Then the off ramp was in front of him, he guided the truck onto it, and scant seconds later the semi roared past.
His body sagged suddenly as if all the air had gone out of him.
"Are you all right?" Felicity leaned toward him, her expression worried. "Taggart?"
He straightened and ran his tongue over his lips. "Yeah, of course. I'm … fine." He loosened his grip on the wheel and found that his hands were shaking.
Felicity wasn't convinced. "Is it the storm? Should we be driving in it? Is it too bad?"
"No," he said, relieved his voice didn't sound as shaky as it felt. "I was just … it was … sort of a déjà vu. The accident…"
"Do you want to stop? Go back?" She reached over and laid a hand on his arm. Her touch felt warm, intimate. The last thing he needed right now. He shifted his arm, and she pulled her hand away.
"No. We'll be fine. It was just … seeing those headlights in the mirror." He drew in a deep, careful breath and let it out slowly. "Really. No problem." He turned and gave her the sort of tough-guy-in-charge smile he gave crowds after he rode a bull.
It must not have worked, because Felicity said, "If you want to stop, we'll stop."
"No."
The miles passed slowly. Taggart kept his eyes on what he hoped was the road, though signs of it were fast disappearing beneath the accumulating snowfall. Felicity sat silently, staring out the windshield. Every once in a while he could feel her turn her gaze on him. He kept his straight ahead. He couldn't go faster because visibility was poor. Even if it hadn't been, they wouldn't have made good time on the snow-covered road.
At least they didn't meet many vehicles heading the other way. A couple of trucks, a few cars. It wasn't a night to be out, that was for sure. The road curved and Taggart took his foot off the gas, slowing without braking.
"Look!" Felicity pointed across the road into the field that sloped off from where the curve in the road began. "There's a car over there!" Through the falling snow, Taggart could just barely make it out.
A car coming the other way had missed the turn. As they got closer, Taggart could see two men behind the vehicle, pushing it, while a third tried to steer it back up out of the ditch onto the road. They weren't getting very far. The car had out-of-state plates. Taggart wasn't surprised.
He let the truck slide slowly to a stop on the shoulder. "Wait here." He shut off the engine, climbed out and crossed the road. "Need a hand?"
It turned out they needed more than a hand. Hunters, out for a week's vacation, they hadn't come prepared for the eventualities of fall in Montana.
"It's October," one of them complained. "My God, you're not supposed to have snow in October!"
"Hardly ever seen anything like it," another said, "and I'm from Illinois. My brothers—" he jerked his head at the other two "—live in Florida."
Figures, Taggart thought. He didn't say anything, just went back for his chains.
"Are they all right?" Felicity asked.
"They will be." Provided he could get them out. He thought with the chains he could. Then, if they drove slow enough and didn't try anything fancy—like using the brakes—they could make it to town. He carried the chains back to the car.
"How do you stand it?" one of the Florida brothers asked, shivering in his boots, while Taggart bent to put on the chains.
"You get used to it." Taggart worked in silence after that, giving directions only when he had to. It was easier to do it himself. Finally, when he had the chains on, he straightened up. The snow stung his cheeks. The wind tugged at his hat and he pulled it back down tight.
"That should do it. You steer," he commanded one. "We'll push." He leaned into the back of the car. In a matter of minutes they had the car back on the road.
They fell all over him saying thank you. Taggart shrugged it off. "Where're you headed?"
"Back to Bozeman when the snow lets up. If the snow lets up," one of the Florida brothers added with a sunbelter's skepticism.
"I'd wait till it quits snowing to go over the pass." He might have risked it himself. He knew better than to encourage them to. "You can take the chains."
"But—" The one from Illinois started to argue.
"My folks live in Bozeman. You can drop the chains off with them." Taggart reached inside his jacket and pulled out a pen and one of his business cards. He scrawled his folks' address and phone number on it and handed it over.
"Can't tell you how grateful we are," babbled the Illinois brother.
"Much obliged," agreed both Floridians.
"No problem." To be honest, Taggart had been grateful for the distraction. It was easier putting on chains in a blizzard than sitting next to Felicity in the warm cab of his truck. He stopped now and took a deep breath, gearing himself up for the last few miles. Finally, when the hunters were out of sight, he let out a frosty breath and opened the door to the truck.
It was toasty warm and welcoming, and Felicity was smiling at him. So much for distractions. He sucked in his breath.
"Local hero." She grinned at him.
Taggart knocked the snow off his hat and kicked his boots against the running board. "You got to help each other out when the weather's like this."
"They're lucky you came along."
"I'm a damn fool to be coming along," Taggart said grimly. "I should've paid closer attention this afternoon. I'd never have brought you down for dinner if I'd known."
"I don't mind," she said. "Truly."
I do, Taggart thought.
They moved even more slowly now. Miles he could cover in minutes on clear pavement took more than an hour in weather like this. He was glad Becky was asleep at Noah's. If she weren't, she'd be worrying. The road had completely disappeared by the time they turned onto the county road that led from the highway up into the foothills. Five miles more and they'd reach Elmer. It would feel like fifty before they got there.
