SNOWFIRES (3 page)

He accepted and shoved his fingers inside the
sweat-stiffened rawhide. Suddenly he paused, then put a gloved hand
on her arm.

"Look, I apologize. I've been way out of
line. Chalk it up to worry over tomorrow's meeting and this
situation. We're lucky we found this place. Caring for the owner's
animals is little enough in return for our food and shelter, but I
can do this alone. You stay in here where at least it's almost
warm."

She cursed the unexpected tenderness in his
green eyes. The depth of despair she saw there shocked her. She
hated the way this man had wedged his way into her family’s company
and everything he had planned for it. Hated the hard-edged
disregard he’d shown for her late father. But her responsibility in
causing at least a part of that desperation left her bearing a
heavy burden of guilt.

"No, thank you. We're in this together. I'll
go with you and do my share."

The brief tenderness she saw reflected in his
eyes disappeared in a flash. He shrugged in apparent agreement.
"Have it your way. I can definitely use the help."

When he opened the back door, the wind hit
even more fiercely than when they had found the isolated house. An
icy gale blew mammoth snowflakes into the house even as they stood
in the doorway.

He sent her a glare as frosty as the wind.
"Martin said there's a cable from the back door to the barn. Hold
on to it as if your life depends on it because, believe me, it
does."

In the frigid temperature with visibility cut
to a few feet, they had no guarantee a barn existed. Holly held to
the cable with one hand and to the back pocket of Trent's jeans
with the other. She forced herself to ignore his tight buns and
tried to step where he stepped. The struggle to keep pace had her
gasping by the time they reached the barn.

What a fool she’d been to direct Trent down a
farm-to-market road instead of the main highway toward Interstate
40. She’d only meant to delay their trip, to give Trent a few
moments of discomfort and worry over the time they’d arrive in
Dallas. She intended the diversion as repayment for the worry and
sorrow he’d caused her, and to forestall his misguided plans to
diversify and expand the company. How could she know the storm
would intensify so rapidly and trap them in its wake?

She admitted her beloved father was a failure
at his personal finances, but it was because of his gambling and
not his business judgment. He’d always stressed to Holly the
importance of keeping the company focused on their current clients
with no risks from expanding or diversification. How unfortunate
he’d never applied his "safe and steady" business motto in his
personal life.

Walter Tucker's business and private finances
remained separate until the last. Against the advice of everyone
except the man pushing the investment scheme, Holly's father used
his shares of forty percent in the family business as collateral
for a loan to invest in a high-risk stock venture. The collapse of
the stocks meant he couldn’t pay his short-term loan and he
forfeited all his shares of Marvel Incorporated.

Now that Trent Macleod held the reins of
Marvel, he planned both expansion and diversification, which
included launching a project with a fiberoptics company. In her
mind, his plans doomed the company and its employees to loss of
livelihood. She couldn’t let that happen.

In spite of her potent physical attraction
for him, many times she wished Trent Macleod as dead as the man
whose death, in her mind, he had callously caused. Her vendetta to
make him pay for the pain he caused her family and the havoc he
intended to wreak on her family's business had almost proved lethal
for them both.

Hopelessly stranded in the fierce storm and
drifting snow, they had forgotten their differences to rejoice at
the sight of the little house. The mercury vapor light on a pole
near the house acted like the beacon of a lighthouse. If not for
the light that had shone to guide them through the storm, who knows
what might have happened to them?

By contrast to the diminutive size of the
house, the barn seemed huge. Trent wrenched loose a door frozen to
its frame. Square bales of hay filled a loft at one end of the
building and overflowed beneath it. Covered bins of feed lined up
on one wall. Nearby chickens clucked for attention in a corner pen
with a series of strong lights for warmth. From atop a stack of
hay, a large yellow striped cat watched warily.

