In Bed with the Rancher Page 2

  “You’re sitting, so how’s your back?”

  He shrugged and grimaced. “My back is okay. My head feels as if someone is pounding it with a hammer.”

  “We need to get to my pickup. If I help you, can you get up? And do you think you can make it back up this hill?”

  “Yes, I can,” he said as if there was no question about it.

  “I have a cabin nearby. We have to get out of here before we get cut off by rising water. We can’t go back to the last town now. Trees are falling and there’s lightning. You’re on an isolated back road. An ambulance wouldn’t get here for an hour at best, and if the rain keeps up, an ambulance can’t get here at all. I doubt if we can even get phone reception here. We can still drive to my cabin, I think.” The whole time she talked, he gazed at her with such an intent look that her tingling response to him continued.

  “Your cabin it is. Let’s get out of here if you know a way.”

  “I do. It’s not good, but it’ll do. The weather predictions are getting worse.”

  “I’m ready,” he said, standing without difficulty, and she realized he was fit and in good physical condition. She also noticed that he was tall, broad-shouldered and rather good-looking.

  “Let me help you up the incline,” she said, stepping beside him.

  “I’ll be okay,” he said, as she thought he would. His shirt was ripped where he had fallen and been cut, the tattered, soaked material clinging to a muscled chest and a torn sleeve revealing a strong bicep.

  “You’ll have to look for your pickup later,” she said.

  “At the moment, that’s not my worry.”

  “No, it isn’t. We need to get to solid ground before some of this incline gives way and takes us down with it,” she said. “Let’s go.”

  The climb was slippery, mud constantly making them lose their footing as they gradually neared the road.

  Seconds later, there was a crack of tree limbs breaking and then another tall oak fell. He pushed her away from the tree and not even the tips of leaves touched them, but chunks of ground broke off and slid downhill.

  She slipped and he stepped close to put his arm around her as she grabbed him. “Thanks. I’m glad that wasn’t your cut shoulder,” she said, holding her hat on her head as she looked up at him.

  As they steadied, he gripped a tree branch with one hand while he held her close with the other, her hip pressed against him. She gazed at him. Wind battered them and a sheet of cold rain swept over them, but she barely noticed it. Even with his injuries, he was strong, holding her tightly while his body heat warmed her side where they were pressed together.

  As she gazed into his brown eyes, another sizzle made her forget rain, cold, danger—everything else except his strong arm holding her, his warm body against hers and those eyes that captured and held her gaze. Dark brown eyes that changed her world. When she saw the slightest narrowing of his eyes, she knew he felt something, too. She figured this primitive urge they both had was stirred by the danger from the storm. As if to confirm her thoughts, another big tree snapped and cracked, toppling to the ground.

  “Let’s get out of here,” she shouted with a deliberate effort to break the spell. His arm tightened around her waist and, together, grabbing nearby limbs, they climbed the remaining way to the road. She pointed to her pickup. “You wait here and I’ll come get you.”

  With a shake of his head, he took her arm and started toward her pickup. “Let’s go.”

  When they reached her vehicle, he released her. As soon as they both were inside, she retrieved a first-aid kit from the back seat and handed him a thick gauze pad.

  “Hold this against your shoulder. You’re still losing blood.”

  He took the pad from her and placed it over the jagged cut on his shoulder. As he did, he reached out to remove her hat and toss it into the back, then he turned to take a long, slow look at her that made her forget she was cold and rain-soaked. All she knew was that his attention was on her and she couldn’t get her breath.

  “When I opened my eyes, you looked like an angel with your blond hair and blue eyes, but I don’t think angels wear cowboy hats.”

  His voice was deep and he sat close while his dark brown eyes made her heart race. He had raked thick, wet black hair away from his face, but a few wavy locks had already slipped free to fall on his forehead. Regardless of his injuries and tattered, wet clothes, she felt another puzzling moment of heated, physical awareness. How could she feel intense awareness for a total stranger, and in these abominable circumstances?