Taggart was driving by instinct and feel now. There was no visibility. That was the down side. The up side, he told himself, was that his preoccupation with the storm kept him from thinking so much about Felicity. At least he knew the route like the back of his hand, and he figured that would make the difference.
But just as they came around the bend by the creek, a buck leapt out of the trees in front of him. Instinctively he hit the brakes—and saved the buck. It loped off into the snowstorm and disappeared.
They weren't so lucky.
The truck slewed sideways, then slid down the incline toward the creek.
* * *
"Are you all right?" Taggart's voice was in her ear.
Felicity, who'd banged her head against the door's window as the truck came to a halt, struggled to sit up as straight as she could. "Yes." She was shaken, nothing more. But the truck, she could tell, now sat a steep angle quite a ways down an embankment from the road.
"You're sure?" Taggart was peering at her worriedly, bracing himself against the steering wheel so he wouldn't come sliding into her.
She nodded. "Truly. I'm fine. Are you?" He looked almost white in the light reflected off the snow.
"Okay." He tried to turn and open his door. It wasn't easy due to the angle at which the truck had come to rest.
"I can get mine open," Felicity offered.
"No. You stay here. No sense in you getting any colder." He managed to shove his door open and climb out. Felicity watched him walk around the truck, surveying the damage. She rolled down her window. "Is it bad?"
His mouth twisted. "Depends on what you call bad. The truck's all right."
"But?" she prompted.
He sighed. "But I don't see us getting out of here without the chains I gave our friend from Illinois." He stood, hands on hips, staring at the truck, a grim look on his face. The wind whipped snow into his face, and he turned, hunching his shoulders against its force.
"We can't push it back up?" Felicity knew even as she said the words what the answer would be.
"Nope." He scowled and kicked at the
snow with one booted foot. The wind howled. Felicity wanted to roll up the window, but she didn't want him to feel she was deserting him.
"Come back in," she suggested.
"I'll call Noah on the cellular," he said, then cursed under his breath.
"What's wrong?"
"I forgot. I don't have the cellular with me. Damn it." He slapped his hand against the side of the truck, clearly furious with himself.
Not having a cellular herself, nor ever having had occasion to use one, Felicity wasn't as upset as he was. "Don't worry about it," she said.
"I'll walk."
"In this?" The snow had obliterated every landmark. Felicity had no idea where they were. She supposed Taggart did, but the wind was still howling down out of the northwest, making the already-falling temperatures seem even colder. "How far is it?"
"Three, four miles."
"You can't walk that far in this."
"I can," he said stubbornly. And he was a man who'd ridden bulls for a living. Probably he could.
"Maybe," she agreed. "But don't. Please, don't," Felicity repeated. "It's too dangerous."
"I know the road."
"You can't see the road."
"I could follow it without seeing it."
"But you might get lost. You might get hurt. You might freeze. I wouldn't have any idea if you were all right or not. And you have to think about Becky."
His eyes met hers. "What about Becky?"
"You said you stopped going down the road because of her. You didn't want to be away from her."
"So?"
"It wasn't just being away, was it? It was because you were afraid something might happen? That maybe you wouldn't be so lucky next time? That maybe Becky wouldn't have a dad if you kept on going?"
She could see by the look in his eyes that she'd hit him right where he lived. He sucked in his breath sharply. His teeth came together. His knuckles went white against the red frame of the truck.
"Don't go," she said.
* * *
She didn't know what she was asking of him. To climb back in the cab and sit there—for hours—beside her. Keeping his hands to himself. Sharing body heat but not the joy of physical intimacy. He'd die of frustration.
He'd rather die in a blizzard! A younger, more cocksure man would have scoffed at her and gone on his way. A single man with no responsibilities would have gone and to hell with the risk.
But Taggart had been minding his own business, hurrying home for Christmas, and been nailed by a semi. Taggart had seen laughing, joking colleagues—more than one—get on a bull and a minute later or a day later be stone-cold dead. Taggart had a daughter who had only one parent.
He wasn't taking unnecessary risks—not with his life, anyway.
Grimly, he hauled open the door and climbed in. Felicity smiled.
"Roll up your window, for God's sake," he snapped, shoving himself as hard as he could against the driver's-side door, but even gravity was against him, dragging him toward her.
She shot him a quick, nervous look and hastily rolled it up. "Sorry."
"No, I'm sorry." Taggart hunched his shoulders. "I shouldn't have jumped on you. I'm just mad. I should have brought the damn phone. I always bring the damn phone!" But he hadn't this time because he hadn't wanted anyone disturbing his evening with Felicity. He didn't want Becky calling him and checking up on him. He didn't want his folks ringing to see what he was doing for the weekend since they knew he had it free.
Wouldn't they like to know what he was doing? He swallowed a groan.
Felicity huddled in the far corner of the cab. At least she didn't have gravity to fight with. Her legs were tucked up under her and she was sitting with her arms wrapped tightly around her torso, which Taggart could see shivering inside her thin jacket.
Since the engine was off, the heater was off, and because Felicity had opened the window to talk to him, the temperature in the cab had dropped dramatically. He shivered, too.
