by Calista Fox
She hurried over to the extra refrigerator in the tack room and extracted a pink box with a white satin ribbon up each side and tied into a bow on top. She always did her pies up right.
Handing over the box, along with a small bag from the freezer, Reva said, “There’s also a container of vanilla ice cream and some cinnamon.”
“You don’t miss a thing.” He grinned again. Then he headed out.
Reva followed him, saying, “Now don’t go forgettin’ about Macy Dalton’s retirement luncheon in two weeks. We’re all expecting you—Macy, in particular.”
“I’m not so sure I’m going to make that one,” he confessed. “I give back-to-back lessons around that time on Sundays.”
“Macy Dalton has twin grandsons who come from a long line of champion jumpers and they’ll be ready to climb on the backs of ponies within the year.” She gave him a pointed look.
“Then I’ll be there.”
She nodded. “Had a feeling you’d reconsider.”
Sam opened the passenger door of his truck and set the desserts on the floor. The scrawny pup snuggled under the wool blanket on the bench seat stirred and poked his nose out. His dry nose, much to Sam’s dismay. The yellow Labrador wasn’t doing so hot.
Reva spotted the little hound and leaned in, clapping her gloved hands together. “Oh, my gosh, Sam. He’s so adorable. When’d you get a dog?”
Crossing his arms over his chest, he told her, “Wasn’t exactly a premediated decision. I found him alongside the road, not far from the ranch. In the snow, looking damn-near starved to death and brutally kicked around.”
Reva gently peeled back the wool and gasped. The pup’s pale body was covered in black-and-blue marks, along with several cuts. She pressed a hand to her mouth. More tears sprang to her eyes.
Sam reached around her and covered the Lab up again. “He ought to be okay in a couple of weeks. I’d be happier if I could get him to eat more than a few bites here and there, but it’s like he doesn’t trust me to feed him proper food or something.”
Composing herself, Reva said, “He’ll come around. You just have to keep talking softly to him and showing him you’re not going to hurt him.”
Sam shut the door and he and Reva rounded the front of the truck.
She added, “Take those roads home slow, now. It’s starting to get dark.”
He chuckled. “You worry a little too much about everyone. I’ll be fine.”
Resting a hand on his forearm, she stared up at him and said, “I really do appreciate everything you’ve done for my family since Hank got sick. And to be so concerned about Layton.” She seemed to fight more emotion as she told him, “You’re very special, Sam. Now if I could just find the right woman for you.”
She lightened the mood with her joke. Though she was actually serious.
Sam said, “I’m not lookin’ for one, Reva.”
“He says that today,” she wistfully jested.
Sam tried to keep his expression neutral, forced his shoulders not to bunch. He’d had the woman he’d wanted, once upon a time. A kid on the way, too.
A son.
But one asshole who’d been stupid enough to get behind the wheel when he’d had too much to drink had altered Sam’s future in a flash.
He still hadn’t recovered. Could still feel Cassidy in his arms as he’d held her shaking body while sirens had wailed too far in the distance and her blood had covered his chest, his arms, his hands. It’d been impossible to separate where the wounds began and where they ended. She’d been a mangled mess to rival the car.
And there hadn’t been a goddamn thing Sam could do to save her.
But he tried really hard not to dwell on the past. To keep the nightmares at bay.
Not dating—not getting emotionally involved—helped with that. He was nowhere near ready to open himself up like that again.
So he politely deflected when it came to Reva’s good-intentioned attempts at matchmaking.
She headed toward the tack room, saying, “I’ve got some more organizin’ to do. Sorting out what Layton might be able to use of Hank’s and his granddaddies’ for the upcoming competitions. I’ll see you at the party.”
“You take care.” Sam slid behind the wheel. The pup shifted under the blanket and all but threw his slight weight against Sam’s jean-clad thigh, getting as close as he could, in hopes of body heat or maybe just physical reassurance.
