Reclaiming the Rancher's Son
Автор
Trish Milburn
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CHAPTER ONE
MAYA PINE ALREADY had a newspaper deadline, a demanding boss and an approaching snowstorm on her plate, so the last thing she needed to add was a matchmaking mama. But she was getting it anyway.
As she listened to her mom encourage her to go out with Rory Tillman, Maya grabbed her camera, purse and car keys. She should be on her way to conduct an interview before the predicted snowstorm moved into Jade Valley, but here she stood in the tiny office of the Valley Post, cell phone to ear, listening to the hopeful tone in her mom’s voice.
“Nope, not happening,” Maya said as soon as her mother took a breath.
“Why not?”
“One, I don’t have time to date. And, two, do you not remember that Rory was the mastermind behind my car ending up parked in the middle of Mr. Eagle’s front lawn? And with the radio blaring ‘Loser’ by 3 Doors Down as the cherry on top.” Maya had thought the little dirt-brown compact with one yellow door had been stolen, but Rory and his buddies had temporarily relocated it to the principal’s yard, much to Maya’s and Mr. Eagle’s mutual displeasure.
“Really?”
“Yes, Mom, really. So you can stop searching high and low for a man for me as if my expiration date is nigh.” Maya was pretty sure her mom had been looking under rocks on the Wind River Reservation for a potential son-in-law.
“I hate to see you alone.”
“If it doesn’t bother me, it shouldn’t bother you. But if this is about your sisters outpacing you with grandchildren, you’re just going to have to enjoy being a great-auntie.”
“Well, I feel called out.”
Maya laughed. “I know how you think, woman.”
“They’re just so annoying with their grandbaby stories.”
“You love those kids every bit as much as they do. I’ve seen you slipping them sweet treats when their moms weren’t looking.”
This time it was her mom who sighed, causing Maya to laugh again.
“Listen, if a hot man crosses my path, I’m not going to look the other way. But I’d say the likelihood of that is on the slim side. I mean, Sunny snatched up one of the few decent-looking eligible bachelors in the valley.”
Not that Maya had been interested in Dean Wheeler. They’d known each other too long. And despite him being attractive, Maya had never been attracted to him. Which was good since her best friend and he were currently sappy newlyweds.
Most of the rest of the unattached men in the area fell into one of three categories: too young, too old or not in a million years.
A gust of wind rattled the front door, reminding Maya that she’d best get on the road.
“Mom, I’ve got to go. The paper doesn’t write itself.”
Before her mom asked any further questions that might lead to Maya fibbing about what was next on her schedule, she hung up the phone. Her mom didn’t need to know that Maya was heading up the mountain when a snowstorm was supposed to move into the area in a few hours. She locked the door behind her since Janie Oberlin, the only other employee of the Post, was at the high school interviewing the basketball coach about the boys’ season so far and the plans for the upcoming tournament.
As Maya headed to her car, the cold, humid air already smelled like snow. She was going to have to conduct this interview with as much speed as possible to maximize her time with elusive mystery author Benjamin St. Michaels while allowing enough to get back to town before the mountain road became dangerous.
But she couldn’t miss this opportunity. St. Michaels hadn’t given an interview in years, and for her to score one with him was a big deal. His legions of fans would likely give the paper at least a one-week bump in sales. Every little bit helped when the Clarkes, the family who owned newspapers and radio stations all over Wyoming and Montana, were constantly on her case to increase the paper’s revenue. That was difficult when the population of Jade Valley was five hundred and some of those were too young to read.
She’d even gotten the wild idea to possibly ask St. Michaels if he might become a regular contributor to the paper, maybe write some short fiction. It all depended on how this interview went.
As she rolled through the small downtown area, which was free of any traffic lights, she waved to half a dozen familiar faces. One of those belonged to Sherriff Angie Lee, so Maya made sure not to go over the speed limit until she was a mile outside of town. Even though she and Angie were friends and had gone to school together, Maya knew Angie wouldn’t give her a free pass to break the law. Angie had a fairness streak a mile wide, so that was how she policed and what she also expected from the deputies who worked for her.
By the time Maya was ascending the mountain road and halfway to her destination, the sun had disappeared behind the gunmetal-gray clouds. Why couldn’t this interview have taken place yesterday when the sky had been a beautiful blue and the temperature several degrees warmer?
Oh well, it wouldn’t be the first time she’d done her job in unpleasant conditions. Also wouldn’t be the last.
When she reached the turn onto the gravel road that led back to St. Michaels’s vacation cabin, she mentally went through her list of questions for him again. She’d read all of his books about a Wyoming-based FBI agent, so she hadn’t had any trouble coming up with questions many of his fans might have. Such as, was the protagonist’s brother a good or bad guy? With each book, Maya’s opinion on that changed.
