Between Strangers

Or her utter lack of adequate gloves would be a truer description of what he’d seen as she dashed past. He had originally thought she’d been wearing woolen mittens. Now he was shocked to see holes where her fingers poked through the thin material. She would have frostbite for sure.

Marcy climbed inside through the other door, and he slid into the driver’s seat. It didn’t take him but five more minutes to rock the SUV ahead, dragging the branch out of one lane. Two more minutes and the rope was untied and crammed back in the compartment with the spare. Then he successfully managed to turn the SUV once again so they could be on their way.

He eased the SUV down the road past the bulk of the tree. Once they were clear, he slowed and put it in Park.

Turning to face her, he tried to remain calm as he said, “Marcy, give me your hands.”

“What?” She swiveled and blinked at his odd demand.

Holding his own hands out, palms up, he cocked his head and waited.

She tentatively started to lay her hands in his, but looked wary and confused. It was all he could do not to break down and beg her to quickly do as he’d asked. He didn’t want to scare her, but this was too important.

Two

Marcy hadn’t realized how difficult it might be to give up control and let Lance take her hands. She should’ve known. After all, it had been more than eighteen months since she’d let a man so much as touch her.

When she glanced up to check the sincerity in his midnight-black eyes, her breath caught in her throat. Was that an erotic spark she saw in those eyes? Marcy had to fight within herself to ignore it and the powerful electric current she’d felt.

Eventually she surrendered her hands to him and stared blankly at where they were joined. The contrast between the golden skin of the back of his hands and the stark whiteness of her fingers drew her entire focus.

Lance studied their hands, too, his face contorted in a scowl. “We need to get these wet things off you in a hurry.”

“Huh?” That shocking sizzle of sensual awareness she’d just felt had obviously turned her into an idiot.

He didn’t wait for her to come to her senses. Tearing off her gloves, he dropped them in front of the heater. But he still didn’t let go of her hands.

Wonderful. Now the jolts of electricity were shooting clear up her arms and down her spine, making her overly warm and hypersensitive to every tiny touch. And here she’d thought her fingers were numbed by the cold.

She managed to keep herself from pulling away. Not that she really wanted to. Never in her life had a man’s touch affected her so strongly. Her mind froze at the same time her body heated.

But Lance’s next move stirred the blood clear to her toes and drove her totally past common sense. He tenderly lifted her hands to his mouth and lightly blew a warm breath across her fingers and palms.

Fire raced from her hands up through her veins, landing with a roar in her belly. Suddenly panicked by the intimate movements and by a fever that was driving her to madness, Marcy shuddered and tugged hard against his grip.

Either her frantic jerking or her audible gasps must’ve broken through Lance’s intense concentration. “Don’t pull away. Let me warm you up.”

The tone of his voice sounded more erotic to her than his words. She was already burning up simply from his touch.

“I’m concerned about frostbite,” he advised sternly.

Marcy couldn’t keep looking into his eyes. The intimacy was too much for her to take.

“I’m okay,” she told him as she began rubbing her hands together to get the circulation back.

“Don’t rub your hands that way.” He reached for her hands again. “Rubbing is one of the worst things you can do for frostbite.”

When their fingers touched once more, he stopped talking and she heard his sudden intake of breath. She wondered if the lightning bolt of sensation she’d felt had seared him as deeply as it had her.

She found herself looking down and away from their joined hands. Anywhere but back into his eyes.

After a too-long second of uncomfortable silence, he finally placed her hands next to the heater’s fan and then let her go. “Keep your fingers in front of the blower. They may start to ache but they’ll thaw more slowly that way.”

Lance sat back in his seat and put the SUV into gear. “I think we should make it to a truck stop in about an hour.” His voice was rough and dry. “That is, if we don’t have any more emergency roadblocks to get around.”

Neither of them said anything more as quiet filled the SUV, and all that could be heard was the blower on the heater’s fan and the rumble of the engine as the SUV strained against the icy winds and slick roads.

Marcy couldn’t find enough of her voice to say anything at all. She sat stunned in silence for long minutes, trying to figure out what had just happened between them.

Her brain slowly came back around to focusing on her surroundings at the exact moment she heard Angie begin to stir in the back seat. Relieved and grateful, she figured that her baby would be a good distraction to take her mind off the odd reaction she’d had to Lance’s touch. Marcy unbuckled the seat belt and twisted around on her knees to check the little girl.

