Snowbound in Sweetwater Ranch

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Snowbound in Sweetwater Ranch Page 7

by RaeAnne Thayne


  Katherine gestured the figure inside and Peter had the feeling he was much younger than he expected. That impression was confirmed when the figure removed his heavy wool face mask, revealing a teenager of no more than fourteen or fifteen.

  Peter had an impression of wiry strength and the kind of competence that seemed bred into the bones of children raised on ranches.

  “Joseph!” Katherine Crosby exclaimed. “I wasn’t expecting you. Is your father outside?”

  “No, ma’am. He’s home. We lost part of the roof on one of the hay sheds last night. Dad was working on it and slipped off.”

  “Oh, no!”

  Peter wondered at the genuine distress he thought he saw on her features. He hardly would have expected her to be concerned for a neighbor to her family’s hobby ranch, one she probably barely knew.

  “Is he all right?” Katherine asked.

  “No, ma’am,” the boy said again. “Doc Harp met us at the clinic to X-ray it and she said his leg is broke in two places. He’s got to stay off it for the next couple months. Dad was real worried about you over here, what with the Taylors gone and the storm and all, so he sent me to help out. Hope that’s okay with you.”

  “No! No, it’s not okay.”

  Peter narrowed his gaze. There was the spoiled rich bitch he would have expected. She didn’t have to throw a tantrum about not getting her own way. Not when the kid was only trying to help. He was about to intervene when she went on quickly, surprising him again.

  “With your father hurt, I’m sure you must be needed at home, aren’t you? The Bar S is much bigger than Sweetwater.”

  “My dad said I’m to help you out. Feed and water the stock and so forth.”

  “You tell your father not to spend a minute worrying about me over here,” she said. “You need to be with your family. I can take care of things here.”

  He paused, fingering his wool cap, worry on his young features. “A hay bale can be mighty heavy. No offense, Ms. Crosby, but are you sure a little thing like you can handle things here by yourself?”

  “I’m hardly a little thing, Joseph,” she said with a laugh. “Anyway, I won’t be by myself. This is my, um, my…”

  Her voice trailed off and for some ridiculous reason, Peter found it amusing that she couldn’t quite come up with a word to classify him.

  “My friend, Peter Logan,” she finally said. “He can help me.”

  He was further amused to find himself on the receiving end of a skeptical look from the kid, who undoubtedly figured he was some worthless city yuppie.

  “You know anything about cattle, sir?” the boy asked.

  He knew he liked his steaks medium-rare, but that was about it. He wasn’t about to confess, though. “Enough,” he lied. He gave a confident, take-charge kind of smile to set the kid’s mind at rest. “We’ll be just fine. Ms. Crosby’s right. A man’s got to look after his family first.”

  The boy still looked unconvinced, but Katie ushered him out the door so smoothly Peter didn’t think he was even aware of it. “You go on home and help your mother and brother with your own livestock,” she said. “If we run into trouble, we’ll call you. I promise.”

  He was clearly torn between obeying his father and taking care of the many chores at the Bar S. Finally he nodded, though he still looked worried. “My dad said Mr. Taylor should have left a note in the tack room with instructions on how much to feed the horses and how much hay to take out to the cattle. You’ll have to also make sure the trough heaters are working so the drinking water doesn’t freeze.”

  Since the ranch caretaker was so organized that he left detailed notes about starting a generator, Peter wasn’t at all surprised to learn he had left the same kind of clear instructions for watering and feeding the stock.

  “We’ll be fine,” Katherine assured him again. “You tell your father not to worry a minute about us. Tell him to save his energy for healing that leg of his.”

  “I’ll do that, ma’am.”

  With one last worried look, the boy disappeared once more inside his winter gear, mounted the snowmobile at the bottom of the porch then roared off down the driveway.

  “What now?” Peter asked when the throb of the sled’s motor had faded to a distant roar.

  She smiled, the first one she’d given him since his arrival the day before. “First we’d better find you something warmer than that leather jacket you came in. Then I guess we get to work.”

