Stranded With a Hero (30 page)

Because she wasn’t.

They were strangers. They’d known each other what, a day? Two days?

Frankie’d lost track of time. Without television or Internet or cell service, surrounded by swirling snow and only shades of black, white, and gray indicating what time of day it might be, her world had shrunk to wherever there was light and warmth.

And Red.

Oh dear
.

Frankie grabbed the pitchfork and began tossing straw alongside Red, working up a sweat but only accomplishing half as much as him. Any conversation was strictly business after that and any contact was accidental, with each of them pulling back as if scalded.

The horses were all fine, whuffling their greetings with great puffs of warm air from their frosted muzzles. They went from stall to stall, breaking layers of ice on the water when necessary and giving everyone fresh hay and grain. Frankie patted them as she filled their hayracks, greeting them in turn, the spotted one, the pretty chestnut one, the blond one and the tall brown one with the black mane and tail.

Suddenly the big one squealed and reared, kicking his front legs against the stall between them.

Frankie ducked.

“Whoa, boy!” said Red, rushing to her side. “Easy big boy. Frankie, you okay?”

“Yeah,” said Frankie, watching the horse toss his head, the whites of his eyes visible. “I’m afraid of the dark, but a rabid horse? No problem.”

“I forgot to tell you,” he murmured, moving slowly toward the frightened animal. “That big bay is new. Carson warned me he might be a little skittish.”

The horse tattooed the stall floor in agitation, his ears flat.

Red kept himself between her and the stall while he stuffed the big bay’s hayrack. He cast a worried glance at the roof. “The wind’s picking up again. I’d like to bring more feed out to the mustangs, while we still can. Oh, hang on. I almost forgot.”

With long, quick strides, he reached a counter where he dumped kibble into a half-dozen dishes, most of which weren’t quite empty. From the shadows, Frankie saw forms emerge, cats of all colors and stripes.

“Oh!” Frankie clapped her gloved hands in delight. The animals shrank back at the sound.

“Don’t bother trying to make friends,” said Red. “They’re mostly feral.”

Frankie felt a stab of disappointment. If only it were summer. She’d spend all day hanging out here, getting to know the horses, the cats, maybe even the mustangs.

It must be like heaven out here in the summer.

Red put his hand on the small of her back, guiding her out of the barn. After the dark interior, the outdoor brightness was blinding. Frankie covered her eyes, wincing, until she could see her feet.

“They’re not pets,” he said, “but Rory sees to it they have a good life.”

I can’t wait to meet her
,
thought Frankie. And instantly, she remembered that as soon as the storm let up, she’d be away from Three River Ranch and everyone in it. She had another home waiting for her, another life, other friends.

Do you really?
She rented by the month. Her job could be gone any day. Family and friends? She was the stray that hung on the periphery, waiting for handouts.

What would it be like to have such deep roots to a place?

The dog raced ahead of them to the truck and leaped into the cab the moment the door opened. The animals on this ranch, even the wild horses and the feral cats, felt more at home here than she had anywhere.

Frankie climbed into the truck and slid across the seat, her teeth chattering. Mistral shoved her shaggy muzzle against her and licked her cheek, as if aware of her thoughts.

Red tossed several bales of hay into the back, then slid in beside her.

“You’re cold,” he said without looking at her. “Stay in here while I drop the feed. We’ll be inside by the fire in no time.”

Frankie turned the dial on the heater. “We’ll be there even quicker if we do it together. Don’t worry about me.”

The chill was eating through her layers, despite the tepid air that was all the heater could produce. He must be just as cold as she was. They had to work together, and they had to hurry.

But as they drove around to the field, hard drifts of snow a foot tall blocked their path, defeating even four-wheel drive.

“We’ll have to use a sled,” said Red, shifting into reverse. “As long as we can get the hay over the wire, the wildies can find it.”

Frankie squinted across the field, looking for the mustangs. But instead, she saw her reindeer. They stood exactly where they’d landed after she’d shooed them out of Conrad’s trailer.

