by R. C. Ryan
Just the thought of home had him smiling as he drifted into sleep.
Favoring her shoulder, Cheyenne undressed slowly before turning out the light and climbing into bed. After sleeping away most of the day, she ought to be feeling wide awake. But the truth was, she felt sluggish. As though her brain and her body had somehow disconnected.
She thought again about the mustang’s unexpected attack. It had all happened so quickly. In the blink of an eye she’d been rendered nearly unconscious from the pain. If not for Quinn’s quick thinking, she wouldn’t be lying here comfortably in her own bed. She shivered and drew the blanket firmly around her.
As warm as Quinn’s arms.
The thought had her eyes going wide. Quinn’s arms? Around her?
Had she dreamed it, or had he actually held her? In fact, kissed her?
She touched a finger to her lips. In that instant the realization dawned.
It hadn’t been a dream. He had held her and kissed her, and she’d kissed him back.
The feelings that had stayed with her throughout the day hadn’t been just her imagination. The wild thrill that had coursed through her veins, the hot, sexual awareness that had remained even in sleep, was real.
And then she remembered her words.
Have I told you that you’re easy to look at?
Hold me, Quinn.
Kiss me, Quinn.
And he had. Sweet heaven, he had. Because she had initiated it.
On the one hand, she was mortified at her own boldness. The man had saved her life, and she’d acted like some kind of seductress. She knew it was out of character. Knew, instinctively, that it had been the effects of the tall glass of whiskey. But she couldn’t deny that she’d enjoyed it.
Even while her face grew hot with the memory, she found herself smiling at the amazing feelings that lingered.
Quinn Conway wasn’t only easy to look at; he was also a man to be trusted. She could have found herself in a precarious situation, if he hadn’t proven to be a perfect gentleman.
A perfect gentleman. And a fantastic kisser.
She was still smiling as she drifted into sleep.
Quinn had always been a light sleeper. He’d never decided if that was a blessing or a curse. Many a night as a kid he’d lain awake for hours, hearing sounds in the house that had him absolutely certain that his mother had returned. He would creep down the stairs and peer around in the darkness, eager to hear her call his name.
He’d lost count of the number of disappointments he’d experienced through the years when the sounds turned out to be the hum of a furnace or the rattle of a windowpane in a storm.
Now he lay very still, listening to the alien sounds that told him, with every fiber of his being, that someone was moving around downstairs. He knew he could be wrong. He had no idea what hisses, creaks, and moans this old ranch house was capable of making. But he knew, too, that he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep until he investigated the sounds he was hearing.
He didn’t bother with a shirt or shoes. Pulling on his jeans, he slipped quietly from his room and headed for the stairs.
He was halfway down when a light was suddenly thrown on, momentarily blinding him.
He lifted a hand to shield his eyes.
And heard a deep voice say, “You take one more step, stranger, it’ll be the last you ever take.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Quinn froze.
The man at the base of the stairs was wearing a parka and boots, his head covered by a knit cap, his pale beard frosted with snow. Though not as tall as Quinn, he was powerfully built. His stance, feet planted wide apart, eyes focused and unblinking, gave the impression of a soldier in combat.
He was holding a rifle aimed directly at Quinn’s chest.
“Who are you?” Quinn asked.
“I’ll do the talking here. You’re trespassing, stranger. And the law says I have every right to shoot first and ask questions later and that’s just what I intend—”
“I’m Quinn Conway. And I’m here at the invitation of Cheyenne O’Brien.”
“Liar!” The man’s voice was a snarl of fury. “If you were a friend of Cheyenne’s, I’d certainly know about it.”
Quinn saw the man’s finger tighten on the trigger and braced himself to prepare to hit the floor before the bullet found his heart.
“Austin.” Cheyenne, wearing a sleep shirt and boxer shorts, raced down the stairs and stepped in front of Quinn. “Put down that rifle.”
The man blinked and frowned but continued to take aim.
“Did you hear me? Put it down. Now. Before someone gets hurt.”
Reluctantly he lowered it to his side.
Cheyenne continued to stand in front of Quinn. “What are you doing here, Austin? You’re supposed to be with Wes and the wranglers up in the hills with the herd.”
“I was. But with Micah gone, you were alone.”
“And you rode through a blizzard just to keep me company?”
“That’s my job. We’re family now. I promised your dad I’d take care of you.” He crossed the room in quick strides and dropped an arm around her shoulder. His smile was warm enough to light up the room. “I’m all the family you have. I have a right to worry about you.”
“Oh, Austin.” Her tone was edged with weariness. “What am I going to do with you? There’s no need—”
“There is.” He drew her close and gave her head a quick shake like a big, friendly puppy. “Now, more than ever, I need to worry about you. I heard…” He paused, as though considering his words carefully.
Her head came up. “Heard what?”
He lowered his hand and stepped away. “I heard that Deke Vance was seen nearby. One of the wranglers spotted him, and I was worried that he might learn that you were here all alone.”