  She made an effort to break the eye contact and get her mind back on their situation, which grew more hazardous by the minute.

  She cleared her throat and dug out her phone. “I’ll try to get info on the roads,” she said with a breathlessness that she hoped he didn’t notice. She focused on her phone for a moment and then shook her head and dropped her phone into a pocket of her jacket when she got no reception.

  “My cabin is big, well-stocked and comfortable,” she said, starting the pickup and driving back the way she had come. “We’ll have to double back for a few miles to get there. If this downpour continues a lot longer, we may be stuck at my place until the storm is gone and water recedes. It’s remote and isolated out here. As you can see, there’s no cell-phone reception. No TV reception, either, so I don’t even have a TV at the cabin.”

  “How many miles to your cabin?”

  “About ten. There’s a road I can take and it’s on higher ground. It’s a back road the ranchers put in across private property, but it gives about five of us a way around the low places when we have these torrential downpours. There are two bad things about the road—it’s gravel and we have one creek to cross,” she said as they continued on.

  “A gravel road is okay. I remember a narrow road and a sign—‘Keep Off. Private Property.’”

  “That’s it.” She glanced at him because she noticed he was shifting and patting his pockets as he talked. “Is something wrong?”

  Frowning, he looked at her. “I don’t have my wallet. I must have lost it rolling down the hill. We can’t go searching for it now,” he said.

  “No, we can’t.”

  “No telling where my pickup has gone.”

  “There’s no finding that now, either,” she said, concentrating on her driving in the downpour. Thunder was loud and lightning lit up the area. “We need to get to my cabin before we’re cut off from any shelter. There aren’t many people who live out here.”

  “So I noticed.”

  “Yes, and it’s not a good place to be in a storm like this. From here to the gravel road will take about five more minutes and then it’ll be even slower traveling. We have one more bridge to cross.” Her brow creased as a thought occurred to her. “If we can’t get across that, I don’t think we can get back to Persimmon. I’m sure the old bridge to Persimmon is under water by now.” She shrugged it off. “Not to worry. If we can cross that last bridge, my cabin is on high ground. It’s never flooded.”

  As she squinted through the rain-soaked windshield, she told him, “The road we’re on is such a back road, it’s seldom used even by those of us who live in this area. I have a close neighbor and we could go to his house, but he’s nearer to the creek and that’s probably already like a raging river. I wouldn’t feel safe in his house in this storm.”

  She glanced at him. “How are you feeling?”

  “My head is pounding, my shoulder still hurts and I’m thoroughly soaked. Otherwise, fair to middlin’, I’d say. Thank you again for stopping to pick me up.”

  “Sure.”

  He didn’t say anything else and she thought he might be tired of conversation and hurting. “Don’t go to sleep in case you have a concussion.”

  “I don’t think staying awake will be a problem,” he remarked dryly and she wondered how much pain he was in. Or perha
ps he was worrying about having lost his wallet and his pickup, which she suspected was downstream somewhere filled with water or smashed on rocks.

  “I don’t have my phone, either,” he said.

  “You can’t use it out here, anyway.” For a moment she was quiet. “I think it’s time we get introduced. I’m Ava Carter.”

  “I’m glad to meet you, Ava Carter,” he said in a somber tone of voice.

  They rode in silence and she wondered why he didn’t introduce himself. When she glanced at him, he had such a worried expression on his face, she put her foot on the brake and turned to him. “What’s wrong?”

  “You don’t know me at all, yet you know something is wrong.”

  She nodded. “You look concerned. Should I be worried about your identity?”

  Shaking his head, he answered, “Well, yes and no, I don’t think so. But that’s just a feeling I have, because the problem is—” he hesitated only a moment as he stared at her “—I can’t tell you my name. I don’t know it. I can’t remember who I am or where I’m from.”

  Two

  She stared at him. “Maybe we should turn around and try to get to a hospital.”

