The Cowboy Who Came In From The Cold. Pamela Macaluso
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After Stone had gathered what he needed and walked to the stove, Patrice investigated the cupboard. There was an inventory posted on the inside of the door and labels on the shelves identifying where everything belonged. And to think her friends had teased her about being overly organized.
“Have you lived here long?”
He let out a short, dry laugh. “I don’t live here. This is a line shack. Someplace for the ranch hands to stay when they’re out riding fence or working the herd and it gets too late to go back to the ranch for the night. Or someplace to hole up if the weather turns nasty ... like today.”
“Oh.” She closed the cupboard. “Are you a cowboy?”
There were ranches and cowboys in Arizona, but Patrice had never actually met one before. For her, cowboys were the larger-than-life heroes that she’d watched, along with her father, during the Wild West movie marathons on TV.
“I’m a cowboy.”
“Do you like your job?”
He shrugged. “I guess. I’ve never given it much thought.” He turned. “The coffee will be ready in a bit. Meantime, let’s see about getting you some warmer clothes.” He walked to the dresser. “They’re on the large side, but they’re the smallest we’ve got.”
The thermal underwear, blue jeans and flannel shirt he brought her would be much warmer than the linen pantsuit she was wearing.
“Thanks.”
“I’ll get a jacket for you to wear until it warms up in here.”
He rifled through a second cupboard near the first one. Inside she could see sleeping bags, pillows, stacks of blankets and towels, as well as a supply of jackets, hats and gloves.
Patrice looked around the small cabin. The only door was the one they’d come in. “Um, is there somewhere I can change?”
“What you see is what you get.”
A strong gust of wind rattled the shutters. Dare she suggest he wait outside?
“You’ll keep your back turned, won’t you?”
“Of course.”
He brought her the jacket then stood in front of the fireplace to give her some privacy.
“I’m going to change now, if that’s okay.”
“Yes, ma’am. Let me know when you’re finished.”
She walked to the bunk beds, setting the clothes on the top mattress. Turning her back to him, she shrugged out of her clothes and put on the others. Roomy was an understatement, but already she could feel the extra warmth and was grateful.
She turned toward the fireplace and her breath caught in her throat. He still had his back to her, that wasn’t the problem. What disturbed her was the vision he created. Like something out of a fantasy. He had one arm raised and leaning against the mantel, the other rested at his side and held his hat. The red-orange tinged light from the fire flickered as it cast its glow over him. His jacket was long, hiding his backside, but making his denim-clad legs look that much longer, and powerful.
She reached her hand to her mouth to stop the whistle of appreciation that threatened to escape and got a face full of flannel.
A quick inspection of her attire confirmed what she already suspected. He might look like a fantasy come to life, but she looked like a five-year-old playing dress up.
Laughing, she started to roll up the sleeves. “You can turn around now. I’m decent.”
After the sleeves, she tackled the pant legs. She looked up and stopped laughing. He was watching her. While she couldn’t interpret his expression, the intensity of his gaze had her wondering if she’d forgotten some article of clothing.
“There’s rope in the cupboard you can use as a belt.” His voice had an extra huskiness to it.
“All right.” Patrice easily found the rope. Fortunately there were already some pieces cut, and one was the exact size she needed.
When she turned, Stone was still standing in front of the fire, looking too at home, too handsome and way too sexy.
He took a step forward. “The coffee should be just about ready.”
“Coffee.” She repeated the word, but it had no meaning at first. Only as he poured the dark brew into two speckled blue enamel mugs did the fog in her mind clear.
“How do you take it?”
“Usually with a little milk.”
“Is powdered creamer all right?”
She nodded. She wasn’t in a position to be picky.
They sat on opposite sides of the table on the end farthest from the lantern.
Patrice sipped her coffee, then wrapped her hands around the warm mug.
An unsettling thought weaseled its way into her mind. “There’s only one room here.”
“Like I said, what you see is what you get If you’re worried about sleeping arrangements, don’t be. I’ll stay in my own bunk, and I don’t snore.”
Good grief! She hadn’t even gotten around to worrying about sleeping arrangements. And she needed to. Once asleep, she would be absolutely, positively at his mercy!
Only first things first. “What I was wondering about was, um, the facilities? The bathroom?”
“The outhouse.”
“Right”
“It’s out back.”
“It’s snowing out there.”
He took a drink from his mug before answering. “I know. That’s why we’re here.”
“But the bathroom is out back?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Who designed this place?”
“It’s intended for occasional use only, and it wouldn’t be cost-effective to install modern plumbing.”
“What about some not-so-modern plumbing?”
He smiled, the first real smile she’d seen on him. She felt it all the way to her toes. He shook his head.
Patrice sighed. “Not cost-effective?” She tilted her head, looking at him. Cost-effective wasn’t typical cowboy lingo. Maybe he was foreman or ranch manager. “Getting eaten by a bear can’t be cost-effective, either.”
There was that smile again. She caught a glimpse of it before he hid it by drinking his coffee.
She took a sip from her mug. Already the contents were starting to cool.
“An angry deer can be dangerous, too,” he said.
Terrific! Bears and her too-sexy rescuer weren’t perilous enough.
She remembered the large deer she’d swerved to avoid hitting before ending up in the ditch. “Are all the deer around here extra large?”
“There are some good-size animals in the area. What do you consider extra large?”
“The size of a small horse.”
He raised one brow in question. “You saw a deer the size of a small horse?” he asked disbelievingly.
“It was crossing the road.”
“It was probably an elk,” he corrected.
“An elk? Are they any friendlier than deer or the insomniac bears?”
He chuckled. “’Fraid not.”
“It figures. I don’t think I’m cut out for this wilderness thing,” she confessed.
“I