Felicity opened the blanket she had around her. "I'll share," she offered.
He scrunched back even further against the door. "No," he said. "I'm fine."
And so they sat. Or rather, Felicity huddled and Taggart braced himself, his arm against the steering wheel, his feet pressed into the floor. The wind flung snow against the truck, whipping it furiously, and on the windshield now some of it was beginning to stick, cutting visibility even more. Soon they were in their own little cocoon, just the two of them. Not something Taggart particularly wanted to dwell on.
He shifted, slipped and caught himself. He shoved himself back hard against the door.
Felicity looked at him. He looked at her, then away again.
"How long are you going to keep that up?" she asked him quietly after a moment.
"Keep what up?"
"Fighting the laws of nature." He glanced her way and saw a faint smile light her face. "Gravity, for instance."
He flushed. "You want me to fall on top of you?"
Her cheek dimpled as her smile widened. "It would be warmer."
He stared. Was she suggesting…?
He gave her a hard, searching look. She met it evenly, steadily. God, she was lovely. Even half frozen, teeth chattering, she made his heart kick over.
Which was exactly the problem, wasn't it?
He didn't want his heart kicking over. He wanted to be immune. He didn't want to want what he knew he couldn't have.
If Felicity were just some buckle bunny, like the girls who hung around after the rodeo looking for a cowboy to spend the night with, well, he supposed he could handle that. A roll in a truck cab wasn't exactly his idea of great sex, but he could manage it. But that wasn't what Felicity would want.
Was it?
Oh, God.
He ran his tongue over his lips. "If I stop fighting … gravity—" he gave the word a harsh twist "—chances are that won't be the only law of nature I give in to."
There, he couldn't have spelled it out any more clearly than that. He looked at her, brows arched, waiting for some reply.
Felicity took her time. Finally, she nodded. "There is that possibility," she said slowly. Her voice was soft, soothing, almost. But was it a yes or a no?
At least with Julie he'd known that much! When she'd wanted him she was all over him like a case of measles. When she hadn't, she was yelling and chucking things at him, then packing her bags and slamming out the door.
With Julie there had been no possibilities.
"We're going to be here all night, aren't we?" Felicity asked him now in that same soft voice.
"Probably." There was a thread of strain in his. He wondered if she could hear it.
She shifted, untucked her hands from between her arms and sides, and held them out to him. "Then come here, Taggart. We'll keep each other warm."
* * *
Nine
« ^ »
The moment she said the words, she was afraid she had shocked him. She'd shocked herself.
Or maybe, to be honest, she hadn't. Not really. Maybe she just thought she ought to be shocked. It wasn't exactly typical Felicity Albright behavior, practically inviting a man into her arms.
But shocked or not, Felicity wasn't sorry she'd done it. She had loved Dirk and she had mourned him. She had been two years without ever once feeling desire or even interest in another man. But now she did. She supposed it was perverse that it happened to be Taggart Jones—a man who clearly wanted nothing to do with her—on an emotional level, anyway.
But she knew from loving Dirk that the heart chose to love where the mind often did not. Common sense and so-called "good judgment" had little to do with it. If it had, she'd never have loved Dirk.
Certainly her parents had despaired of her interest in the weedy, gifted boy Dirk had been. Though he could do most anything he set his mind to, his consuming interest in music to the exclusion of almost everything else made him questionable boyfriend material, much less a good prospective husband.
But somehow s
he and Dirk had been the making of each other. He had taught her to look beyond the confines of their upbringing, to reach for the stars, to strive and work and hope. And she had taught him how to love, how to share a passion, how to engage others' interest even if they weren't as gifted as he. She had given him an anchor in the stormy sea of professional music. She had shown him that he had value as a person beyond how he played the night before. They were good for each other. Perhaps Dirk had suspected it. Felicity certainly had.
She felt the same way about Taggart now.
He was different from Dirk. He wasn't weedy, for one thing. He was hard and lean and muscled. He was dark where Dirk had been blond. He was a talker. Dirk had always let his music speak for him. But deep down he reminded her of Dirk.
He was intense, committed, determined, good at what he did and a gifted teacher, as well. She'd seen the way he could communicate with his students. She'd seen the hero worship in their eyes. She'd seen him earn it—not just with his bull riding, but with the concern and the vision he shared with each of the students who came to one of his schools. She knew he wasn't only preparing them to ride bulls. He was giving them the keys to a successful life. He was a man who inspired trust.
Felicity trusted him.
Probably, she acknowledged, more than he trusted himself. And she needed him—and not just to keep her warm tonight.
She needed him to warm her soul. And she dared to think he needed her, as well. Whatever had happened to Taggart because of his marriage, she had heard enough now to know that it hadn't been good. But that didn't mean marriage couldn't be good. She prayed he would give her a chance to teach him that.
He didn't move quickly. There was no eagerness. She could see the wariness, the strain in his face. The skin over his cheekbones was taut, the green eyes probing, looking for—what?
Love? She didn't think so. Not yet. Not more than the physical kind, at least. She knew well enough that he wanted that, but in the cab of a truck…?
"Trade me places," Taggart's voice had a slightly ragged edge to it.
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