Sam cranked the key in the ignition and warmth flooded the cab. He backed into the turnaround spot and then drove off the property. The light snoring of the puppy filled the silence as Sam headed south on 93 toward Lakeside. It was a raspy, slightly strained sound. But steadier than it’d been when Sam had found the stray a few days ago.
Sam didn’t bother putting on music, just ran through his schedule for the week in his mind. As he entered Lakeside, he shifted his thoughts to anything he might need to pick up before returning to his remote home. But he was accustomed to stocking up for long, hard winters and couldn’t think of anything he hadn’t replenished or duplicated on a previous trip into town.
So he drove through and continued south. The roads were covered with fresh powder and starting to ice over with the drop in temperature. He was about five miles from the offshoot to the ranch when his cell rang.
Sam yanked off his glove with his teeth and reached for his phone tucked into the inside pocket of his brown distressed-leather jacket with shearling trim to protect against the bitter cold. He hit the connect button. “This is Reed.”
“Where you at?” came the deep, staccato tone of his friend Bill Hollis.
“Almost to the house.”
“Great. Can you take a call? I just got an SOS for a three-car pileup half a mile south of Lakeside. Sheriff is closing 93, coming and going, in that area.”
Sam spared a glance in his rearview mirror. “Happy to know I made it through. Is everyone okay?”
“No medical emergency vehicles requested. For the pileup or the tow call I took. Female driver. Ought to be right up your alley.”
“Ha-ha.”
“From what she described by way of scenery, she’s just shy of the ranch. Red SUV in the ditch. Can’t miss her is my guess.”
“You tell her to stay put?”
“Not my first rodeo, cowboy.”
Sam snickered.
Bill added, “She’s an out-of-towner in a rental. Gotta be a bit on the crazy side to be on these roads right now, so I figure she won’t mind you in the least.”
“Gee, thanks,” he deadpanned.
“I don’t know what the hell you’re going to do with her, since she can’t get to Lakeside now. Maybe have her backtrack to Rollins. I don’t know where she was headed to in the first place.”
“I’ll take care of it. You go clean up 93 so folks out this way can actually make it into town come morning.”
“Give me a holler when you’re done.”
“You got it.” Sam hung up and pocketed the phone again. Fifteen minutes later, his headlights caught a flash of red and two high beams pointing into a tall, solid bank of snow. “Ouch.” He crossed the oncoming lane and came to a stop about six feet from the SUV, facing it, since he had a winch attached to the front of the dually.
Sam tossed off his seat belt and climbed out of the truck. As he approached the driver’s side of the other vehicle, the window cracked.
He said, “I hear you need a little help.”
“I tried Roadside Assistance and Triple A. They couldn’t get a read on my location with their handy-dandy GPS systems. So they gave me a number to a local tow company. Guy should be on his way.”
“Yeah, he’s detained.”
“Detained?”
Sam couldn’t see inside the SUV because there were no interior lights on, but he didn’t actually need to witness the sardonic expression on the woman’s face. He could perfectly envision it, thanks to her edgy tone.
He explained, “There’s a wreck south of Lakeside. Both lanes are clos
ed.”
“Shit.” Now disconcertion filled her voice. “I was on my way there for the evening.”
“Well, your best bet is to find a motel room in Rollins. Though…” He spared a glance up at the sliver of a moon and the clouds thinly shrouding it, glowing with a pinkish tinge. Telling of that heavy snowfall Reva had mentioned earlier. “It’s not so wise to be traveling when we’re about to get dumped on.”
The fat flakes were coming down steadily as it was.
She said, “The forecast called for light flurries only.”
“These are considered light flurries in Montana. Now … do you need water? Are you warm enough? Are you hurt at all?”
“I’m fine. Just a cut on my palm, but I have some napkins covering it.”
“Good. Okay, then. Let’s—”
“You’re a professional?”
“Recreational,” he told her between clenched teeth. They were wasting time here. “I do what I can to help folks out.”
She let out a long breath. “Of course. I appreciate that. Uh, I tried to check out the damage to the front right tire; that’s how I cut myself. On the metal. It’s dented in.”
