Rough Road Home (The Circle D series) (7 page)

“Uncle Mitch.” She flashed him a self-satisfied smile, her white teeth almost luminescent in the fading light. “He told me to do what it takes to get you to the Regional Finale and that, my friend, is what I’m doing. Jake Dubrowski wanted a superstar name for his board and I wanted rooms.” Her voice faded with her statement. She paused and jostled the stick shift. “He had the key. . .I have you.”

He’d been used before, but never as a bartering chip. “Great.”

Rachel shifted into drive and maneuvered around a cluster of pine trees to follow a rutted drive around to the back of the lodge. She pulled up and parked in front of a rustic entrance complete with a yard light atop a telephone pole and a good sized firewood stack. A splintered wooden plate proudly displayed “Servants Quarters" atop a wide set of double doors.

“Here we are.” The engine chugged to silence.

Nick opened his door and stepped out. The scent of wood smoke and pine brought back memories he instantly shoved to the back of his mind. Now was not the time to think of his ranch. No time was a good time to think of his ranch.

“C’mon, cowboy.” Rachel huddled into her jacket. She pointed down the side of the lodge. “It’s cold. You’ve got the key.”

Nick eyed the back entrance noting the peeling paint, splintered trim, and a missing section of gutter. The aged timbers of the square structure leaned a bit askew, as if weary from battling the years of wind, snow, and rain. Double doors rattled with each gust and the yard light attached above them bounced against the front wall, its metal hood pounding against the siding like a bell tied to a runaway steer. Nick shook his head as he made his way around the back of the truck, gripping the battered key in his hand. For this he needed to smile through a photo op tomorrow? “Is this your cave, or mine?”

In the growing darkness, Nick saw her shoulders slump before she turned and faced him. “Both.”

Both? “What?”

A ragged breath whished through her teeth. She looked up at the night sky as if the star-studded heavens offered strength. “Jake didn’t have any cabins left, Nick. This wasn’t what I’d pictured for the night either. I thought we’d find a hotel with adjoining rooms so I could keep an eye and ear on you while you slept. Nurse’s orders, remember? I can’t leave you alone until I hand you over to Uncle Mitch.” She came up for air, her words tumbling over themselves like gymnasts. “I never dreamed we’d spend the night at a fishing lodge.”

Her hair whipped across her eyes. She shook her head to the side and slid her hand up along her cheek. Her long fingers locked the strands away from her face accentuating her miserable expression. “I didn’t plan this, Nick, you’ve got to believe me. Since Uncle Mitch had gone ahead to Casper Sunday night and left Bert all alone, he needed help loading the new stock Uncle Mitch had bought over the weekend. When we finished, it was after three. If I had picked you up from the hospital at one o’clock like I was supposed to, we’d probably be close enough to Casper now that I would have chanced driving a little in the dark. What a mess. I–-”

“Whoa,” Nick interrupted. Someone had to stop her tirade before she blew a gasket. How could anyone talk so fast? Placing his palms on her shoulders to steady her, he waited until she calmed. “It’s not the end of the world. C’mon, let’s get in out of the cold and think rationally, ‘K?”

A dejected nod answered him. This was another side of Rachel Hill that Nick didn’t care for at all. Bossy and sassy ran hand in hand with ignorable. But vulnerable and apologetic hit a part of him unprotected by his emotional armor. The desire to reassure her tightened his muscles until they hurt. Kneading her shoulders, his thumbs tangled with strands of her wind-blown hair. “You okay?”

Her muscles relaxed as she nodded. He ran his hands down her arms and squeezed before releasing his hold. Comforting women wasn’t his forte and he saw no reason to try now.

“Fool,” he grumbled as he pulled the screen door and jammed the key into the lock. The door swung open with a loud squeal. The surprising scent of cinnamon greeted him as he stepped into the warm room. He flipped on the switch for light and a soft glow from a hanging lamp chased away the shadows.