She had to laugh when she saw the “cabin” because the house she rented could probably fit inside it twice. Some of those sweet, sweet bestseller dollars had obviously gone into the vacation home. She would bet it had expansive windows on the eastern side, affording stunning views of the valley and the stretch of mountains that lay on the other side.
Maya didn’t see a vehicle, but it was probably tucked away in the garage. She glanced up at the tops of the surrounding lodgepole pines, noting the way they were swaying in the breeze. Nothing to be concerned about yet, but she didn’t have time to dawdle either.
She grabbed what she needed and stepped out of the car. It was noticeably colder thanks to the gain in elevation. This spot would be beautiful with a white powdery coating of snow, but she didn’t plan to be here when it started falling. Pulling her coat’s collar up around her neck, she hurried toward the front door. Before knocking, she noted how the small pane of glass at the top of the wooden door was etched with a feather quill. How appropriate for the home of a writer. She wondered if some of the Hank Gulliver series had been written mere feet from where she stood.
She lifted her hand and knocked, then waited for St. Michaels to appear. But not only did he not open the door, she also didn’t hear any approaching footsteps. Wondering if he was in a part of the house that made it difficult for him to hear her, she knocked louder the second time. Still no answer. Was it possible the man was asleep or listening to music through headphones? Occupied in the bathroom? Was he the absentminded sort who’d already forgotten their appointment?
After glancing to the side and seeing there wasn’t a doorbell, she knocked even louder. Still facing a closed door, she retrieved her phone from her purse and called the number St. Michaels had given her. When the call also went unanswered, her frustration grew.
Okay, she’d tried the professional, front-door approach. Time to do some exploring. She left the porch and rounded the house to find an expansive deck and, yes, a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that afforded an incredible view of the valley, the river winding through it, and the snowcapped mountain range in the distance.
Maya climbed the steps to the deck and repeated her knocking at a side door just around the corner from the picture windows. By this point she wasn’t surprised when she received no response, especially because it looked as if the visible interior was unoccupied and perhaps had been for a while.
She paced the deck as she called again and left a message, hoping that perhaps the man was on his way. While she waited, she pulled out her camera and took some photos of the incredible view. It didn’t matter that she called the valley below home and had probably covered every inch of it since starting first as a reporter for the Valley Post and then becoming the editor two months later when the previous one decided to retire early. Despite her familiarity with Jade Valley, it still managed to take her breath away when she looked at it from this type of vantage point.
After she’d taken several photos, she lowered the camera in time to see a few snowflakes fly past on a sudden gust of wind. She lifted her gaze to the sky, which had grown darker.
No, no, no. Why was this storm moving in faster than had been forecast? Even if St. Michaels had opened the door after her first knock, they would barely be getting started with the interview. Resisting the idea that this opportunity was a bust, she knocked one more time, placed another unanswered call and paced the deck for a couple of minutes.
But she wasn’t a fool. You didn’t live in Wyoming your entire life and not respect the weather’s mercurial nature. If you didn’t respect it, you could end up dead. So she hurried down the steps and back around the house to her little blue hatchback, which already had a few flakes sticking to the windshield. This storm was impatient.
By the time she’d traveled the short distance to the end of the gravel drive, the pace of the snowfall had picked up. Yeah, not good. She wanted to race down the mountain, but that also wasn’t smart considering the temperature at this elevation already had some white flakes sticking to the road. And while her car did fine in the valley, snowy, mountainous roads were another story entirely.
Biting her lip, she tried to balance her driving between the urgency to get to a lower elevation, and thus hopefully out of the snow, and her desire to not slide off the road. After about five minutes, she eased around a curve, thankful her car seemed to be handling the conditions well so far.
“Way to go, Blueberry.”
She’d give the dash an affectionate pat if she didn’t need to keep both hands on the steering wheel. But the tension in her shoulders actually eased a bit, and she exhaled a deep breath.
In the next moment a flash of brown jumped in front of her car, and she instinctually hit the brakes. She knew immediately it was a mistake when she started to slide, but it was too late to correct it. She gasped when the front wheels left the roadway, pointing her downhill into a thick stand of trees.
THE FIRST THOUGHT to surface after Maya woke was that her head throbbed. She slowly blinked to focus her eyes, which led to her second realization—that she’d been knocked out long enough for the world around her to be coated in white. Considering the pace at which the snowflakes had been increasing when she’d swerved to avoid what she now realized had been a deer, she might have only been unconscious for a few minutes.