“What’s the matter with your baby?” he asked. “Is she all right?”

“She’s just waking up, but I’m betting she’ll soon be loudly voicing her complaints.”

“Complaints?”

Angie opened her eyes, and Marcy decided to slide past the center console to go between the two front seats in order to reach her. The familiar sounds of the baby’s “I’m wet and hungry” cries told her that it was indeed time for a change.

“Whoa,” Lance bellowed over the din created by Angie’s screams and the fierce sounds of the blowing winds. “Should I stop?”

“We’re barely moving as it is,” Marcy told him. “I trust you. Just keep going. I can reach her diaper bag in the back,” she continued. “Just let me change Angie and try giving her the water bottle. I’ll wait to feed her until we can get inside someplace warm.” At least, she hoped Angie could wait a little longer.

Lance concentrated on his driving. Still shaken from his crazy reaction to the touch of her skin and the spark of something he’d seen in her eyes, he now had one more thing about Marcy Griffin that deviled him.

She trusted him to keep them safe. He was frantically searching his memory for any other time when someone had actually trusted him that much. The only thing he could come up with was when Buck pulled him off the rodeo circuit and hired him to be in charge of his ranch’s rodeo stock program. He must’ve trusted him a lot to do that. Right?

Lance had never been able to figure out what made women tick, though. And this one was turning out to be more confusing than any of the others.

Take Buck’s daughter, Lorna, for instance. She was a good friend. Someone who would gladly ride across the Montana countryside with him, and someone he could also take to movies on lonely Saturday nights. Lorna was steady and predictable. And he was sure she would accept his ring. She would make him a good wife.

But never…ever…had he felt the same kind of steamy heat and staggering flood of senses that he’d experienced just by touching Marcy’s hands.

He couldn’t remember any time in those days before he settled down on the ranch—and certainly never with the woman who lived there now—when this intense kind of desire had bypassed his good judgment. With Lorna, he’d wanted to wait until the two of them were at least engaged before they took things past friendship. And he was sure Lorna felt the same way. Letting sex rule a relationship was not a thing he felt comfortable doing with someone who would be his life partner.

So this sudden craving to take a perfect stranger into his arms and kiss her senseless was totally unexpected and absolutely unwanted. Perhaps the life-and-death circumstances they found themselves in were making his normal male reactions to a pretty woman suddenly seem much more powerful.

He decided not to dwell on it too much. The best thing for him to do was to talk to Marcy. Try to make friends with her. Keep things casual. They probably would be together for several more hours at least. By the time he was on his way down the road without her, perhaps the two of them would’ve found they had nothing in common and his libido would’ve settled back in line.

Good plan. Now if only his body would cooperate.

Within fifteen minutes Marcy had quieted her baby and climbed back into the front seat. Lance was beyond tired and hungry. And Marcy looked as if she hadn’t eaten a decent meal in about a week.

“Another half hour and we should be at the truck stop,” he told her. He took his eyes off the road for a second and glanced over to check on her.

She smiled up at him. Actually smiled. It felt as if someone had flipped on a light in a pitch-black room.

The unexpected sizzle of heat and tension made him jerk his head back around to stare through the windshield. He figured it was too dangerous to take his eyes off the road ahead. In more ways than one.

“How come you know the country around here so well?” she asked congenially. “Are you from the area?”

Now, this was better. They could talk for a while. Just as long as he didn’t have to look at her.

“No, ma’am,” he said with a chuckle. “I’ve spent most of my adult life following the rodeo circuit. It’s a hectic way of life for a man…traveling from one rodeo town to the next. But after a few years of doing it, a guy gets to know the routes and stops pretty well. And a man can manage to make friends in the places he comes back to year after year.”

“You were in the rodeo? What’d you do there?” Surprise colored the tone of her questions, but she sounded more awed than disgusted.

He never knew what to expect when he mentioned his work. Many people had no idea about what went on at a rodeo. Others felt it was a low-class kind of life. Still others, like the buckle bunnies and camp followers, were too easily impressed by what was really just a job.

“I was a bull rider for the first few years,” he admitted. “Then later I rode the broncs.”

