Wes Stryker's Wrangled Wife. Sandra Steffen
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very suspicious and very sexy, and for the record, I don’t need help for what you’re thinking.”
“You couldn’t possibly know what I’m thinking.”
“Wanna bet?”
“It’s all in your mind.”
“It was all in my dreams last night. You were in my dreams last night.”
She wished he would stop mentioning dreams. “What do you really want, Wes?”
“That’s a question I wouldn’t mind discussing at great length, but for now, I slipped on some ice. I didn’t know the snow had turned to sleet over night. You could say I discovered it the hard way. Anyway, I’m stuck on my back like a turtle. My shoulder’s dislocated, and the ice, my bad knee and the ribs I busted a few months back have rendered me immobile for the time being.”
Jayne’s mind reeled. “Dammit, Wes, why didn’t you say so? Burke! Come quick!”
She could hear Wes protesting as she handed the phone to her brother. “It’s Wes Stryker. It seems he’s fallen. We should call an ambulance.”
Burke took the phone. After a few pointed questions and a series of Uh-huhs and I sees, he covered the mouthpiece with one hand and spoke softly to Jayne. “He says he doesn’t need an ambulance, and I believe him.”
“But...”
Burke shrugged. “I know it sounds strange, but most of the ranchers and cowboys I’ve treated out here can diagnose their conditions as well as I can. Often the examination is just a technicality. Wes says all he needs is a helping hand getting to his feet. He’d like that someone to be you.”
Jayne glanced at Louetta as if to ask if the cowboy was for real and if he could be trusted. At Louetta’s small nod, Jayne shook her head. “I don’t believe this.” Yanking the phone out of her brother’s hand, she said, “If I find candlesticks and a table set for two, you’re dead meat, Stryker.”
When his deep, throaty chuckle reached her ear, she muttered something very unladylike, slammed the phone down and reached for her keys, sputtering under her breath that he was going to get her help, all right. And then he was going to get a piece of her mind.
Jayne hated country roads. Given a choice, she’d take a five-lane freeway during rush-hour traffic over these curving back roads that were chock-full of chatter bumps and potholes. Burke had wanted to drive her to Wes’s place, but she’d wanted to come alone. For reasons she preferred not to explore, she’d needed to escape the intimate atmosphere in her brother’s house on Custer Street.
She glanced at her car phone, turned the defrosoer up a notch and blew a lock of hair out of her eyes. Who in their right mind would set up a medical practice on Custer Street, anyway? Custer died, big-time, didn’t he? The names of some of the roads she’d taken this morning weren’t much better, but it was the layer of ice covering them that made them truly treacherous, which was why the fifteen-mile trek out to the Double S Ranch had already taken thirty-five minutes. Although it seemed more like forever, Jayne spent the time contemplating what she would say if this was all a hoax and what she would do if it wasn’t.
Her fingers cramped from squeezing the steering wheel so hard; her eyes burned from squinting into the sun that had started to shine halfway into the trip. Thankful to have been born with a good sense of direction, she followed the course Louetta had recited, passing sheds and piles of rocks that served as landmarks. It was a relief when she finally found Old Stump Road. Within minutes she pulled into a driveway, her tires sliding to a stop. It required a conscious effort to peel her fingers off the steering wheel. Honestly, if Wes wasn’t at least half-dead, he was going to be sorry.
At first glance out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw him by the barn, but it turned out to be an old barrel. With a sweeping gaze she took in a pair of discarded tires, a roll of rusty wire fence and a stack of hay covered with ice. Shading her eyes with one hand, she peered in the other direction.
Oh, my God, Wes. She froze: her gaze, her mind, everything.
The next thing she knew, she was slipping and sliding up the slight hill that led to the side of the house where a lone figure lay perfectly still, his cowboy hat upside down a few feet away “Wes! Are you all right?”
Silence.
“Are you dead? If you’re dead I’m never going to forgive you.” She was leaning over him now, gazing at a face that had been rugged looking last night but now had a deathly pallor. “Wes, say something. Anything.”
His eyes opened slowly, his dark blue irises tinged with gray. “Honey, I didn’t know you cared.”
She sputtered the same four-letter word she’d used at Burke and Louetta’s earlier. One corner of Wes’s mouth lifted in a half smile. “And to think you eat out of that mouth. Really, I love it when a woman talks dirty to me, but I’d enjoy it more if I were mobile, if you don’t mind.”
If he hadn’t tried to roll over, the action having elicited a pain-filled groan that made her wince and him swear, she would have told him what he could do with his mobility. “Dammit, Wes. I knew I should have called an ambulance.”
His face relaxed, his eyes closing. “I hate ambulances. Besides, I don’t need an ambulance. I need you.”
Her silence must have drawn his attention, because he looked up at her and said, “What, no scathing comeback?”
Hesitating, she measured him for a moment. “I was just wondering how hard you hit your head.”
“Don’t worry. My ribs and shoulder took the brunt of the fall.”
“And you’re sure nothing’s broken?”
“As sure as I can be at this point. What are you doing?”
A moment later she’d shrugged out of her fire-engine red coat and very carefully slid it underneath his head. Wes couldn’t come up with a reasonable explanation for the warmth that suddenly wrapped around him. He only knew he wanted to pull Jayne down on top of him and explore this living, breathing thing that had started to come to life the moment she’d set foot inside the Crazy Horse last night.
“Jayne, you’ll freeze.”
She stood up and promptly began to slide down the gradual decline. Slowly making her way back to Wes, she said, “Only if you don’t shut up and help me figure out a way to get you to your feet.”
“There’s a can of ground coffee sitting on the counter.”
“You want me to make coffee? Now?”
He almost grinned. “The coffee’s already made. I was thinking that maybe we could use the coffee in the can for traction.”
“Traction,” she said, a dawning look of realization crossing her features a split second before she rose carefully to her feet. “Of course we need traction. Something for me to stand on to get a foothold, and something for you to use to keep from slipping. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
Since Wes couldn’t move, he did as she said. He watched her until she half slid, half skated beyond his peripheral vision, listening intently to the sound of her footsteps and the string of expletives she muttered when she almost fell. The screen door creaked open, followed by a stretch of silence Wes couldn’t measure. And then she was back, a can of salt in one hand, his brand-new tin of coffee in the other. She sprinkled them both on the ground all around him, taking extra care to grind the concoction into the ice. Seemingly satisfied that neither she nor Wes would slip as long as they were careful, she glided down to her knees.
“Do you think you can move now?” she asked.
Wes gritted his teeth, bent both knees and rolled to his side. Her hands circled his upper arm, flitting to his back and down around his waist as if she didn’t know where to put them. He wouldn’t have minded the opportunity to enjoy this. Unfortunately it