Holly plopped onto a hay bale to catch her
breath, heedless of the straw's effect on her coat already dampened
from the snow. Trent went to work with a vengeance, striding
through a gate into a penned area at the far end of the barn. She
marveled at his strength as he forced two huge and unwilling doors,
apparently frozen in place, to slide open at the end of the barn.
When the doors opened, it took little coaxing to get the cattle to
desert their exposed feeding pens for the covered barn
interior.

The persuasion came in guiding the animals to
make room for one another. With Trent and Holly working as a team,
the cattle were soon penned and the massive doors once again
closed. Trent counted the animals, then recounted.

"We're one short. Come stand by the door to
prevent any from leaving while I go look for the damned escapee."
He slid the door wide enough for one animal’s width, and Holly
positioned herself in the icy blast of the opening while he slipped
into the storm.

When a curious steer approached her, she
yelled, "Shoo! Shoo, you! Get back over there with your
friends."

The animal looked as if it would push into
her. She removed her muffler and waved it at the behemoth that
appeared to grow before her eyes. When it seemed as if she were
about to be trampled, something nudged her behind.

She yelped and stepped aside as the lost
animal surged into the barn. Trent followed and quickly closed the
door. He stamped his feet to free them of snow and other
suspiciously unpleasant substances.

"Damn stupid animals. I hate cattle. And by
the way, what were you doing waving that muffler around like a
flag?"

"This smelly giant and I engaged in a contest
as to whether he would stay or leave. I almost lost the argument.
What took you so long?"

"That's what I'm telling you, cattle are
stupid. Let's get out of this penned area before we get trampled.
I’ve got to man that tub mixer over there and feed them."

Holly watched as Trent mixed cottonseed and
some stalk things in a tub-like contraption then hauled the result
to the food troughs. He pitched hay into the pen and she followed
his example. She stabbed at the loosened bale and picked up a small
amount of hay then tossed her load to the cattle. With fluid
motions, Trent heaved two or three times as much as she did. His
ease of movement spoke of strength and excellent physical
condition—and anger.

She wasn’t that happy herself. Barn duty was
not high on her list of fun things to do. "You couldn't have
learned all this from one phone conversation. You didn't even make
notes."

Trent broke open another bale. The sweet,
pungent aroma of the freshly unbound grasses helped diffuse the
cattle’s smell. "For your enlightenment, I have an exceptional
memory so I didn't need notes."

She heard herself groan as she heaved her
pitchfork’s contents into the makeshift corral. "I thought you were
a sailor, but you've done all this before, haven't you?"

He didn’t pause but speared another fork
load. "Damn, why can't you just let me get this nightmare over with
in silence? Yes, I have done these same hideous chores countless
miserable times."

She waited until he stepped out of the way,
then got another stack. "When? Where?" She hated herself for
hounding, but she wanted to know more about him. Maybe if she did
it would end this fascination drawing her toward him.

He shook his head and his jaw clenched before
he answered. "It's part of my past, Princess. Leave it there."

With a sad half-smile he took her pitchfork
from her and set it aside with his. He dipped a pail into a small
bin then handed it to her. "Take this and feed the chickens." He
replaced the lid on the bin and sealed it.

She grasped the battered pail to her chest
and looked at the contents. It appeared to be a ground corn
product. But what did she do with it?

As if reading her thoughts, Trent said, "If
there’s a metal trough in the pen, pour it in that. Otherwise, you
sprinkle it on the floor so they can get to it."

His muscular body moved naturally and he
didn’t seem to be winded from his exertion. She emptied the pail,
carefully remaining outside the pen and tossing the food toward a
feeding tray inside. Trent pointed to a heavily insulated faucet
near the chickens' area.

"Be sure they have fresh water while I check
the well’s pump. Martin asked me to start a fire in a small brazier
in the well house so the pump won’t freeze. Then make certain the
generator is all set in case we lose electricity."

She nodded. Made sense because Grandpa had a
similar setup at his ranch. "When, not if. Rural areas out here can
lose power on a good day, and this is definitely not a good
day."

"Right on that. It's the second worst day of
my life."