“Cool. That’s awesome. But isn’t it dangerous?”

“I’ve had my share of bruises and broken bones, I guess. But the point is to know when to stop before it takes you down for good.”

“You don’t do it anymore? You quit?”

Is that what he’d done? “I retired from the circuit. I moved on to something better.”

“Back at your ranch in Montana?”

“The ranch isn’t mine. I’m just a hired hand.”

She seemed hesitant to make a comment. “Really?” she finally said in a neutral tone. “What do you do there?”

He didn’t know if Marcy was truly interested, or if she’d even have the foggiest idea of what went into his job. But she was waiting for an answer. And he’d already made the decision that he wanted them to become friends.

So he figured he would just keep talking. “The ranch was always home for a good friend of mine. His family has lived on the land for nearly a hundred years.

“They’ve got a formidable operation there with many different kinds of businesses. Sheep. Cattle. They breed show horses and champion stock bulls, and do lots of other profitable things, as well. My friend’s dad, Buck Stanton, hired me to run the stock contracting end of the business.”

“Stock contracting?”

“Yeah. We supply the livestock to rodeos. Our operation isn’t big enough yet to produce the shows themselves. But we’ll be getting there someday.”

“Your ranch raises the bucking horses and those mean ol’ bulls?”

The question brought an automatic grin. “There’s a bit more to it than that. I acquire bucking stock at auction, study the genetics of breeding good buckers and make sure the stock stays rank by pasturing them far away from humans.

“So far we have a crew of thirty in my division. Vets, chute men, transporters. The whole deal is growing by leaps and bounds.”

“Goodness,” she said with a slight chuckle. “I had no idea so much went into that sort of thing. Have you been doing it very long?”

“Not long,” he told her with a shake of his head.

“I see.”

There was something in the way she said the words that told him she had questions not yet spoken aloud. He just didn’t know what answer to give if she wouldn’t ask the question.

Nothing for him to do but keep talking. Maybe he’d hit on the right answer by accident. Plus…all this talking was helping to keep him alert and was making the time go by quicker.

“But the ranch is definitely my home now,” he told her without a second thought. “It’s great not having to travel all the time.”

“But you’re traveling now. Was this trip for business?”

His thoughts on this trip were still all jumbled in his head. Grief and regret mixed together with a final release of duty and the promise of a brand-new life. He wasn’t sure he could talk about it just yet.

“No,” he grunted. “My grandmother passed away. I felt it was my duty to attend her funeral in New Orleans.”

“Your ‘duty’?” Marcy asked in a quiet voice. “I don’t understand.”

Hell, he’d managed to say the wrong thing after all. He really did not want to talk about this.

“It’s not important,” he said quickly. “What’s important is that I’m headed home. And if I’m lucky, I’ll make it there by Christmas Eve.”

“Does your family celebrate that with special traditions?”

“Didn’t know I had much family left. And now that Grandmother Steele is gone, I guess I’ll never know much about that side of the family.” Now why had he let that slip? Jeez, he was sure saying way too much to a stranger. “I hope to make the Stantons in Montana my family from now on. They’ve done more than give me a job—they’re more like family than just friends and employers.” Again, that was just too much to say. What was the matter with him?

“But you don’t have a wife and kids waiting for you back in Montana?”

Ah. He had a feeling that was the question she’d been wanting to ask. He’d noted over the years that it was a question most women asked when they first met a man.

“No, ma’am. Not as yet. But I’m hopeful that’ll be changing real soon. Now that I’m building a home, I intend to have everything that goes with it.”

“Oh? You’re engaged, then?”

He shook his head. “Not yet. But I expect that Lorna Stanton will consent to marry me when I propose at the family’s traditional Christmas Eve party. So…no, as of this moment, I’m not engaged, either.”

“Did you mean to say that this Lorna is your girlfriend?”

“I suppose you could call her a girlfriend,” he admitted hesitantly. “But I’ve never thought of her that way. We have a lot in common. A marriage between us makes sense. It’s a good solid fit.”

“Hmm. So does she love you? Do you love her?”

“I can’t say that we’ve come that far yet. But I believe the best marriages are the ones where love grows over time. I’m starting a little late in life, but we still should have fifty years or so to learn about love.”