A pair of overstuffed couches sat at right angles to each other with a square coffee table in front of them. A vinyl recliner and magazine rack occupied the back corner and a rectangular table with two chairs sat beneath a paned window dressed in lace curtains. White shelves stair-stepped up the back wall displaying healthy plants in colorful pots, framed needlepoint pictures and an assortment of candles in various shapes and sizes. A pot-bellied stove in the corner with a tiny flame behind the grate and throw rugs scattered over the worn oak floor completed the homey scene.

“The cook and her fix-it guy husband live here,” Rachel explained as they entered the apartment and closed the door behind them. She pointed to an open area off to the side. “There’s a couple of beds over there for the road maintenance guys that get stuck here during the winter. Like I said, Nick, not quite the accommodations I would have chosen, but the Lord has provided.”

“Hallelujah,” he mumbled under his breath as he followed her across the room. The back area offered the bare necessities, but at least it was warm and dry. “It’s not much, but it’s home,” Nick tried to joke as he dropped his duffel bag in the middle of the room.

“Look, Nick, it’s just one night.” Her hands went up in surrender. “Tomorrow, I promise to get you to Casper.”

One night. Somehow he knew this would be one of the longest nights of his life.

CHAPTER SIX

A tiny flame flickered alive as Rachel chucked another log into the stove. Her hands trembled at the dubious situation she’d gotten them into rather than the temperature of the apartment. When had normalcy abandoned her? She’d never appreciated her neat, orderly dilemmas until fragmented disasters took over her life.

Uncle Mitch had made the trip sound so simple: pick up an injured cowboy and drive him to Casper, Wyoming. Ever since she’d agreed to the task, nothing had gone right. Oh, Lord, I’m losing my grip.

No flash of light, no heavenly chorus sounded to reassure her that God understood her frustration. Nothing. She tossed in the final chunk of wood, latched the screen and dusted off her hands. With a tired sigh, she stood and faced him.

“Hmm, the fire feels good.” For the first time since she’d met Nick Davidson, she grappled for conversation. “It’s not much of a flame yet, but it’s got potential.”

“It’s fine.” Nick sank into the corner of the loose cushioned couch, his long legs stretched beyond the plank pine coffee table. “At least there’s a big woodpile.”

“All part of gracious hospitality, I suppose.” She shrugged out of her jacket and swung it across the back of a swivel chair at the breakfast counter. She’d concentrated on the road for the past few hours, not the surly cowboy in the passenger seat beside her. Without the truck cab and steering wheel to divert her, she had to face the fact he was one good-looking cowboy.

Nick stretched his arms out to either side, his white shirt fairly glowing against the dark purple upholstery. Even with his sleeves down and cuffed, the strength of his muscles gave evidence of a hard working man. He tipped his head back against the cushion and closed his eyes, his brows bunched in response to the probable pain in his head.

Rachel tore her gaze away, not wanting to fall prey to the utter vulnerability her cowboy seemed incapable of disguising. She didn’t know which needed less fuel--the fire or her imagination. The apartment closed in around them changing comfortable accommodations into intimate ambiance. Not good. That whole “keeping life in perspective” idea was floating away from her again. She lowered her lids, tilted her chin and recounted the reasons why she was spending time with Nick. Chauffeur, nursemaid, travel buddy. That’s it. No attraction allowed in this story. Never lower your guard around a cowboy, especially the good looking ones. Road stories came in every size and flavor, and no way did she ever plan to become a statistic.

I need help here, Lord. She opened her eyes and turned toward the window. The glow from the yard light reminded her that they were at the back apartment of a lodge. That’s what they needed-–other people and diverting conversation over a hot meal.

“Hungry?” she asked, hope rising in her heart.

“Not particularly.”

Her stomach growled at the thought of snacks as simple as potato chips. “Jake offered the kitchen if we wanted anything. Dottie won’t cook anything special for us, but we can poke around at the leftovers.”

Nothing.

