MATCH MADE IN WYOMING

by Patricia McLinn

  She eased off the accelerator even more. That didn't eliminate the sliding incidents, but she could control them. Surely it would be okay once she hit the highway.

  The car's low speed and the slickness combined to get her stuck in a depression that would never cause a problem in other circumstances. She calmly alternated reverse and forward gears to rock the car out, and continued on her way.

  "Ha! I told him I could drive in snow."

  The smug mutter was barely out when the right front tire hit another depression at the same time the rear end of the car went into a skid to the left. She tried to steer out of the skid, but with the right front headed downhill, the rest of the car followed, sliding in seeming slow motion off the road to end up angled nose down in the ditch beside it.

  After four slow, calming breaths, she tried rocking the car out of this predicament, too. It not only didn't budge, but she heard the tires spinning, declaring they were simply digging deeper into the snow.

  With the passenger side angled up and the driver's side down, she could only open her door partway. Climbing out was a struggle. Her efforts were rewarded by stepping into a drift of snow that went over her shoes, and sifted down inside them. But that discomfort faded compared to the realization that she would definitely need help to get the car out of the ditch. She would need Cal's help. Oh, hell.

  Head down against the wind-driven snow, arms wrapped around herself to try to ward off some of the chill, she walked the half mile back to the heart of the Flying W.

  She pushed open the same barn door she'd used before and stood there, breathing heavily, grateful to be out of the wind.

  "Hello?" she called out when she had the breath for it. Although several horses were there, the one Cal had been saddling was gone, and no human voice or dog's bark answered her call.

  She pounded on the front door of the foreman's frame house. No answer.

  No Cal and no puppy. Where could he be? Where could they be?

  Taylor reversed her circuit, calling, then listening. Nothing.

  If he was out on the horse she'd seen before, maybe he would see her car. But it would take at least two people to get it out, one to push and one to steer and feed it gas. So it did no good for her to be here.

  On her way back to the car, she tried to squint into the distance to search for any sign of Cal. Only there wasn't any distance to see. All she could see was two feet in front of her, and that was all white.

  Entirely white. With no sign of her green car. But surely this was where she'd left it, right after the curve to the right, with a gnarled tree standing stark sentinel. That was the tree – she was sure of it – even though it now resembled a ghost more than a skeleton. So that would make her car that big white lump.

  She used her hands and arms to sweep as much of the snow off the trunk as she could in order to get out the brush she'd left there, then used that to clear wherever she could reach. It would be visible for a little while, anyhow. She tied her red scarf to the radio antenna. Then, ignoring the tingle that prickled her fingers through her too thin gloves, she carefully cleared away a drift piling up around the exhaust pipe.

  By the time she got back to the car, her feet were numb. She turned the ignition key. Nothing. She tried it again. Still nothing. The third time, the engine turned over and she whispered a prayer of thanks as she turned on the heat.

  She turned the heater on full blast, letting it melt the snowflakes that had stuck to her eyelashes, then moderated it. She would allow herself only enough heat to defrost the worst of her chill before she turned off the engine.

  About a third of a tank left.

  When that ran out, her best bet would probably be the barn. Although she wasn't looking forward to the return trip.

  She was trying to calculate how long the gas might last and how long it would take her to warm up enough that she could turn off the engine for a while, when a knock against the driver's window jolted her straight up out of the seat with a scream.

  She jumped so hard she banged her head on the ceiling and her knee on the steering wheel. It took her a couple seconds to twist around to look out the snow-encrusted window.

  "Taylor! Are you all right?"

  Even muffled, she recognized Cal's voice. With a gush of relief she rolled down the window. And found herself looking at a man's cowboy boot stuck in a stirrup, with a horse's side immediately beyond it. She suspected the boot, rather than a hand, had rapped on the window.

  "Are you all right, Taylor?"

  "Yes." Now. But she wasn't going to say that. She no longer entertained any reluctance to take his help, but that didn't mean she had to throw herself into his arms – again.

  She craned her head out of the window, blinking against the swirl of snow, to see Cal sitting atop the horse, bundled in a jacket topped by the slicker whose long tails split over the back of his saddle. His hat was tied down with a muffler, and he wore thick gloves. Something squirmed at the front of his saddle, and it took her another instant of blinking concentration to realize it was the puppy, mostly hidden by the slicker and being carried crossways like she'd seen sick calves carried by cowboys on horseback.

  "What the hell happened?"

  "The car skidded off the road." It dented her pride, but what was the use of trying to hide an obvious fact? "I went looking for you. I thought, hoped, you could give me a push."

  "No."

  Before she could do more than blink, he said, "Only a fool would stay here trying to dig this thing out of the ditch. Gather anything you need from the car." Then he snapped out a final order. "And close that damned window."

  There wasn't anything to gather from the car except her purse, so after rolling up the window, she turned off the engine, put the keys in her purse and slung the strap across her body.

  She pushed the door open. The snow was noticeably deeper despite having been tramped down by her previous comings and goings.

  "Why is Sin—?"

  The blast of the wind took the rest of her words off to another county, but apparently he'd caught enough.