“I’ll take a look to see if you need stitches.” He pulled on the door handle, but it was locked.
She didn’t bother releasing it.
Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes. A woman from out of town—and particularly if she was from a big city—wouldn’t trust even an auxiliary tow truck driver without a business card and a sign slapped on the side panel. A half-dozen references on a fancy Web site.
So he said, “How about I check out the vehicle first?”
“That’d be good.”
He left her to inspect the front end with enough illumination from her headlights and the flashlight he retrieved from his truck to discern everything was okay, with the exception of the wheel well on the passenger’s side being severely bashed in.
He winced. That could prove difficult. But it was worth a try to attempt pulling her out.
He returned to the cracked window and said, “This could be a bigger problem, but let’s at least see about getting you out of the ditch.”
“Might as well. It’s not as though I’ll cause a traffic jam if I end up blocking the lane. I haven’t seen another car in over an hour.”
“You’d be safer in my truck while I hook up the winch and ease this sucker out.”
“Is that really necessary?” she quietly countered.
“I assure you, it’s standard operating procedure for professionals and nonprofessionals alike.”
She sighed. Unlocked the door. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”
“Lucky for you I’m thick-skinned.” He pulled the door open and helped her to the ground.
When she had steady footing in the snow, she stared up at him and asked, “You wouldn’t happen to know how far Reed Ranch is from here?”
His gaze narrowed on her, her question distracting him from silky flaming red curls and big green eyes. A beautifully sculpted face. Crimson lips.
Well, not entirely distracting him.
He shoved a hand through his hair, dampened by snowflakes. Sam couldn’t remember the last time he’d met a woman who stole his breath. This one did it easily. In a heartbeat.
Forcing himself to speak, he countered with, “What business do you have with Sam Reed?”
She smiled slyly, causing his groin to tighten. “That’s between myself and Mr. Reed.”
“Fine. What business do you have with me?”
Her emerald gaze turned quizzical.
“Sam Reed.” He held out his hand. “At your service.”
“Oh, shit,” she said on a sharp breath. Shook her head. “Doesn’t that just figure?”
Now he was the one who was puzzled.
She let out a low groan, then thrust her right hand toward him, the one not bleeding. “Scarlet Drake. Insurance fraud investigator.”
Didn’t that just figure indeed.
He folded his arms over his chest, without the obligatory shake. “You showed up on my doorstep quicker than I expected.”
“I’m not actually on your doorstep. But how’d you know I was coming?”
“Michael called me.” He dropped his arms, closed the door behind her, and gestured to his truck. “Might as well get in before you freeze to death. I wouldn’t want to be blamed for that, too.”
She huffed. “I’m not here to accuse. I’m just here to get a few answers.”
“How about we start with determining how bad the damage is to your vehicle? Go from there?”
“Right.” She marched past him and jerked on the handle of his cab. Then gave a little squeal of joy. “A puppy!”
“Careful,” Sam hastily cautioned. “He’s skittish.”
“Says who?” she asked as the dog all but launched himself into her arms and nuzzled her neck, burying his tiny head in her mass of hair.
“Or a traitor,” Sam grumbled.
Scarlet climbed into the truck, and with the cab lights on Sam could see her cuddle with the mutt, who still had his blanket mostly wrapped around him. She appeared to be very gentle with him, though, so Sam didn’t say anything about his injuries. Instead, Sam set about connecting the cable from the winch and towing out the SUV. The tire made a god-awful screeching sound as the metal rubbed against it.
Fuck.
That likely meant tire damage. So that even if Sam could pull the dent in the wheel well this evening, he couldn’t get her back on the road to Rollins without a new tire. And if the spare wasn’t full sized, there was no point in putting it on in this weather. She’d have to wait for a match to be located in stock and delivered or for 93 to be cleared so Sam could pick the tire up.
Son of a bitch.
He just might be stuck with her for the evening.
A woman who likely thought he had something to do with 18 million dollars’ worth of missing artwork.