  * * *

  She could do this.

  Katie pulled on the warmest, thickest gloves she could find in the mudroom while she repeated the mantra to herself. She was a bright, healthy woman. She was strong, she was invincible, yada yada yada.

  If she could keep from throwing up the half bagel she’d managed to choke down for breakfast, she just might make it through.

  And if she could keep her mind away from the dangerous memory of how sleep-rumpled and sexy Peter Logan had looked that morning, she just might be able to control her chaotic hormones enough to keep her out of trouble.

  You’re already in a world of trouble, Katherine Celeste, a sly little voice in her head mocked.

  But she didn’t have to make things worse by doing something utterly stupid like falling in love with him. She could only be relieved that Peter despised her so she wasn’t tempted to complicate the mess by sleeping with him again.

  She was relieved, she told herself. It was better this way. Once the storm cleared, he would return to Portland and leave her alone. He would likely want nothing more to do with her. And she could think of no reason for their paths to cross again.

  She would be free to have her child alone and he would never know their single night of passion had left any legacy behind.

  She drew in a shaky breath, fighting off the sudden depression that had settled on her shoulders, colder and heavier than even eighteen inches of snow. She had no choice, she reminded herself, and walked into the great room to face him.

  Despite her lingering nausea and the ache in her heart, she had to laugh at the picture he made. The Portland gossip columnists would have a tough time believing the man zipping into brown insulated coveralls was the same sexy, urbane CEO they loved to write about, the one who consistently made it on to Portland’s Top Ten Best-Dressed list.

  Peter was a big man but Clint was huge, both tall and broad. His coveralls on Peter bagged in every direction.

  He looked up at the sound of her laughter. “At least they’re roomy,” he said with a wry look.

  Maybe it was a stress release from the tension still simmering between them, but her laughter seemed to bubble out like water from a geyser. “Look at it this way,” she said. “If there are any half-frozen calves out there, we’ll know just where to put them to warm them up.”

  “You can just forget that idea right now. I’m not sharing. Any half-frozen calves will just have to find their own heat source.”

  He finished zipping up the coveralls, watching her with an odd light in his eyes as her laughter faded. “Okay, I’m ready,” he said. “Are you sure you’re up to this? You’re still looking a little peaked. I can probably take care of things on my own.”

  So much for that vaunted pregnancy glow, Katie thought. She looked horrid and she knew it perfectly well. She just had to keep him from figuring out why.

  “I’m fine. Let’s go,” she muttered, and led the way out into the teeth of the storm.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Once they were outside, she wasn’t surprised when Peter took over the lead, bearing the full brunt of the wind that cut like jagged glass, even through all the layers. Despite her six-foot-tall moving windbreak, the storm still hurled swirling snowflakes at her like tiny, sharp stones that stung her eyes and lodged in every exposed nook.

  Peter shortened his stride through the knee-high snowdrifts to match hers so she was better able to walk in his footsteps. She was grateful for his thoughtfulness. It was hard enough fighting the wind without having to blaze a path through the sn
ow.

  The three hundred feet from the house to the sturdy barn seemed to take an eternity to cross but at last they reached the door. Both of them worked another several moments clearing snow with their gloved hands away from the doorway so they could slide open the door.

  By the time they made it inside, Katie was exhausted and queasy enough to fear the bagel would make a reappearance.

  Peter pulled off his hat and gloves as Clint’s two border collies greeted them with quick, well-mannered barks. He leaned down to pet one, shaking his head. “That storm is incredible. I’ve never seen anything like it!”

  “Neither have I. I’ve been here a few times during storms but they were nothing like this. This is intense, even for western Wyoming. I can’t believe it’s March.”

  “Remind me to heed the weather forecast the next time I’m tempted to take off from Portland on a whim.”