  "Because he has no more sense than you do about staying out of a storm. Give me that thing." He gestured for her purse and she handed it up to him, then slid to the edge of the seat to start the awkward maneuver of getting out of the slanted car. She'd been in Wyoming long enough to know he wouldn't dismount unless he had to, because that increased the risk of the horse bolting, and having a horse in a situation like this was vital.

  "Is he—?"

  "He'll be fine." Holding Sin with his left arm, he leaned sideways from the saddle and stretched out his right ann. "Take my arm."

  "It's okay, I can do it. I don't want to risk putting you off." Her left foot slid, but she caught herself against the frame of the door. Maybe she kept asking questions to distract him from watching her flounder around. "Where were you before? I went to the barn, but nobody was there."

  "Moving stock. Take my arm. You're not going to pull me off."

  "Why were you moving stock?"

  "A few could calf early, and I want 'em someplace I can get to. Now quit asking questions and take my arm, dammit!"

  She clasped his forearm, while he did the same to her. One smooth motion, and he had her out of the car and upright enough to find her footing on the sloped side of the ditch.

  "I was worried about you two." The words helped her not think about the odd sensation that had taken hold in the pit of her stomach.

  "You were worried about us? Are you – no! Don't lock it. If it freezes it'll be harder to get open later. And I doubt anybody's going to steal it."

  She'd started the motion automatically, but what he said made sense. He just didn't have to be so sarcastic about it. She closed the door and moved to the level road while he turned his horse around.

  "Take him," he ordered, putting Sin in her arms. "And don't let him go. I'm not chasing him in a damned blizzard."

  Sin showed no sign of trying to get away, burrowing against the front of her
jacket with a slight shiver when another blast of wind came at them.

  Cal dismounted. Holding firmly to the reins, he shrugged out of the slicker one arm at a time, then put it around her shoulders.

  "I don't need—"

  "Yes, you do. And your arguing is just slowing us down."

  With his having to keep hold of the reins with one hand, her arms full of puppy, and the wind trying to snatch the slicker away from them, getting it on her took concentration and cooperation. The cooperation carried over as he took Sin from her while she mounted, then handed the puppy back. Both of them arranged the long flaps of the slicker to cover both her and the dog as much as possible.

  "Bend low over the horse's neck and it'll cut the wind," he instructed.

  He moved to the horse's head.

  "Cal! Aren't you going to ride?"

  "No. I don't want Reve worn out."

  As they struggled through the world of white and cold, she recognized how wise he was to not use up all the horse's reserves. If she'd had on clothing and boots better suited to the weather, she would have walked, too. As it was, her legs were rapidly following her hands and feet in complete numbness. Sin shivered against her lap.

  If she'd followed her plan to stay in the car until the gas ran out, then tried to walk back here, she probably wouldn't have made it – a humbling admission, even if made only to herself.

  Twice, Cal stopped their progression, as if trying to get his bearings. She didn't know how he could know where they were headed, because even when the stinging wind allowed her to open her eyes wide enough to look around, she saw only a curtain of white. The third time, she saw a fence post, coated on one side by snow, but still showing dark and upright on the other, and realized Cal was following the fence line.

  How long had they been struggling against the storm? She had no idea. They had always been in this white void and they always would be.

  "Okay! We'll have to walk around to the back," Cal shouted.

  It took Taylor a moment to make sense of the words pulled apart by the wind. They'd reached the foreman's cabin, at the side of the front porch, and he was tying the reins to the corner post. The front of the cabin was taking the brunt of the storm, with deep drifts piling up against

  She handed Sin to him, then nearly fell when she tried to get down. Still holding Sin, Cal partially wedged her between himself and the horse's side.

  "I'm okay," she said when she thought she had a chance of staying upright on her own.

  "Stay right behind me, and hold on," he instructed over the howl of the wind, indicating she should grab the back of his jacket. "Try to step in my footprints. It'll be easier."

  She knew he was right, but it sure didn't seem easier. The wind not only presented a wall to break through, but then it whipped around and slapped at her side, nearly knocking her down. And it added the continuous insult to these injuries by hurling stinging points of snow into her face.

  She was huffing and puffing when he stopped. Over his shoulder, he said, "Halfway there. One-minute breather."

  After gulping in some air, he added, "You should have come back here as soon as you got stuck."

  "I did. I checked the house and barn and other buildings. You weren't there, so I went back to my car."

  "Why the hell didn't you go in the house where it's warm? It's open."

  "I didn't want to intrude on your privacy," she said stiffly. Actually, everything she said right now was stiff, because her lips were numb.

  "How could you intrude on my privacy when I wasn't there?"

  "Thank you for pointing that out." Her brittle mood broke in a burst of honesty. "All right, it was stupid. I should have barged into your house and taken over. Is that what you want to hear? I already feel like an idiot for driving the car into a ditch, okay?"

  "Could've happened to anybody."

  If that wasn't just like Cal Ruskoff – giving her grief for what she thought was being considerate of him, then excusing her act that was entirely open to ridicule.

  Apparently he expected no response to his abrupt switch in attitude, because he turned around and resumed their plodding journey. She kept her head down, and concentrated on following the snow-encrusted hems of his jeans.