Rachel chose to take his silence for refusal. Her outlook brightened. Not one to let an opportunity slip by, she grabbed her jacket and made tracks toward the door. An opportunity for space just opened and she planned to grab it, Nick could fend for himself. “Well, okay then. You make yourself comfortable while I run around to the front of the lodge. I’ll make a couple of sandwiches and be back in a flash.”

Nick lifted his head and peered at her. By the warm glow of the overhead light, the swollen contours of his face took on a hideous appearance. The bruise across his cheek darkened as muscles bunched in his jaw. She knew that look. Nick wore it better than most cowboys. Her shoulders tensed in silent warning for her to turn and walk away without saying a word.

She heard a muffled groan as he leaned forward. “You can’t go alone.”

“Why not?”

“You just can’t,” he said indicating that was explanation enough.

Rachel felt her hackles rise. Men, especially cowboys, never gave women credit. She’d spent hours around hunters, fishermen, lumberjacks, you name it, and none of them ever made her feel inferior. But, ten seconds with a bull rider. . .. “You’re not in any shape to come with me. Look, you’ll feel better after you’ve eaten, then you can take another pill. Head hurt?”

“Not much.”

At the raw edge to his voice, Rachel draped her jacket back over the chair and moved closer to the couch. The low wattage bulb offered dim lighting at best, but enough to see his complexion had paled considerably. “Open your eyes wide.”

“Not this again,” he groaned and leaned back into the cushion.

Despite his attitude, Rachel couldn’t help but smile. She sat beside him and brushed his thick blond hair out of his eyes so she could see better, the ragged strands curled around her fingers. Her smile faded at the unexpected jolt that resonated through her. She lifted her hand from his face and shifted in her seat. The well-stuffed cushion offered little room for her to sit and Nick apparently wasn’t about to move over. The last thing she wanted to do was to touch him again, but she had no choice. Bracing her hand on his shoulder for support, she tipped his jaw toward her. Clearing her throat, she summoned her best air of confidence. “Nurse Ratchet at your service. Now, lids open wide, or I’ll pry ‘em apart.”

He sat still for a moment, then looked at her through slits.

“You can do better than that.” A dimple appeared in his cheek belying the gruff retort.

She made a gesture of opening his lids. “Nick, I’ll run to the truck and get a flashlight. . ..”

“Nooo,” he moaned and lifted his bruised lids as open as possible.

Rachel peered into blue-gray eyes that returned the perusal just as intently. His pupils looked a bit enlarged, but the room was shadowed making it hard to distinguish whether the size stemmed from concussion or lack of light. The close proximity brought a whole new set of problems to light. His clean scent mingled with cinnamon and spice, wrapping her in a blanket of fresh and pure. The muscles of his shoulder moved beneath her hand making her palm tingle. He continued to stare back at her. She wanted to lean into that power for just a moment and let life fend for itself.

Rachel pulled away and lowered her hand to her lap. Nick exuded confidence and stability, common qualities in the men she chose as friends. Only the rugged, masculine air surrounding Nick cranked the persona up to the highest degree.

He reached out and covered her hand with his own. “You can’t go out alone,” his voice low and no-nonsense. “Give me a minute and I’ll go with you.”

Tension whipped across her shoulders and squeezed the muscles of her back at the presumptive statement. Same ol’ song and dance, my friend, as the old saying went. “So, who made you my keeper?”

Grabbing her jacket again, she stopped at the door, but couldn’t make her hand reach for the knob. What was happening here? For the briefest of moments, she’d dropped her guard and relished a connection. Thankfully, he’d spoken and broken the spell. Getting involved with this guy was not in her plans. It wasn’t in anyone’s plans. A rodeo cowboy, a bull rider, no less. How had she lost her perspective? She knew what she was here for and it wasn’t romance. Okay, Lord, let’s stay on task.

In her heart, she knew God had His eye on her. Still, God gave His children the gift of choice, and it was up to her to make the most of that task. She needed to stay focused. No more close contact with Nick Davidson unless absolutely necessary. She needed to get back to Denver and resume the life that God had prepared for her; Nick needed to get to the NFR and find his fame and glory.

All glory is Mine.