Blackstone Ranger Chief

by Alicia Montgomery

  It didn’t take him too long to find her; she was like a beacon in that gown as she walked out of the parking lot toward the darkened road. There was an oncoming truck that she didn’t see as she continued to lumber forward.

  With his superhuman speed, he caught up to her just as she was about to step into the truck’s path, then grabbed her arm. Unfortunately, he forgot his own strength as he pulled her, sending them both to the ground. His back slammed into concrete as puffs of tulle and a soft body landed on top of him.

  “Hey!”

  Arms grappled his as she pushed herself off him. As she struggled to get up, he groaned as her knees hit his abdomen. At least she didn’t aim lower.

  Her weight lifted off him as she scrambled to the side. He got to his feet and let out another groan as he felt a different pain from his nether regions. She was on all fours and her gown had pushed her cleavage up, breasts nearly bursting from the top of her neckline. Fuck, his zipper was practically imprinting on his dick.

  Brushing herself off, she got up. “Whaddidya you do that for?” she slurred. “I … it’s you.”

  The tequila was strong on her breath, and she swayed on her feet. “Are you okay, miss?”

  “Me? I’m fiiiine …” She hiccupped. “I just … I don’t usually drink that much.” Her eyes were unfocused. “Are you …”

  Her body fell forward, and he easily caught her. His arms slipped around her waist and pulled her against his chest. As her sweet scent wrapped around him, he cursed inwardly. The Demon, on the other hand, yowled with delight.

  Yowl with delight? That damned bear didn’t like anything or anyone. It hated almost everything in the world.

  “You have pretty eyes.” She was looking straight up at him. “They’re so green.” Her hand reached up to cup his jaw, and his spine—and other parts of him—went stiff.

  “Uh … miss, can I take you home? Or to your hotel? Should I call your husband?” That last part left a bitter taste in his mouth.

  “I’m not … no husband.” She frowned, and her hands dropped to her sides. “I ran away. Jilted him at the altar, as they say.”

  Relief poured through him. So, she wasn’t married. Of course, that didn’t mean she was free. “Where do you live, miss? Maybe I can call your family or something.”

  “Nowhere. Not anymore,” she bawled, tears springing to her eyes. “I can’t go back now. Not after what I’ve done.”

  Goddamn, he hated waterworks, but seeing her cry made him want to rip something apart. But he didn’t know how to comfort her. “How about a friend, maybe you can stay with a friend? Do you know someone in town? How did you get here?”

  “I drove,” she stated.

  “From?”

  “From the church.”

  “Which church?” He scrambled for names of nearby churches. “Saint Joseph’s in Greenville? Or the one in Verona Mills?”

  “All Saints Episcopalian,” she said.

  “I’ve never heard of that one. Is that the one on seventy-five?”

  “It’s back home.”

  “And where is home?”

  She smiled dreamily. “Why, in Albuquerque, silly.”

  “Albu—as in New Mexico?” he asked incredulously.

  “Is there another Albuquerque?”

  Christ. That was about an eight-hour drive from here. How in the world did she get all the way to Blackstone? And what was he going to do now? “I can’t leave you out here, miss. Is there somewhere I can take you to? A motel? Or the hospital?”

  “You can take me home.”

  The Demon thought that was a very good idea, but he pushed those thoughts away. “I don’t think—” He stopped as her head rolled back and her eyes closed. Then she started snoring softly, and her body turned into a dead weight in his arms.

  Goddammit.

  Chapter Two

  What in all things good and holy happened last night?

  Based on the pounding headache drilling into her brain, Anna Victoria Hall knew that whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

  And it probably involved tequila.

  Good Lord. Any time she had the stuff, bad things happened. Like now, for example, waking up in a strange place. In a strange bed.

  “No, no, no.” The world spun as she sat up like a rocket. “Ooof.” Normally, this was about the time she told herself, I’m never drinking again. And maybe this time she really meant it.

  I’ve really done it now.