Moving slowly, she reached for her purse in the passenger seat, only to realize it was on the floor with the contents spilled everywhere. She pressed her hand to her forehead and unbuckled her seat belt. Again moving slowly, she leaned over and scooped up all her belongings. She needed to call for help and hope that the road conditions were such that someone could reach her.
But when she grabbed her phone, it wouldn’t turn on. Either the battery had died or the phone had been damaged internally in the crash.
This was not good. Really, really not good.
Though her head continued to throb, she knew she couldn’t stay where she was. To do so would almost certainly mean she’d freeze to death. She might be used to Wyoming winters, but that was not the way she wanted to go.
Even though she felt addled and must have hit her head on the window, she was careful to make sure she was fully covered in her coat, gloves and the hat her mom had knitted for her last Christmas. Then she crawled over to the passenger door since the driver’s side was wedged against a tree. But she was thankful for that tree or she might have tumbled even farther down the mountain and not woken up at all.
By the time she was standing outside in the snow, she was already ridiculously tired.
“Come on, Pine. You’re not going to end up a skeleton in the woods.”
She shivered, though whether it was because of that mental image or the cold she wasn’t sure. Her feet slipped some on the fresh snow, but she managed not to fall as she climbed up the incline toward the roadway. She was fairly certain she’d aged a year by the time she stepped onto the pavement, which was now totally white. Trying not to panic that it was unlikely a vehicle would come along, she set off down the road. She had to keep moving if she hoped to survive the day. Even if no cars passed, she’d eventually come to someone’s house. Now, if she could just remember where the nearest house was to where she’d gone off the road.
As she hurried down the side of the road, she did her best to focus on anything other than how much her head hurt or how cold air seemed to be seeping straight through her coat. She thought about how Benjamin St. Michaels had stood her up, and how that had led to her being at exactly the wrong spot when that deer had decided he absolutely must be on the other side of the road despite the oncoming car.
Of course, with the weather turning bad quicker than expected, she probably would have left before being able to complete the interview. That or not have been able to leave. She laughed. Being trapped at the home of someone you didn’t know didn’t sound like the most awesome time ever. More like awkward at best.
When she thought she heard a vehicle, she turned quickly to look behind her. But not only was there no approaching help, she also managed to send a fresh wave of throbbing pain through her head.
She picked up her pace, hoping her blood would pump hard enough that her feet would warm up. If she thought she wouldn’t fall or it wouldn’t cause further pain in her head, she’d start running. Better to keep a decent walking pace than risk further injury.
She had no idea how much time had passed when she realized she was shivering and that taking a nap on the side of the road had started to sound appealing. She fought that thought, somehow grasping that if she didn’t find shelter soon she was going to be in danger of becoming hypothermic. At that realization, panic started to set in. She had to find shelter before she lost her ability to reason.
Smoke winding its way up through the treetops caught her attention. Whether she was imagining it or not, she didn’t know, but she had to hope it was real as she stepped off the road and started in that direction.
Despite it hurting worse and making her sick to her stomach, she shook her head to clear it as she wove her way through the trees. She was not going to give in to Mother Nature this close to potential salvation.
Please help me make it.
Right as she was beginning to doubt what she’d seen, Maya broke free of the trees and spotted a modest log home. The thought that she recognized the house managed to surface through the thick fog in her head. The old...Black...thorn place. Even her thoughts were shivering. She shook her head again, but it felt as if she were moving in water this time—sluggish, with the surrounding sound muted.
Her steps were slower too, her feet...what was the word? Started with an H. She blinked but almost couldn’t lift her eyelids. The house was right...th-th-there. The next time she blinked, her lids refused to open and her legs seemed to freeze in place like mechanical gears seizing up in the cold.
In the next moment she was falling, but she didn’t feel the impact with the ground.
AFTER SEEING TO his horse’s needs, Gavin Olsen headed out of the barn. He’d check on his small herd of cattle again after the snowstorm passed, but for now he wanted a warm meal and hot coffee while surrounded by four thick, solid walls. Even though he was used to wintry weather, he also appreciated being able to retreat inside when his work was done.
As long as he didn’t lose power, he planned to kick back and watch some TV after a long day that had started before dawn. When you worked outside, you structured your days based on the weather forecast as best you could.
A gust of wind had him tightening his grip on the barn door as he pushed it closed and secured it. Thankfully, he’d managed to complete the most important repairs to the structure before winter set in, so he was confident that Jasper would stay comfortable inside. Now it was his turn to move to warmer quarters.
He turned toward the house, but movement out of the corner of his eye drew his attention. Had he been living out here alone with his thoughts and sorrow so long that he was now seeing things? Because it sure looked as if a woman was walking toward the house from the direction of the tree line. Actually, walking might not be the best description of what she was doing, because she was obviously struggling even though the snow wasn’t deep yet.