  She grabbed her phone. “I’ll try again to get through.” But after a moment she put it away. “I can’t get any reception. We’re out of range.” She debated what to do. He would get better professional care in a hospital, but she was certain the roads would already be closed. Sheets of rain still swept over them and wind shook her pickup. “I feel sure by now the roads to the nearest hospital are closed. Even if we could go back, Persimmon doesn’t have a hospital.”

  “Does it have a doctor?”

  “They have a vet and people go to him. But my close neighbor is a nurse. That sounds like the best we can do.”

  “Sounds good to me. Let’s go to your cabin...unless you’re concerned about my identity. I don’t think I’m dangerous.”

  She looked into his dark brown eyes and he gazed back at her. She couldn’t understand her reasoning, but she felt okay about him. She hoped her judgment was sound. But then again, she didn’t really have much choice. She wasn’t going to leave him out in this storm to survive on his own.

  Her gaze drifted over him, noticing again his expensive watch. His boots were covered with mud, but she could see part of them, as well as his belt, which looked hand-tooled and expensive. All meaningless as far as judging his character, however.

  She shook her head and smiled. “I don’t think so, either, although I trust you for reasons I don’t understand. It’s just that I feel a connection with you. Do you know what state you’re in?”

  “Texas. I saw the tag on your pickup so we can’t make any judgments from that answer.”

  “Maybe not, but you gave me an honest answer. Do you know where you live?”

  He frowned briefly and then shook his head. “Nothing comes to me. I have glimmers of things, but I don’t know if they’re from real life, television or friends of mine. I’m at a loss. I don’t recall my parents, my friends, or where I live. Or what commitments I have.”

  “We’ll assume you have some kind of family—parents, siblings.”

  “I don’t have a wedding ring,” he said as he looked down at his left hand. Then he turned his gaze back to her, shaking his head. “If my phone and wallet with all my info were in my pickup and it went into that stream, there’s no telling if it’ll be found, or by whom. Or maybe they fell out of my pockets when I slid down that slope. In all that mud and the rain, they may never be found.”

  He looked dazed and dejected, and thoroughly confused, and she felt the need to bolster him. “We’ll deal with that later. Right now, let’s talk.” When he looked at her quizzically, she added, “You’ve had a head injury so you need to stay awake, and one way for me to know you’re awake is for you to talk.”

  “We can both talk,” he said. “Are you a rancher? Or in a rancher’s family?” he asked her.

  “No to both. I’m an occupational therapist and I have my own home-care business in Dallas. I provide caregivers. It’s busy and sometimes I want to get away. I have someone who works for me who can take over when I come stay at my cabin. I did own a ranch that I inherited from my grandfather. I sold it to Gerald Roan, who lives on it. His wife, Molly, is the nurse I mentioned. I kept five acres—it’s where my cabin is. I have three horses and a few head of cattle that Gerald takes care of. I wanted a cabin away from Dallas where it’s quiet, in the great outdoors and there’s a horse I can ride and a place to ride it.”

  She turned on the gravel road, slowing to a crawl. “Here’s our private road.” The road was rough and the rain was still a blinding downpour.

  “This is a roundabout way to get home, but we only cross one creek and it has a strong bridge that hopefully will be above water. I’ve only seen it underwater once before, but this is a bad storm.”

  While she concentrated on her driving, he was silent. Night was approaching and she wanted to get to her cabin and out of the downpour before dark. With the storm it would get dark earlier than usual. After a few minutes, she stopped to try her phone again.

  “There’s a stretch here of fairly open country that’s the highest point in the area, where I can sometimes get service. I want to try again to contact Gerald. He’s got a four-story house on a hill, so that gives him a higher place to send and receive messages. At least his equipment works better than at my place, where I can’t get any reception at all in this kind of weather.”