“Oh no,” she breathed. She’d assumed they’d disappear into the wilderness as soon as they had a chance. “Red, my reindeer. Or elk or whatever they are. They need to get deeper into the woods, where they’ll be sheltered. Why are they still hanging around the trailer?”

Red glanced to where she pointed. “I don’t know. We’ll drag some hay out closer to them too.”

Then he frowned as he took a closer look. “What the hell?”

“What is it?”

He turned to her, his expression shocked. “What did your boss do to those animals?”

Anger rose again. “He put dye in their feed. You know. To make them red-nosed reindeer. Only now they look like they’re all wearing smeared lipstick. Who knows what was in that stuff? He might have poisoned them.” Outrage warmed her. “You see why I had to get them out of there?”

“It’s exploitation.” Disgust laced the sheriff’s words.

“Thank you.”

“But you still stole them.”

“I’m undoing a crime. What would you have done?”

But Red wasn’t listening as he kept staring at the animals.

“Frankie, where did he get them?”

“I don’t know! Who cares?”

She saw a muscle twitching in his jaw. He was angry.

“Those aren’t elk. Those are caribou.”

“Oh.”

“
Woodland
caribou.” He turned to her then and the frigid air was warm compared to his expression. “Endangered woodland caribou—protected animals that don’t live in Montana because it’s not their natural habitat. However your boss got them, it wasn’t legal.” Red’s voice promised vengeance. “And now these caribou are in real trouble.”

…

“Tell me the truth, Francesca,” said Red, looking squarely at her. “What’s really going on here?”

Endangered caribou? Damn you, Conrad Toole!

Frankie fought waves of panic. What if she’d only made things worse for those poor beasts? “I knew Conrad was lying about them being reindeer. Who’s gonna pay to see Rudolph the red-nosed elk? So I had to get them somewhere hunters wouldn’t get them. But I swear, I had no idea they were endangered anything! Conrad kept calling them moose. Said he’d caught them eating with his cattle. He figured he could make a buck off them before he filled his freezer with meat.” She poked him hard in the chest. “I didn’t tell you because how could I know you wouldn’t turn around and shoot them yourself?”

“Season ended weeks ago.”

“See! You are a hunter! How else would you know? And I’ll bet hunters shoot things whenever they want out here.” Disappointment laced through her. And she’d imagined him as a knight!

“For one thing, I’m not a hunter,” said Red, rubbing his chest. “Second, I am law enforcement. No one poaches in my jurisdiction. No one.”

The tightness of his features left no doubt in her mind that he was serious. Now he wasn’t just a knight, he was Robin Hood.

“Third,” he continued, stepping close enough for her to see the golden striations in his irises, “you keep your hands to yourself, Francesca, or I’ll be forced to restrain you.”

That zing arced between them again and her train of thought derailed. Crashed. And exploded.

She imagined herself against a wall, her arms above her head, both wrists encircled by one strong hand, while Red pressed his body against hers—

“So?” Red’s eyes shone and a smile teased his lips, as if he knew what she was thinking. “You were confessing.”

“I’m not confessing!” Instantly she knew he’d been deliberately goading her and her face flamed. But the panic had abated. Perhaps he really was on her side.

The elks’ side. She blinked and shook her head. The
woodland caribous’
side.

“Okay.” She took a breath, centering herself. “Conrad Toole came up on one of my humane society loops as running an unlicensed roadside ‘zoo’ each Christmas. I found him and got a job as an elf, so I could keep an eye on the animals and find out how he treated them.

“Undercover work. Sounds exciting.”

“Don’t mock me or I’ll poke your tender chest again.” Her fingers itched to touch him again, even with all the thick outdoor clothing between them. She gripped them together. “He had a little wooden shack with a thatched roof that he carted around on a flatbed. Apparently he owned a cow and a donkey. He paid some local kids a couple bucks to dress up in towels and robes, and had a doll in the manger. On one side of the shack, he had a handful of sheep and a kid as shepherd. On the other, a sleigh with bells and these pathetic-looking reindeer. And me.” She shuddered. “My job was to tell kids that Santa was on his way.”