A woman who’d instantly gotten his blood flowing a bit faster in his veins and had, miraculously, immediately won over the usually cowering pup—who was now nestled so deep in her dark-auburn strands, it looked as though he’d practically crawled around to the nape of her neck and settled in for the rest of winter.
She didn’t seem to mind in the least. Appeared quite taken with the little scamp.
Damn it all to hell.
Sam was going to like her.
And didn’t that just jack his program to high heaven?
SEVEN
Scarlet was head over heels in love.
The little guy burrowed into the collar of her ski jacket and her hair, one paw at the base of her throat, the other tucked along her shoulder, had squirmed his way into position and now lay perfectly still, breathing a bit uneasily, as though he had a touch of allergies. He was out like a light; she was certain of it.
The other guy wasn’t so bad, either.
Sam Reed had a tall, wide build. Athletic. Powerful. He had longish, disheveled brown hair—not quite qualifying as dark, but not quite medium. Bronzed skin, despite it being winter. Apparently, he spent a lot of time outdoors, even during inclement weather. The tan set off his sky-blue eyes.
She stole glances at him as he expertly eased the truck down the empty two-lane highway in reverse, tugging along her rental. When he reached a side road that was barely noticeable with all the snow covering its opening, he plowed right over the soft bank and continued uphill, carefully towing the SUV. His arm was slung over the back of the seat and he gazed behind him, then into the windshield to check on the other vehicle, then behind him again.
No wonder he’d been insulted earlier. He clearly knew what the hell he was doing.
“Sorry about the grilling I gave you,” she contritely said.
“Actually, you’d be remiss if you didn’t grill me. Stranded out in the middle of nowhere. Not bein’ from around here. Granted, it’s safe enough, for the most part. We don’t get any homicidal tendencies even four months into a biting winter.”
>
She laughed softly. “I’m sure the endless ‘flurries’ can seem wearing after a while, but so far I’m just astounded. This is really beautiful country. And I don’t mind the snow. Except when something with antlers comes galloping across the road and I have to swerve to avoid hitting him.”
“Galloping?”
She shot Sam a look. “What do deer do?”
“Sure it was a deer? Could have been an elk.”
With a nod, she said, “It was rather large.”
“Courteous of you to spare his life. And if it was an elk, you saved yourself fewer injuries than just your hand.”
“That was my thinking.”
He reached the top of the first slope, with several more rising behind them. They passed under a wide, rounded sign that artistically declared “Reed Ranch” and crested a mammoth clearing at the base of the rolling hills decorated with snow-covered trees.
Sam stopped the truck before an oversized garage and cut the engine. He worked a house key from its ring and handed it over. “To the back door. Careful on the deck. It’ll be slippery. Take the dog with you. The fires are going inside to take the chill off. I’ll unhook the cable and get your stuff from the SUV. Just … Be gentle with him.” He hitched his chin toward the still-burrowed puppy. “Someone made sport of him.”
Her eyes widened.
“Just … Soft voice. Light touch. That kind of thing.”
“Damn it,” she whispered, her voice cracking.
“He’ll be okay,” Sam said with unmistakable emphasis.
Scarlet wasn’t sure who Sam Reed was trying to convince more—her … or himself.
She said, “I’ll be extremely gentle.”
“Let me get the door for you.”
He slipped out on his side and went around to hers. Helped her out again.
Scarlet crossed to the enormous redwood wraparound deck, the ledge of the railing laden with a good six inches of new snow. She cautiously tromped through the powder and unlocked the wood-trimmed glass door. Inside, the warmth enveloped her and she inhaled the scent of the blazing fires and the hint of apple spice.
This portion of the house boasted an open kitchen with granite counters showcasing an artistically crafted bi-level island. There was an overhead rack that pots and pans dangled from. A double oven built into the wall. A brushed-nickel farmhouse sink, six-burner gas stove with a grill and a griddle, and a gorgeous glass-French-door Sub-Zero refrigerator.