  She tried calling Gerald but got nowhere. Then she tried texting him. “Also, I’ll try to text the sheriff in Persimmon to let him know about you in case he gets a missing-person’s report.” In minutes she shook her head. “I can’t get through to the sheriff. I don’t know if it’s the distance or the direction or what. I did send a text to my neighbor and it went through, I think, but he hasn’t answered.” She was suddenly tense about going home with a stranger who didn’t know his own identity. Worse, if the bridge was underwater, they would be trapped outside for a night in the car. She didn’t want to think about that one at all.

  In minutes, she got a text in return and Gerald offered to come stay if she was concerned and asked about the man’s identity.

  She sent another brief text to Gerald that the stranger had received a blow to his head and he couldn’t remember his identity. Also, she relayed that his wallet and phone were missing.

  Gerald wrote that he would drop by and she sent her thanks. She regretted that Gerald had to go out in the storm, but felt better about taking in a stranger who said he didn’t remember anything about his identity and he didn’t have any ID. Judging from the knot on his head, she felt he was telling the truth, but she was glad Gerald would come meet him. She drove forward.

  “So what did your neighbor have to say?” he asked her a few moments later.

  “I told him about bringing you home with me and he wrote back that he’s coming by to meet you.”

  She glanced at the stranger and he smiled—a smile that made her heart skip beats. Another unwanted reaction, now more than ever. She didn’t want to respond to any man right now, not when she was still getting over a broken heart, and definitely not one who had no memory of himself.

  “It could make life easier temporarily if I take an assumed name just so you can get my attention or introduce me or whatever we have to do,” he said.

  “Of course. You’re right. Pick a name you like.”

  “Bill Smith is easy,” he said after a moment. “That sounds okay. It would be funny if it turned out to be my real name and that’s why it sounds okay,” he said and smiled again—another smile that made her heart skip a beat. She tried to ignore her reaction, but that wasn’t easy.

  “Okay, Bill it is. That’s a good name,” she said. They started downhill and she kept her attention on the road. “There goes the last time I can hope to get a text through. I’ll
always try if I need to send one, but from here on, I’m cut off from the world except for the people who live around me. Gerald and his family are close neighbors. The people who work for Gerald live on his property. Some of those people work for me, too.” Concern for keeping him awake took a back seat as they approached the creek she had to cross. As she drew close, she gasped and slowed to a crawl.

  “That’s Blue Creek,” she said. “I’ve only seen it like this once before. It’s usually ankle-deep, but it’s a river now. The bridge is supposed to be well-built and the water isn’t totally over it yet,” she observed, watching waves splash against the bridge. “I’m going to try to cross it. Otherwise we’ll have to stay out here in my pickup all night. That’s not a good alternative.”

  “If the bridge is as sturdy and well-built as you say, we should be able to cross without trouble.” He unfastened his seatbelt. “Unbuckle. You don’t want to be buckled in if the bridge collapses.”

  She unbuckled her seatbelt and drove cautiously, praying the bridge would stand. Holding her breath, she started across.

  “You’re doing fine,” he said. “Nothing is shaking and that’s a good sign. Not much farther,” he added as they inched across. “Doing good. Across!” he announced, turning to give her a high five as he flashed a big smile. “Good job.”

  His irresistible smile sent a tingle to her toes while her heartbeat quickened. At the same time, every positive response she had to him stirred another instant negative response in a reminder that she should squelch any attraction she felt. She didn’t want to be tempted by a man who made her heart race by just a smile. Especially a man who couldn’t recall his own name.

  The attraction felt more dangerous and a bigger threat to her well-being than the raging storm and rising water, which didn’t make sense to her, but was true just the same.

  She drove a few feet away from the bridge and paused to buckle her seatbelt again while he fastened his. “We’re on this side now and there’s no going back. That bridge will be underwater in minutes,” she said. “Good news is we’re close to my cabin with no more creeks or rivers to cross. Bad news is, with no reception, if your family starts looking for you and puts your picture on television or social media, we’ll never know it until this storm is over and I can get to town or far enough back down the road.”