  She stumbled against something hard, almost going down. Suddenly a hand wrapped around her arm and hauled her up. It took her a moment to realize they'd reached the porch and Cal had dragged her up the steps, which she'd blundered into. Sin was standing outside the door, shaking snow from his coat … unless he was shivering that hard.

  With one motion, Cal opened the door and bundled her through. Sin trotted in behind her, and Cal yanked the heavy wood door closed behind them. They were in a small space between that door and a windowed door leading into the house.

  Her ears roared with the cessation of the wind and her lungs drank in the air that didn't freeze her insides with every breath. She didn't know how long she simply stood there, too numb, too tired to even lean against the wall, before she looked up into Cal's blue-eyed stare.

  The phone started ringing that same instant.

  Cal held the stare during the silence that followed. But with the second ring, he swung around, took an old towel off the line of hooks by the door, draped it over the dog at the same time ordering him to stay, opened the interior door, then strode across the plank floor, yanking off his gloves as he went.

  "Flying W," he said into the receiver. "Yeah, she's here… No. She's not going anywhere." He sounded decidedly grim saying those words. "Not the way it's going out there now… I just rode in from doing that… Yeah … uh-huh … uh-huh … no. Yeah, you too, Matty. One more thing. How'd you know she was here?"

  He listened for a long time, a frown growing. "Yeah, I'll do that."

  He hung up the receiver, grabbed a chair from the nearby table, lifting it by its back, and strode to where she still stood.

  He tugged her inside by her sleeve. He put another towel down just inside for Sin and closed the door to the porch.

  "This stays closed or we lose too much heat."

  "What did Matty say?"

  "Sit." He plunked the chair down. "Take your gloves off. And your shoes."

  She started her numbed fingers tugging at her gloves, but obviously wasn't fast enough to suit him. He put one hand on her shoulder, pushed her into the chair and crouched down in front of her, yanking at her shoes and socks. He had them off and a towel wrapped around them by the time she had the gloves off. Using another towel, he started rubbing her hands.

  "Can you feel anything?"

  The nerves in her hands seemed to burn and sputter, but that discomfort didn't have her full attention. His big hands wrapped the towel around hers, his bent head showed her the thickness and texture of his hair, his upper chest nearly rubbed her knees with his movement.

  "Yes, I can feel."

  His head came up and his gaze met hers. His hands stilled. Neither moved, and Taylor held her breath to see which came into his eyes, the heat or the indifference. Before that question could be answered, his gaze dropped to her mouth, and then he abruptly stood and walked across to a counter that divided the open area where the table sat from the kitchen.

  "No sign of frostbite." Did his voice sound lower than usual?

  "Good. What did Matty say?"

  He leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. "Matty says you're not to try to leave here. They've closed the highway. You couldn't get into town even if we could get your car out."

  "Oh."

  "Matty also says that you can explain to me what brought you all the way out here in that tin can you drive in this storm."

  "It was hardly snowing at all when I started…" She trailed off under his stare. But then she rallied. She'd had a reason for being here. An unselfish reason. Just because it now looked stupid didn't change that her motives had been good.

  "Matty called and said you were fed up with Sin and didn't know what you'd do if one of us didn't come take him off y
our hands right away." Her righteousness hadn't lasted past the half-dozen words. Now her nerve was starting to fray under that unwavering glare. "Matty's truck wouldn't start, and since she and I are responsible for him… You know how Matty can be. She was very, uh, persuasive. And she really sounded worried, so I said I'd come out here and, uh, check on things."

  He just kept looking at her.

  "Well, dammit, say something, Ruskoff."

  "You believed her?"

  "Why shouldn't I? Matty had no reason to lie." That drew another of those snorts. "You weren't exactly overjoyed to take him in the first place. It wasn't unreasonable. And he's my responsibility – mine and Matty's."

  "So you thought I'd open the door and drop-kick him out into a blizzard?"

  "It wasn't sno—"

  "Oh, yeah, I forgot. It wasn't snowing yet." He turned away, grumbling under his breath. Curses, she suspected. "Well, it sure as hell is snowing now. And it's going to keep snowing. So you're not going anywhere anytime soon. And let's get one thing straight – Sin isn't going anywhere at all. I'm responsible for him from now on. Understand?"

  "Yes."

  "Good. I'm going to take care of my horse and the rest of them in the barn. Then I'll come back. You stay put. Understand?"

  As if she intended to go out for a stroll. But all she said was, "Yes."

  * * *

  She was in the lion's den.

  Or the hermit's cave, she thought, remembering Matty's comment. Or maybe the hermit crab's shell.

  "That's the one that fits," she told Sin as she used the towel to pull out lumps of snow matting his coat. "Because he's a hermit, and he's definitely a crab."

  Leaving her coat on to fight the chill that had surely attached itself to her bones, she sat on one towel, wrapped another around her feet and got to work on the puppy's snow-crusted back.

  "A hermit and a crab," she repeated. The puppy didn't respond, busy lapping up a morsel of snow that had fallen to the floor.

  What did a hermit crab do to an intruder who ventured into his shell? She had a good idea of what a lion did. It wasn't a pleasant thought.