  She wouldn’t be around to remind him of anything, she thought with another pang. Back in the city, they would go their separate ways. He would return to the helm of Logan, probably still believing she stole company secrets. This interlude of theirs would probably add more fuel to the Logan-Crosby feud.

  She hoped her baby never found out how much her father despised her mother.

  “I suppose it’s a good thing I did,” Peter went on, scratching the other dog. “Come out here, I mean. You never could have handled this on your own.”

  She wasn’t completely helpless. Really, she probably knew more about horses and cattle than he did from all the time she had spent out here. This further evidence of his poor opinion of her stung, she had to admit.

  “I would have figured something out,” she muttered.

  He raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You would have been in one hell of a bind on your own out here and we both know it.”

  She would have had a rough time of it alone, she had to admit, especially with the nausea so close to the surface and the fatigue weighing her down. To say she was glad he’d come to Sweetwater would have been a gross exaggeration, so she opted to change the subject.

  “Let’s find out what we have to do, shall we? Joseph said Clint left the instructions in the tack room, right over here.”

  Clint kept the barn in ruthless order. Just like the rest of his domain, it was clean and well organized—no clutter, no loose hay, no scattered tools. The tack room was used as the ranch office. A huge, scarred pine desk with a computer dominated the room, along with a couple of worn armchairs and one entire wall hung with saddles and bridles and leads. The smell of leather and horses was heavy in the room.

  They found the note addressed to Darwin Simmons on a bulletin board behind the desk, sandwiched between an invoice from the feed and grain in Jackson and a list of phone numbers.

  Katie tugged off her gloves to pull the note down. Peter stood behind her to peer over her shoulder, and she was suddenly intensely conscious of his nearness. Heat emanated from him in the cool room. He had taken time for a quick shower before bundling into the winter gear and she could smell clean soap and some indefinable scent uniquely Peter.

  Pregnancy had definitely made her sense of smell more acute. The scent of him, familiar and erotic, instantly transported her to the night they spent together, reminding her of tasting every inch of his skin, of inhaling that scent as he kissed her, of lying in his arms and feeling safe and warm and wanted.

  Oh, how she craved that again.

  The intense hunger came out of nowhere and she drew in a sharp breath. What was the matter with her? Peter despised her and thought she had tricked him like some corporate Mata Hari into sleeping with her only so she could worm out Logan secrets.

  She was foolish to even think about their night together. It would never happen again and wanting the impossible only wasted energy she couldn’t afford to expend. Might as well wish for that storm out there to suddenly stop, she thought. She had as much chance of controlling her thoughts as she did of controlling the weather.

  Where was she? She had lost her place, she realized with chagrin. Even worse, her body had instinctively leaned back toward his, drawn by his heat and the invisible ties that bound them inexorably together. She jerked upright just before she would have settled against him, just as if she had every right to snuggle there.

  Had he noticed? she wondered. How could he have missed the motion? Embarrassed color flooded her face and her gaze flew to his. She found him watching her, a disconcerted expression in his eyes.

  He cleared his throat and stepped away, putting space between them. “It all looks fairly self-explanatory,” he said. “I’ll take care of the cattle, you can feed and water the horses.”

  She didn’t register his words for a few moments, still lost in her mortification. When she did, her spine straightened and she forgot all about being embarrassed.

  “Forget it,” she said sharply. “You take care of the horses and I’ll see to the cattle.”

  Sweetwater’s dozen horses could all be fed and watered from inside the barn, but the small herd of cattle were pastured out in the open, in the middle of the wind and swirling snow.

  “I’m taking care of the cattle,” he said, his voice leaving no room for arguments.

  She didn’t let his hard tone stop her. “It’s my family’s ranch. I won’t ask you to go out into that storm again, just to help a Crosby.”

  A muscle worked in his jaw, as if he didn’t like being reminded of her last name. “You didn’t ask. I offered. No, I’m not offering, I’m insisting. Whether they’re Crosby cattle or not, they still need to be fed.”

  “I can do it.”

