood in one corner of the kitchen with their eyes latched on her. Tongues drooped to the side as they panted. Next to the hearth, Pistol swayed on his front paws, no doubt wishing he could join them in their dinner-time enthusiasm.
“Oh, y’all.” She chuckled.
Chester barked and beat Mimi to her side. She set the food on the floor. Pistol whimpered from the fireplace and Bianca grabbed his bowl. “I’m coming, boy.”
She nabbed the beat-up pup’s bandages from the counter and advanced across the living room. The young collie munched on his supper while she changed his dressing, only jerking once or twice when Bianca touched a tender spot. She dropped a slice of hot dog in the bowl and sighed in satisfaction as Pistol gulped down the meat. Buried deep within it were the antibiotic and pain meds—his last doses for the evening.
“All done?” Pistol managed one more lap with his tongue before Bianca scooped the dish from the hearth.
A slow blink of the dog’s long lashes seemed to be her thanks as Pistol licked his chops. His big, lovable eyes dug into her when he dropped them to his paws. Poor thing. If only he could tell her what happened…
A lingering glance at him reassured her that he’d stay where he was, and she returned to the kitchen and tossed the bowl in the sink. Chester seemed more engrossed in Mimi’s tail than the chunks of beef and chicken morsels. Bianca laughed. “You better enjoy it while you can, girl. I’d love to find a man who’s interested in me rather than the food under his nose.”
Her stomach rumbled. Speaking of food, she was starving. Bianca opened the stainless door of the refrigerator. Clasping her hands behind her head, a small shudder passed through her. Did the man eat anything besides hot dogs and steak? She shut the door in disgust and collapsed onto one of the stools.
/> “I can’t eat that.” At least she’d glimpsed a gallon of milk and some bread and butter, but not a lick of greens…not even a head of lettuce. Her gaze traveled the cupboards. Bianca moaned. “Is meat all you have, Devon? I haven’t touched any meat since culinary school.”
After several minutes of searching, Bianca rolled a can of peas in her hands and scowled. She was wrong. Devon Dawson stocked plenty of vegetables. Green beans, corn, peas…all lined in neat rows. The cowboy organized tin cans to perfection.
Bianca scooped the flashlight off the counter and with a hiss, stomped toward the pantry. “Please let me find something I can eat.”
The cool, darkness swallowed her every step as she dropped into the storeroom. Bianca swept the beam from one side to the other, only stopping to peek in a bin or box. She turned the corner and tripped into a shelf. Metal clattered throughout the large cellar. Dust particles rose like fairies and danced in light.
“What in the world—” Her raspy gasp caught in her throat as Bianca brushed her hand across the old butter churn.
Everywhere she looked, culinary art touched her eyes. Intermingled with modern amenities, the collection before her made her heart sing with joy. Whether old or new, it was obvious the hardware had been used well. From canning to cooking, each treasured piece moved through flame in order to prepare dishes of dietary satisfaction.
Bianca wandered the room and fought tears. She recognized a few of the items from school, most from her mom’s kitchen or grandmother’s cellar. This couldn’t be Devon’s pantry. She came to the end of the aisle and stopped, swallowing the sudden lump in her throat. “Oh, my.”
Before her, against the wall, stood an old cook stove. It was worn and black. Iron. She opened the heavy door, the screech echoing through the room. Soot caked the wood box. A slow grin lifted her lips as black flakes fell on her shoes. She’d always wanted to cook on one of these things.
One hard push on the door and the clank vibrated her eardrums. She chuckled. What would her instructors think of this thing? What would her boss? All humor faded and she spun on her heel. Ex-boss…ex-everything.