  Slowly, she opened her eyes. She was in some kind of … log cabin? It smelled like pine in here and something … very masculine. The dark furniture, the flannel sheets, and the distinct maleness in her surroundings told her this was definitely a man’s bedroom.

  “What have you gotten yourself into, Anna Victoria Hall?” she whispered to herself.

  This wasn’t how she wanted her day to end up. Hell’s bells, this wasn’t how she thought her life would end up—hungover on tequila, in a stranger’s bedroom, on the day after what was supposed to be her wedding.

  The memories suddenly slammed into her befuddled brain and the pain in her head pounded even harder.

  Maybe I should have gone through with it.

  But the thought had barely formed in her head before her skin started crawling. Marrying Edward Jameson would have been a mistake. But it’s not like she had a choice in the first place.

  She took a deep breath and frowned. Why was it hard to breathe? Glancing down, she realized she was still wearing the most hideous wedding gown ever created. I wouldn’t have chosen something so tacky, even if I wanted to get married. No, this crime against fashion had been the groom’s choice, along with other aspects of that farce of a wedding.

  The moment she’d laid eyes on the gown, she’d hated it—not just because it was gaudy, but because of what it represented. But she’d never been happier to be wearing it than she was at this moment. The damned thing took two seamstresses to put on, and so that meant she’d kept it on all night. That meant she didn’t just have sex with some stranger on what was supposed to be her wedding night.

  But the question still remained: Where the hell was she?

  Burying her face in her hands, she dug into her brain for the last of her memories. Waiting in the back of the church. Realizing this was a mistake. And then sneaking out the front door and taking a taxi back to her apartment. There had been no time to do anything—not to pack, not to get dressed, and certainly not to plan. She took out the daily maximum of cash from her debit card during a quick stop at the drive-through ATM, then took off. Somewhere along the highway, she dumped her phone, debit and credit cards—even if her father hadn’t cut them off yet, it was too risky to use them.

  Of course, she wasn’t completely destitute. In fact, sitting in the trunk of her car was a duffel bag full of cash. But she would starve and die before she touched that money.

  “Oh Lord.”

  More memories flooded back. The bar last night. And tequila. A lot of it. Too much. And then … she remembered big, strong arms around her. A masculine scent that seemed imprinted in her brain.

  A throat clearing made her freeze. “You’re up.”

  The rough, sleep-hewn quality of the voice made her shiver. In a good way. Slowly, she turned her head toward the source.

  Oh no.

  Despite the fact that her brain couldn’t piece together what happened after the fourth or fifth shot of tequila, what it did remember was this guy. And she recognized him immediately. How could she not, when he had stared at her so openly when he approached the bar? Not even her tequila-dulled senses could ignore the spark of desire in his bright green eyes—or the one in her core—which was why she had been vastly disappointed when he just turned and walked away after he got his drink. The rejection spurned her on to take more shots of tequila.

  From where he stood in the doorway, he didn’t move, didn’t say anything. The man just kept staring at her. Oh God, he was even cuter than she remembered. Handsome actually. Strong, chiseled jaw with a li
ttle dent in the chin. She remembered it being clean-shaven last night, but this morning, there was a bit of scruff on it. His shoulders were broad and looked like they were built like rocks, the muscles underneath the golden bronzed skin stretching out his white T-shirt while various tattoos dotted down his brawny arms. He was tall, too, probably a couple of inches over six feet.

  Her mouth went dry, like she’d coughed up sand. Glancing to her left, she saw a glass of water and two tablets. Ignoring the unmarked medicine—because she was hungover, not stupid—she grabbed the glass and chugged down as much as she could without choking.

  “Better?”

  God, it was like his voice plucked this string inside her that made her body vibrate. “Y-y-es. Thank you.” An awkward silence stretched between them. “Um, I was wondering, could you tell me … where we are?”

  “In my house.”

  Right, she guessed that much. “But what am I doing here?”

  “You asked me to take you home.”

  Embarrassment coursed through her, all the way to the tips of her toes. “I-I did?”

  He nodded.

  “I’m sure I didn’t mean it. I mean, not to your home.” Oh God, had they … done anything? For some reason, that didn’t make her feel embarrassed—only disappointed that she hadn’t remembered anything at all.