“A seasonal smorgasbord. He charged admission, I assume?”

“Naturally.” At least she didn’t have to take the money. “He’d found the sweet spot—low enough that Mommy and Daddy couldn’t say no, high enough that he made a tidy profit.”

“Did he abuse the animals?”

“Aside from the dye and overall lack of principles? And his implications of reindeer stew for New Year? Not that I saw.” The nausea faded and now all Frankie wanted to do was cry.

She swallowed hard and walked around him, tugging a heavy bale off the truck bed. “I just wanted to help, Red.”

A heavy arm draped across her shoulder and squeezed gently, just for a moment. It felt good. Frighteningly good.

Then it was gone.

Red grabbed the other side of the bale she was fighting with and together they dropped it onto the sled.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll get this feed distributed and get back to the fire. Once we’re thawed out, we’ll come up with a plan.”

Heat prickled the back of her eyes. “Really?”

“Really.” He smiled. “Now make yourself useful and open that gate, will you?”

She tossed a handful of snow at his face, then shrieked as the wind whipped it back into her own.

Red hooted. “Karma’s a boomerang, sweetheart. Don’t forget it.”

Chapter Six

They’d barely dumped the hay out for the caribou when the wind picked up in earnest
and drove them back to the safety of the house. Frankie acted like she’d completely forgotten that episode in the barn.

The terror that had almost incapacitated her. The kiss that almost incapacitated him.

When they’d gazed into each other’s eyes, he’d unexpectedly accessed something hidden and protected and terribly private. Even though she’d been forced to trust him he felt like he’d been handed something precious and fragile.

“Oh man, it feels good in here.” Frankie shed her wet outerwear and went straight for the fire.

The dog went to her dish and sat, staring meaningfully at Red. He was grateful for the distraction.

“It’s not fair,” he said, spooning food into the bowl. “I’m the provider, yet this dog shadows you like you’re the only thing between her and starvation. I thought they always loved the ones that fed them.”

“Well.” She looked at the leashes hanging by the door. “Some invasions of privacy a lady doesn’t forgive. Want me to feed her?”

Mistral quivered and cast an adoring look her way.

“No,” he said, mixing the soft food in with the crunchy kibble. “She’s a smart dog. She should know I was only trying to keep her safe.”

Frankie got up to join him at the counter. Backlit by the fire, all he could see clearly was her silhouette, the clean, smooth lines of her body, hugged by thermal underwear. And nothing else. Muscles flexed and shifted, lean and lithe and lovely. Nipples tight with cold budded beneath the nubbly weave, making his fingers itch to reach out and touch.

He hit the edge of the dish on the counter, spilling a few kibbles. Instead of leaping on them, the dog looked at Frankie, as if asking permission.

“Go ahead, honey. It’s your supper.”

The mutt inhaled the food on the floor, then turned to the dish Red had prepared, as if he wasn’t there. Instead, Frankie was rewarded with a smile of adoration from those massive crunching jaws.

She laughed. “Don’t take it personally.”

“Kind of hard not to.” He lit the candles on the table. The last thing he wanted was a rerun of her panic attack.

“I’m a stand-in for Rory, that’s all. I feel sorry for Mistral. She’s lonely.”

“Lonely.”

“Yeah, you know, wishing you weren’t alone? Feeling sad because someone you cared for was gone? I guess she recognized a kindred spirit.”

“You? You don’t seem like a lonely person.”

“My mom always told me that to get a friend, you have to be a friend. But what I wanted was a sister. Still do, I suppose.”

Frankie’s easy admission speared him in the chest. Another tender gift. Didn’t she know how vulnerable this made her? How much it would hurt when someone found that soft spot and dug in, just for the sake of causing pain? She cultivated such a strong, independent image, yet there was this other side of her too, and her ease with it baffled him.