“He has a right to be in the area. His ranch is nearby and his cattle share pasture with ours.”
“Maybe so.” He looked past her to where Quinn stood watching and listening. “But now that I see you letting a stranger spend the night, it’s a good thing somebody’s watching out for you.”
“Quinn’s not exactly a stranger. His family owns the big ranch across the hills.” She suddenly remembered her manners. “I’m sorry. Austin Baylor, this is Quinn Conway.”
The two men nodded in silent acknowledgment.
“I never heard Buddy or Dad mention you, Conway.”
Cheyenne was quick to add, “The Conway family may not be close friends, but their ranch has been our neighbor across the hills for a lifetime. And if it weren’t for this good neighbor, I might not be here.”
Austin’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He saved me from a kick by that mustang out in the barn.”
“A kick?” He looked her up and down. “It doesn’t look like you’re any the worse for it.”
“A dislocated shoulder.” She touched a hand to the spot. “I thought I’d pass out from the pain, but I’m fine now, thanks to Quinn. And it could have been so much worse.”
She turned to Quinn, standing on the stair directly behind her, and placed a hand on his arm. “Sorry for that rude awakening.”
“No harm done.” He arched a brow. “Though it could have been deadly if you hadn’t come down when you did. Austin had already convinced himself that I was trespassing, and no amount of explanation on my part was about to change his mind.”
“It’s lucky I could hear the sound of your voices through my closed door.”
Austin shot her a startled look. “You were in your room and he was…?”
“In Buddy’s room.” Cheyenne studied Austin more closely when she realized that he’d assumed something more intimate.
“Hey, man.” Austin’s smile brightened as he extended a hand toward Quinn. “I hope you understand. I’m just more than a little protective of Cheyenne after everything that has happened.”
“Yeah. I get it.” Quinn accepted his handshake.
“It’s lat
e. I’ve had a long day. Now I’m going back to my room”—Cheyenne turned away—“to try to get some sleep.”
As she started up the stairs she paused and turned back to Austin, still standing in the same spot. “Are you going back up to the herd tonight, or are you planning on staying the night in the bunkhouse first?”
He seemed to think about it for a moment before answering. “Guess there’s no reason for me to stay here, since you’ve got your own private bodyguard.” He sucked in a breath. “If you don’t need me, I’ll be heading back up to join the wranglers.”
“ ’Night.” Cheyenne continued up the stairs.
Quinn stayed where he was.
“No need to wait.” Austin’s smile widened. “I’ll let myself out.”
“Just thought I’d lock up when you leave.” Quinn leaned a hip against the stair rail.
“Don’t bother. Didn’t Cheyenne tell you? I’m family. I’ve got a key.” Austin shot him another smile before turning away and walking out the door.
Quinn listened to the turn of the lock before starting up the stairs to bed.
It was understandable for a wrangler to be concerned for the safety of his boss, especially a woman, and one who had been through so much in the past. Cheyenne was lucky to have someone watching her back.
Still, Quinn thought, it had been an interesting introduction to Austin Baylor.
Maybe he’d been spending too much time in the wild. He feared he was reading way too much into this encounter. If he were to describe in his journal what had just transpired, he would say that he’d had an encounter with a feral animal, laying claim to his territory while confronting an unknown predator.
Quinn’s dream was disjointed. He’d been tracking a wolf. A clever, devious wolf that had abandoned its pack and had become a rogue, breaking into locked barns to feast on helpless calves.
Suddenly the animal paused at the very top of a mountain and lifted its head, sniffing after new prey. Quinn, trailing behind, did the same and was startled to smell smoke.
A forest fire. It had to be close by. Already he could hear the crackle of flames.
He sat up, suddenly awake and alert.
Not a dream. The smoke was real. As was the unmistakable sound of a fire.
He raced down the hallway and threw open the door to Cheyenne’s room.
“Fire! Wake up.”
Without giving her time to get her bearings, he lifted her out of bed and set her on her feet.
She jerked awake, clutching his arm for balance.
“Grab some clothes. I’m going to check it out.”
He was gone in an instant, racing down the stairs. Halfway down, he stopped and ran back up.
Cheyenne had hurriedly dressed and was struggling into boots.
“Grab whatever you consider important and bring it to my room.”
Inside he hastily dressed before opening a window and tossing his gear down to the snow-covered porch roof below. At least, he thought with relief, there was something there to break their fall.
When Cheyenne came rushing in, he took the bag from her hands and tossed it out the window.
“I know an open window can fan the flames, but we’re going out over the roof, just in case.” He took her hand and helped her out into the cold. Then he followed behind, quickly closing the window to cut off the draft.
They inched their way across the snow-and-ice-laden flat porch roof until they came to the edge. Quinn tossed his gear, then dropped into the snow and lifted his arms.
“Come on. I’ll catch you.”
“No need.” Cheyenne followed suit, dropping down beside him. “Buddy and I used to go out this way when we didn’t want our parents to hear us leaving.”
From the ground they could see the dull red of flames licking along the wall of the utility room.