  “You walked out of The Den, and I saw you were about to cross the street. Nearly stepped in front of a truck.” He took a few steps toward the bed. “And then you said you drove here from New Mexico.”

  “And here is …?”

  “Blackstone. Colorado.” His brows wrinkled. “You don’t know where you are?”

  She shook her head. “I was just passing through. I needed to rest since I’d been driving nearly non-stop from New Mexico, and I had a cramp in my leg, and so I stopped at that bar. I didn’t mean to start drinking, but I figured I deserved just one, and if I ate a huge dinner it would be fine, but it felt so warm and—” Oh God, she was babbling. “So, this town is called Blackstone?”

  “Technically we’re in the Blackstone Mountains, outside of the town.”

  “And what are we doing in the Blackstone Mountains?”

  “You asked me to take you—”

  “Yeah, I got that part.” Her head was throbbing again.

  “There’s medicine for you next to the water. Should help with the headache.”

  She didn’t make a move and instead picked at some non-existent lint on the sheet. “I’m so sorry. For the inconvenience.” The man remained silent, but moved closer. “I—” When she looked up, startlingly clear green eyes were staring at her, and her stomach flipped. “Did we …” Her hands gestured nervously at the bed.

  “No.” His jaw hardened. “You passed out in my arms, and I brought you here. I slept downstairs on the couch.”

  Although she’d already guessed that nothing happened because she would have needed a damn can opener to get her out of this dress, somehow, his confirmation disappointed her. Stop being silly, Anna Victoria Hall. Not having drunken sex with a stranger was a good thing.

  “Again, I’m sorry.” Shimmying to the edge of the bed, she slung her legs over the side. “I just—whoa!”

  The world spun again and another dizzy spell came over her, sending her toward the floor. She braced herself for the impact, but it never came. Instead, two strong arms caught her and pulled her up against a hard chest. That faint masculine scent that she had smelled on the sheets surrounded her now, so delicious and tempting that she had to take a whiff.

  “Uh, miss?”

  Unfortunately, to take that whiff, she had to press her nose against the very hard, very male chest she had been propped against. Quickly, she pulled her face away from him.

  If any god is up there or downstairs, please strike me dead now.

  He remained silent, but his hand went up to her cheek. His touch was soft and gentle, and despite the clenching of his jaw, there was a surprising tenderness in his eyes. Her heart thudded against her chest at the gentleness of his touch.

  “You have some, uh, stuff there.” His fingers brushed at her skin, rubbing away some sleep crust from the corner of her eye.

  Her cheeks aflame, she stood up and pushed off him. “Uh, thanks.” How did he get to her so fast? “I need to use the bathroom.”

  He cocked his head at the door on the right. “Over there.”

  Brushing past him, she quickly dashed to the door. As soon as it closed, she let out a sigh, then looked up at the mirror.

  “Oh, poop.” Her skin was sallow, and the bags under her eyes had bags. It was a good thing during one of her pit stops, she managed to find some makeup wipes at a gas station convenience store, otherwise, she’d surely be sporting mascara raccoon eyes.

  After washing her face and doing her business, she looked down at the dress with a deep sigh. How am I going to get out of this thing? Even if she did manage to get this bedazzled monstrosity off her, she didn’t exactly have anything else to wear.

  A knock on the door knocked her out of her thoughts. “Yes?”

  “I have some clothes for you, in case you wanted to change. When you’re done, you can come downstairs.”

  “Oh.” That was nice of him. “Thank you. I’ll be right out.” Okay, now the only thing she had to figure out was how to free herself from this testament of bad taste. Maybe there’s something I could use around here.

  The bathroom was sparse, but spotless and clean. A hand towel hung from a hook to the right of the mirror, while a bar of soap sat on a dish beside the faucet. She reached for the drawers, only hesitating because she didn’t want to invade his privacy since that’s where most people kept their personal items. When she pulled one open, she was surprised to see that inside was neat and everything in its place—extra toothbrushes lined up in a row, a package of floss in the corner, new razors beside it. There had to be something here … there! A pair of scissors glinted when she pulled the drawer out further.