Who was she? What was she doing here? Was she a hiker who’d somehow gotten lost and bewildered in the storm? How long had she been out in the cold? His pulse jumped when she stumbled. She appeared to try to right herself, but in the next moment she crumpled to the ground.
Gavin stood for a moment, battling the instinctual frustration that someone had invaded his private space, even if accidentally. But he wasn’t so bitter that he would let her freeze to death. So he ran toward her, knowing he had to get this unknown woman out of the cold. There was no telling how long she’d been wandering around in this weather, and despite her winter attire she might be close to hypothermic.
Don’t let her die on my front lawn.
He dropped to his knees next to her.
“Hey, can you hear me?”
No response, but thankfully she was still breathing. Not wasting any time because the storm was only getting worse, he placed his arms behind her back and knees and lifted her off the cold ground. He winced a bit when his boot slid on the snow, but he kept on his feet and quickly moved toward the house.
Once he managed to open the door and get her inside, he set her on the couch before hurriedly closing the front door. Facing her again, he sighed and knelt in front of her.
“Hey, can you wake up?” He knew he sounded curt, but that was how he felt most days. When she again offered no response, he shook her arm a bit. Even if he didn’t want her here, he still possessed some basic human decency. “You need to get out of this coat and your shoes. They’re wet.”
She grunted a bit as if in response to pain. Had she injured her arm?
With another sigh, he realized he was going to have to help her out of her wet winter outerwear. He hoped she didn’t wake up in the middle and totally freak out that she was being undressed by a man she didn’t know.
As he got her out of her coat, gloves, shoes and socks, he noticed her wince. When he removed her knitted hat, he spotted a trickle of dried blood. It wasn’t fresh enough to be a result of her tumble in his yard, so she’d already been injured somehow.
He hurried to get a wet cloth and washed away the blood, glad to see the injury was only a small cut. Still, it was concerning that she was still unconscious. What was worse than some strange woman freezing to death in his yard? Her dying on his couch.
Hoping once again that she didn’t misunderstand if she woke up, he set about checking her limbs for serious damage that would require him trying to get her to the little local hospital despite the fact that it might be more dangerous trying to get down the mountain now than staying put. And with the rate at which the snow was falling, he doubted an ambulance could make it up here. He was just going to have to make do, no matter how much he disliked the situation.
Thankfully, nothing seemed to be broken, but he noticed a knot that was bruising at the edge of her hair on the left side of her forehead close to the cut.
After stretching her out on the couch and propping her head with a pillow, he covered her with two quilts. That accomplished, he crossed to the freezer and put together an ice pack. When he eased it against the bump on her head, she winced more visibly before settling. He really hoped she didn’t have a concussion, because if she did wasn’t he supposed to wake her up?
He’d just keep an eye on her because going out in the storm could end up doing more harm than good to his unexpected guest. Deciding hot food when she woke up would increase her chances of surviving, he strode back across the room to the kitchen area. It was probably a good idea to put distance between them anyway. He wanted it to be abundantly clear when she woke up that he wasn’t a physical threat to her, even if he wasn’t likely to be the friendliest of hosts.
If she had some sort of identification with her, he’d try to contact a relative. But he hadn’t seen any purse or backpack, and there’d been nothing in the pockets of her coat.
He opened some cans of hearty chicken noodle soup because that seemed to be the accepted cure-all and dumped them into a pot on the stove. A great cook, he was not, but he got by. He doubted his guest would be too picky if what she was offered helped to warm her up.
He glanced over his shoulder, saw that the woman hadn’t moved at all, then redirected his attention out the window above the kitchen sink. The snow was coming down so fast now that he could barely identify the trees. Seeing into the valley where his cattle were was impossible.
Why did this woman have to stumble onto his property of all places?
The quiet that filled his house now was exactly the opposite of what he wanted. Since moving back to Wyoming a broken man and buying a ranch in need of a substantial amount of work, he’d done his best to keep his hands and mind occupied with his to-do list. But his plan to turn on the TV to whatever would keep his thoughts off why he’d left Denver was put on hold. And thus his memories waltzed in and assaulted him. An unexpected—and admittedly unfair—wave of anger at the woman on his couch hit him. Her presence made the difficult task of forgetting even harder, though she’d had nothing to do with his loss.
He turned and stared at her prone form. He needed her to wake up and the storm to clear so he could get her out of his space. At least chances were she’d be totally on board with that. Then he could go back to the only marginally successful job of staying so busy that he didn’t have time to curl in on himself and give up entirely.
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