Growing up in the area, they both knew that there was no one they could count on but themselves. The town of Paintbrush had a volunteer fire department, but it was made up of business owners and ranchers who could be ready at a minute’s notice to fight fires in town. Ranches that were miles from their nearest neighbor often had to rely on their own resources.
“Do you have a fire extinguisher?”
Cheyenne nodded. “One in the kitchen. Another at the top of the stairs. And a third in the barn.”
He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and rolled it in snow to wet the fabric before tying it over his nose and mouth.
“Stay here.”
With that muttered command he disappeared into the darkness.
Minutes later Cheyenne could make out his silhouette through the window as he located the extinguisher and began spraying foam.
She raced to the barn and grabbed a second extinguisher. With a cloth tied over her lower face she joined him in the house.
By now Quinn had managed to kill the flames in the utility room and kitchen and was spraying foam along the stairway. Cheyenne stepped up beside him, spraying one side of the stairwell while he sprayed the other.
By the time they’d extinguished the last of the flames, they could see that the fire had managed to climb halfway up the stairs.
“A few minutes longer and it would have spread to those rugs along the hallway.” Quinn continued spraying foam up the stairs and along the upper floor, in order to assure that there weren’t any dangerous sparks left.
At his words Cheyenne dropped down on a charred step and stared around in wonder. If the fire had been allowed to reach the upper floor, she and Quinn would have been overcome with smoke and could have possibly died without a chance to escape.
As the enormity of their situation dawned, she felt a trembling begin in her legs, and then her arms, until she was forced to drop the extinguisher.
Quinn started down the stairs. “Okay. I think it’s safe to say we got the most of it. Of course, there could still be some hot spots here and there. I’ll keep—”
He saw Cheyenne, her face in her hands, her body slumped on the stair, and dropped down beside her, gathering her into his arms. “Hey. You all right?”
“Yeah.” Her voice was muffled against his chest. “It’s just…”
“I know.” He could hear the anguish in her voice. And the fear.
“Oh, Quinn, when I think what almost—”
“Let’s get into the fresh air.” He helped her to her feet and kept his arm around her shoulders as he led her through the kitchen and out the utility room door.
Once in the snow they both breathed deeply, filling their lungs with frigid air. That had them both coughing until their lungs cleared.
He caught Cheyenne’s hand. “You’re not going back in there. Too much smoke.”
“Where will we go?”
“The barn.”
They crossed the distance in silence, pausing with each step to breathe deeply.
Quinn paused to slide the heavy door open. Inside, Cheyenne stepped into an empty stall and dropped down into a nest of fresh straw.
Quinn snatched a saddle blanket from the side of the stall and draped it over her shoulders. “Stay here and rest.”
As he started to turn away she caught his hand. “Where are you going?”
“Just going to check on the house one more time, to make sure we got all the sparks.”
She started to scramble up. “I’m going with—”
With both hands on her shoulders he gently pressed her down. “I can handle it. You rest.”
She fumed as she watched him stride away. It was her house. Her responsibility. And though a part of her wanted to stay here and avoid seeing the extent of the damage, another part of her knew that she needed to step up to her responsibility, no matter how frightened she felt.
She caught up with Quinn as he walked through the charred remains of the utility room, which lay in smoldering ruins.
Seeing his look, she put her hands on her hips. “I need to see it for myself.”
As they peered through the smoke and gloom he muttered, “I’m no e
xpert, but it looks as though the fire started here.” He pointed to the furnace, now bent and twisted, and the water heater, which had collapsed and was practically welded to the floor. “Either of these could have been the culprit.”
They made their way to the kitchen, opening windows as they did, to clear the air of smoke and dust. The electric stove was blackened and badly damaged. As was the microwave.
“It could have just as easily begun here with either of these appliances,” Cheyenne pointed out.
“You’re right. Still, my instincts are with the utility room, since the damage was greatest in there.”
She nodded her agreement as she followed him up the stairs.
He paused halfway up to study the area where the fire had been stopped.
“You realize that we were minutes away from disaster. Once the flames ignited the carpet and walls, there would have been no time left to react.”
They each gave an involuntary shudder as they moved quickly along the upper hallway. Finding no evidence of sparks or smoke, they returned to the downstairs area, walking through each room.
After a thorough examination of the entire house, they returned to the barn.
Inside, Cheyenne picked up the discarded saddle blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders. Quinn found another hanging over the side of a stall and wrapped himself in it before dropping down into the straw beside her.
“Think you can sleep?” he asked.
Cheyenne shook her head. “I’m too keyed up.”
“Me, too.”
So many troubling thoughts were racing through his mind.
He was glad now that he’d agreed to stay on another night. He shuddered to think what would have happened to Cheyenne if she’d been asleep upstairs alone.
A faulty furnace or water heater had been the cause of many a household fire on ranches, and with these old wooden structures the outcome was often tragic.
From his quick examination, it certainly looked like the furnace was to blame.
And then he remembered something else Austin had said.