  “You’re a hell of a liar, Celeste, but even you won’t be able to convince me you’re able to haul a hundred-pound hay bale, not when I can tell you’re still feeling under the weather.”

  She didn’t like being reminded of how horrible she knew she must look—or the reason for it. “I would be doing everything myself if you hadn’t come charging out to Sweetwater like some damn avenging angel. I can handle it. I’m tougher than I look.”

  “So am I. And if you want to see how tough I can really be, keep arguing.”

  She bristled. “Are you threatening me, Logan?”

  He narrowed his gaze. “Damn right. Shut up or I’ll lock you in this tack room until I’m done feeding all the cattle and the horses.”

  One look at his hard expression warned her he would make good on the threat. She blew out a frustrated breath but wasn’t quite ready to give up. “You might run Logan with that iron fist of yours, but this ranch belongs to me and my family.”

  “I don’t see anybody else here but you and me.”

  “Peter—”

  “Give it up. You won’t win this one.” He headed for the door. “I’ll meet you back here when I’m done.”

  “Take the dogs,” she called out just before he went outside. “They’ll help you find your way back to the barn with this poor visibility.”

  After he left with Luke and Millie in the lead, she fought a completely childish urge to throw something at the door behind him or at least to stomp her boot on the plank floor.

  He was right. That was the hardest pill to swallow. She wanted to think she was capable and self-sufficient, but deep in her heart, she knew she would have been in a terrible bind without him here. She couldn’t carry a hay bale by herself, even a few hundred feet to the fenceline of the vast pasture where the cattle grazed.

  She knew she would have figured something out—maybe she could have rigged up one of the horses to help haul the hay bales out—but it would have taken her hours to do everything. In her current condition, she would have been completely exhausted.

  Still, he didn’t need to be so high-handed. Threatening to lock her in the tack room of her own ranch!

  After a few more moments of fuming—and willing her morning sickness to subside—she sighed and rose from Clint’s chair. If she didn’t get off the south side of her pants, as Clint would say, Peter would finish his share of the workload be
fore she did hers, even though he had the bigger job. And wouldn’t she just hate that?

  For the next hour, she cleaned out stalls and forked fresh straw and checked the water in each trough. She put out feed according to Clint’s instructions and made sure the dogs had food and water in their snug little corner of the barn.

  In the process, her nausea receded, to her vast relief. She even started to enjoy being among the horses. She saved her favorite for last, a bay with the prosaic name of Susan.

  Katie loved the little mare and rode her whenever she stayed at the ranch. Susan wasn’t the flashiest of horses on the ranch or the quickest or the strongest, but she was sturdy and dependable.

  When she neared the horse’s stall, Susan whinnied a greeting and edged close for her expected treat.

  “I didn’t bring you anything this time, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

  Susan seemed quick to forgive. She nuzzled Katie’s shoulder through the insulated coveralls. “Next time I’ll bring you a goodie, I promise. I was just a little distracted this morning. Any woman would have been if she woke up with a gorgeous man in her kitchen—even a bossy, annoying one like Peter Logan.”

  Susan snorted and it sounded so much like the horse agreed with her that Katie couldn’t help laughing.

  Just as abruptly, her laughter faded. To her considerable dismay, she found herself sobbing instead. For the first time since discovering she was pregnant, Katie gave in to the jumbled emotions raging through her—anxiety and fear and dismay and joy.

  Susan nickered and nudged her shoulder again, as if she wanted to give comfort, and Katie buried her face in the horse’s warm neck. Where was all this emotion coming from? she wondered. It sneaked up on her out of nowhere, and she didn’t know how to cope with it.

  Not that she was ever much good at handling emotions, Katie thought. She had spent so much of her childhood trying to stay out of trouble that she suppressed the natural highs and lows every child learns to contend with. After her engagement ended so disastrously, she finally forced herself to see a therapist. Dr. Sikes helped her figure out that she turned to food to avoid facing the thick soup of emotions simmering inside her—the rage and rejection and loneliness.

 

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