  With a deep sigh, she positioned the scissors in the middle of the sweetheart neckline. How ironic. Her teeth ground together as she sliced down the middle, and suddenly, she could breathe again. She was finally free. Literally and figuratively.

  Shrugging the rest of the gown off, she grabbed the hand towel and gave herself a quick sponge bath, then rinsed her mouth out multiple times with water from the tap. That deep tub in the corner looked tempting, but she was pretty sure the man who owned this house would mind very much if she took a bubble bath.

  Her fingers massaged the bridge of her nose. I don’t even know his name.

  Marching out of the bathroom with the remains of the dress, she spotted a large paper bag, and inside were the clothes he mentioned. They consisted of a pair of leggings, a heavy sweater, and thick socks. As she put them on, it dawned on her where these clothes could have come from. Oh God, he has a girlfriend. Or a wife.

  Somehow, the thought of that made her chest seize up; why, she didn’t know. However, looking around, there were no signs of a feminine hand anywhere. Much like the bathroom, the bedroom was utilitarian—the only furniture was the bed, side table, and a dresser. There were no knickknacks anywhere, no clothes piled in the corner or surfaces, and everything was clean as a whistle. Maybe these clothes were left by an ex. Or a one-night stand. None of those thoughts comforted her, so she pushed them aside.

  Now somewhat presentable, she could go downstairs, but there was the matter of the dress. It would be rude to just leave it here for him to discard, so she balled it up as tightly as possible and shoved it into the empty bag.

  He had said to come downstairs. Now, she wasn’t dumb; he was a stranger and she was in his house, so the smart thing to do would be to sneak out while she could. However, the rational part of her said that if he wanted to harm her, he’d have done it by now or while she was sleeping. Perhaps there were still some really good Samaritans in the world.

  In any case, maybe he could give her a ride back to her car. That damned dress didn’t
have any pockets, so she left her purse inside and only took some cash and her keys. Hopefully she’d dropped her keys in the bar, but if not, maybe she could call a locksmith, at least to get her purse and figure out what to do next.

  Padding out of the room, she headed toward the stairs, paper bag in her hand. The smell of coffee, toast, and bacon filled her nostrils. Her stomach gurgled embarrassingly, but grease and caffeine were exactly what her hungover-self needed right now.

  As she descended the stairs, she walked past the living room and into the kitchen. Her eyes immediately went to the tall, dark-haired man hunched over the stove, and her stomach did that flippy thing again. Oh jeez, the back view was just as spectacular as the front.

  “Good morning, sunshine.”

  The voice made her start. To her surprise, there was another man sitting at the breakfast nook, someone she’d never seen before.

  In all her twenty-five years on this earth, she’d been around a lot of good-looking men before but this guy … he wasn’t just handsome, he was actually beautiful. His features were refined, almost angelic. And, as if to emphasize that point, the dark golden mane of hair around him lit up like a halo. Blue eyes twinkled with amusement when their gazes met.

  “Uh, good morning,” she managed to say.

  “I have to say, I was so surprised when Damon asked me to come here and bring some clothes that I just had to stay and find out for whom.” His perfect, bow-shaped mouth quirked up into a smile. “I wondered where he went when he disappeared last night. Never thought I’d see that day. Why, he’s practically a monk—”

  “Gabriel.” The man—Damon, apparently—had turned around, a fierce scowl marring his face. “Didn’t I tell you to leave?”

  “You mean, after I drove all the way out here to do you a favor?” He quirked a golden brow at her. “But I can see why you’d want me out as soon as possible.” Hopping off the stool, he stalked toward her, his movements lithe and graceful. He was tall, like Damon, though built differently. Whereas the dark-haired man was built like a linebacker, this man had the body of a dancer—long limbed and lean, though with a power underneath that shouldn’t be underestimated. “Gabriel Russel, at your service.” He held out his hand, but when Damon let out a strange rumbling sound, he quickly retracted it.