"The
second
worst? What could be worse than today and
being stranded in a blizzard?”

"Tomorrow, when I fail to make that meeting
will be the worst day of my life." With that he left the barn,
banging the door behind him.

Just as well he’d gone outside. How could she
have answered him?

CHAPTER TWO

After
a few
minutes, Trent returned and unzipped his coat. As they prepared to
exit the barn for the house, he grabbed the cat and zipped her into
his jacket with him.

The return trek with the wind at their back
would have been easier, but the soft snowflakes had now turned to
ice pellets relentlessly stinging Holly. She welcomed the little
kitchen as gratefully as if it were a million-dollar mansion.

Trent pulled the large cat from beneath his
coat and released the feline gently onto the floor. The cat
stretched indolently before launching an inspection of the room.
The dog greeted them with enthusiastic tail wagging. Trent rewarded
him with a few pats on the head before gently pushing him
aside.

Striding to the wall phone, Trent picked up
the receiver. He tapped the cradle several times then hung up.
“Damn, now the phone’s out.”

“
I’m not surprised.” Holly sank onto a
chair beside the kitchen table. "My feet are numb and my hands
hurt. I don't think I've ever been so cold in my life."

Trent regarded the deteriorated condition of
her boots. "Hell, look at you. What were you thinking, wearing
those boots outside Dallas’ city limits?"

He picked up a kitchen towel and warmed it on
the oven door left open to generate more heat into the room. "Get
those ridiculous boots and socks off before you catch
pneumonia."

Holly pulled off her gloves. Apparently he
noticed the redness and stiff movements of her hands, because Trent
let out a string of curses. During his diatribe, he wrapped her
hands in the warmed towel and patted them gently onto her lap. He
knelt before her and eased the sodden boots from her then peeled
away her sheer trouser socks.

The sight of her feet seemed to frighten him.
"Lord, woman, you should have told me your feet were close to
frostbite. These boots are soaked and frozen."

"They’re a birthday gift from my sisters.
When I put them on I had no idea I’d need snowshoes."

Her lovely suede boots were now a total loss.
She dared not think what else besides snow reduced the supple
leather uppers to a dark, sodden mess pulling loose from the soles.
Those boots would never again be wearable.

With a sigh, she wished her sisters'
extravagant gift had lasted at least until after she received the
bill for them. The cat sniffed the boots warily, then glared at
Holly and sauntered across the room.

Trent searched the kitchen drawers and
cabinets for more linens and a large pan before he wrapped Holly's
toes in another towel. Turning on the spigot, he adjusted the water
before filling the pan.

"Here, put your feet in this tepid water
until they thaw out. I'll search our hosts' closets to see what I
can find for you."

As circulation returned, horrific needles of
pain shot through her feet. She wanted to cry from the ache, but
only clasped more closely at the towel warming her hands.

Trent returned to the kitchen, his arms laden
with bath towels, socks and a pair of scuffed boots that he dropped
beside her chair. The sudden sound caused the dog to yelp and the
cat to scurry from the room. Quickly, Trent unfolded two pairs of
socks and placed each on the open oven door to warm.

"Apparently Mrs. Martin is a tiny woman
because the women's shoes I found are little larger than a child's.
You'll have to borrow from Mr. Martin." He pulled a chair facing
her and placed a bath towel across his thighs.

Holly chewed her lip. "It seems almost like
stealing to use their things." She glanced to the stovetop and the
pan simmering there. "The soaking beans and thawed meat would have
ruined if we hadn't cooked them. This is different."

"When I spoke to him on the phone, Martin
insisted we use whatever we needed. Frankly, you have no idea how
relieved he was to have us here to take care of things. Most of his
income depends on the welfare of those animals."

He patted the towel across his thighs. "Now
let's take care of you. Place those frozen tootsies in my lap."

Trent bound the towel about her feet, gently
patting them dry. Then he wrapped the ends of the towel loosely
about her left foot while he massaged the right. Gentle, circular
motions with his callused fingers.