The Texas Rancher's Vow. Cathy Thacker Gillen
Читать онлайн книгу.
hadn’t.
She had simply hopped in her van and driven thirty minutes into Laramie, in the scorching hundred and ten degree heat. Her carelessness, coupled with the evaporation in a van that had been sitting in the full sun all day, with a growing leak in the radiator, had triggered the Check Engine light.
Halfway back to the Triple B, Jen had been forced to pull over into the nearest safe place—the middle of a field, just off the highway—and lift the hood, lest the van catch fire.
It was as she feared. The radiator had been bone-dry, the engine sizzling hot. Jen had poured the half bottle of water she had with her over both, then tried to call for help.
Only to find she was too far from a cell tower to get a signal.
Because it was already getting dark, and she could see storm clouds gathering in the distance, she had decided to climb back in the van and wait for help.
Only help hadn’t come.
And now, at nearly 10:00 p.m., with the wind blowing fiercely, Jen began to think she was going to have to spend the entire night out here. The notion of being stranded inside this stifling hot van, surrounded by whatever critters lurked in the deserted Texas countryside, didn’t bode well.
Worse, what had at first looked like heat lightning now appeared to be the real thing. She could hear thunder rumbling in the distance, and that made her nervous, too. In the middle of a flat field, she felt like a sitting duck.
She had read that rubber tires would absorb a lightning strike. She’d also seen Austin news reports of lightning going right through the hood of a running vehicle, decimating the motor.
Which made sense. The exterior was metal, after all.
Metal attracted lightning.
But she would be no safer outside the vehicle, because then she would have no protection whatsoever. So, heaven help her, she had to stay inside and try not to be scared witless. Wait…was that a truck going down the road?
Jen hit the horn—hard—but it wasn’t necessary. The pickup had already swerved around, and the headlamps swept the van.
The truck accelerated, coming right for her.
That quickly, the lightning—which had seemed so far away—lit up the dark sky with a bright yellow flash and a simultaneous clap of thunder that was so darn loud it had Jen nearly jumping out of her skin.
Tears sprang into her eyes as it was followed by a second lightning bolt and even louder rumble of thunder. Not that it seemed to bother the driver. The pickup circled around as the sky opened up and the rain poured down in fierce sheets. The vehicle did a U-turn and came back, stopping alongside her van. The passenger door swung open.
Matt Briscoe was clearly illuminated.
Jen had never been so glad to see anyone in her life. Or embarrassed. Of all the people to rescue her…
He leaned over. “Get in!”
That would mean hopping across six feet of field, exposed to the storm. “I…” Am scared witless!
Too scared, in fact, to move.
Matt’s glance cut to the lifted hood on her van—the age-old sign of a vehicle in trouble. “Don’t argue!” he commanded, even more fiercely. “Just do it!”
Another bolt of lightning slashed down, striking a distant fence post. Fire flashed, splinters flew. A split second later, the thunder was deafening.
Jen didn’t have to be told twice. She wanted out of there. Now! After shoving her keys and phone into her purse, she jumped out of the van, slammed the driver’s door shut behind her and then dashed through the pouring rain to his vehicle.
Matt reached out and helped pull her inside the truck as yet another bolt of lightning struck the ground, an even shorter distance away.
Jen slammed the door.
“Hold on!” he said, shifting the truck into Drive.
Seconds later, they were bumping across the field toward the rural highway. While Jen scrambled to put on her safety belt, Matt drove through the pouring rain with a sure, steady hand.
Eventually, the worst of the lightning and thunder was behind them. He slowed.
“Might help to breathe,” he said.
He was right, Jen realized belatedly. She had been holding her breath. She let it out, then sucked in a rush of air that did little to dispel the tension coiled inside her.
She blotted the rain from her face with the backs of her hands. Pretty sure her mascara was running, she reached into her handbag for a tissue and dabbed it beneath her eyes. Feeling marginally better, she dropped the soiled tissue back in her purse, then cleared her throat, still trying to calm down. “How did you know where to find me?”
Matt shrugged, his broad shoulders straining against the soft cotton of his shirt. “If you were coming back from town, I figured you’d be on this road.” He paused to send her a brief, probing glance. “The question is, what were you doing parked in that field?” He turned his attention back to the road. “If you were broken down, why didn’t you call for help?”
I wished I could have called you.
Aware that she felt safer than she had in a long while, being here with him, she gestured out the window. “No cell phone reception.”
Matt’s lips compressed. “Yeah, coverage is spotty this far out of town.” His strong, capable hands clasped the wheel. “We have it on the ranch because we put up our own tower. Most don’t.”
“I’ll remember that next time.”
He looked her over, taking in her windswept hair and rain-splattered skirt and blouse. “What was wrong with your van?”
There was concern in his eyes. A protectiveness that shouldn’t mean anything to her.
She feigned indifference—to both the situation and his gallantry—while she rubbed at the splatters of mud on her bare calves. “The radiator has a leak.” Her voice was hoarse and she cleared her throat again. “I didn’t check it before I left because I had just filled it yesterday afternoon, when I got here. But what was in there must have mostly evaporated.”
He scowled. “It’ll do that in this kind of weather, when there’s a leak.”
“Yeah, well, now I know that.” Jen sighed, her emotions roiling.
She squared her shoulders and tugged her skirt down, trying to prove to him that she was one hundred percent in charge of the situation, when of course she wasn’t. She didn’t seem to be in charge of anything when it came to Matt Briscoe.
Swallowing, she continued weakly, “I have no idea whose property I pulled off on….”
He shot her an evocative look. “The Armstrong ranch.”
Jen shivered in the cool air blowing out of the vents. Her blouse was damp, her arms bare. She ran her palms over her skin in an effort to warm herself. “I hope they don’t mind.”
Matt leaned forward to adjust the controls. Then his gaze drifted over her again. “I’m sure they won’t.”
Jen looked away from his handsome profile, the masculine set of his jaw. Aware that her nipples had pebbled—and he had definitely noticed—she crossed her arms in front of her and did her best to discreetly pluck the fabric away from her breasts. “How old is this pickup?”
Matt slowed as they neared the iron gate of the Triple B. “Sixteen years, give or take.”
Jen drew a shuddering breath. “It’s in really nice condition.” The bench seat seemed to have new leather. The dash and doors were equally pristine. Unfortunately, she had tracked mud onto the floor mat.
His large capable hands circling the wheel, he turned effortlessly into the lane. “Thanks.”