“Wait a minute.” Marcy held up her hand, palm out. “You intend to ask this woman to marry you, but neither of you are in love? Have you two, uh, well, do you know for a fact that you will be compatible…in all areas?”

“If you’re asking about in the bedroom, the answer is no, I don’t know for sure about that part of it. But we respect each other. And that’s all I’ll say on the subject.”

Oh, brother. Marcy could only shake her head. He couldn’t be for real. She knew love was a difficult dream to realize, and this guy didn’t even have the basic steps down yet.

“I kind of hate to ask this,” she began tentatively. “But does Lorna know you intend to propose? Have you two talked about the possibility?”

He seemed to take a moment thinking that one over. “I wanted it to be a surprise. I thought it would be more romantic that way. Women like that kind of romance, don’t they?”

Marcy bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing aloud. “Some things aren’t meant to be that big a surprise, you know?”

The darkening shadows of late afternoon made the atmosphere around them suddenly seem melancholy. Marcy wished that she knew Lance a little better. He could be heading for a huge fall, and she wanted to be his friend so she could try to keep it from being such a hard landing.

He paid no attention to her attempt to warn him. “I found a wonderful engagement ring on my last evening in New Orleans. It’s an antique and very special. Wait until I tell you the crazy story of how I got it.”

They rounded a bend in the road and Lance smiled. “The story will have to wait. You can’t see it through the snowfall yet, but the truck stop is right up ahead. We’ll be able to get in out of this storm in just a few minutes.”

After the waitress found a high chair for Angie, and Marcy had unbuttoned and removed the baby’s snowsuit, she shrugged off her own coat and slipped into the booth beside her daughter. The place was packed and it had taken thirty minutes to get seated. Truckers, bus drivers, state police and families who’d been on their way to holiday parties, all of them had wound up stuck here waiting out the storm.

“Here’s a couple of menus,” the harried waitress told her. “But we’re not serving everything as usual. The boss wants to conserve so we can make it over the next few days without running out of food.”

“That’s okay,” Marcy said with a shrug. “I have to check with the rest of my party, but I’d imagine we’ll be having whatever you’ve got. And the baby will be fine if you can just bring her some milk.”

“I’ll send the busboy over with a glass for her,” the woman said. “But it may take me a long time to get back here for your order. We’re swamped. Do you mind?”

Marcy shook her head and watched the woman hurry away, disappearing into the crowds of people who were stuffed into every available table, booth and aisle. Marcy reached into her big duffel on the floor and pulled a jar of baby food, some crackers and Angie’s sippy cup up onto the table.

“We’ll be fine, sweetheart,” she murmured to a big-eyed Angie. “It’s warm here and we’re safe. And I’ll think of some way for us to get to Wyoming, don’t you worry.”

Marcy handed Angie a cracker and glanced up to find Lance making his way to their table after filling up his gas tank outside. Oh, Lord. He strode through the crowd like a man who had no trouble negotiating any obstacle. Every feminine eye in the place turned to admire his wide shoulders and the tight butt encased in slim work jeans.

With his hat in his hand and his heavy leather coat slung over one shoulder, she got her first good look at their savior. Rugged. Whoo, baby. Everything about him just screamed male.

His black hair was slicked away from his face, and he’d tied it back with some kind of rawhide string. The bronzed skin against the plaid long-sleeved shirt gave him a great outdoors appearance. A man’s man for sure.

He caught her looking in his direction and focused those sharp ebony eyes on her. His wide nose bent at the bridge and looked as if it had probably been broken somewhere along the line. But it was his full lips that now captured her attention. The corners crooked up with an arrogant twist that made her throat go dry and the sweat bead between her breasts.

He eased into the booth across from her. “Nobody’s been able to get a call out. The circuits are all tied up with the storm. Have you decided what you want to do from here?”

She straightened her shoulders and gulped back the nervous energy his very presence seemed to bring out in her. “I was hoping Angie and I could catch a bus to Cheyenne. Even if we’re stuck here for a couple of days, a bus should get us from here to Wyoming before the first of January.”

Lance shook his head. “I just talked to one of the state troopers. They’re considering keeping the roads closed in both directions for the rest of the week. How important is it that you get to Cheyenne on time?”

Blinking her eyes in a short silent prayer, Marcy decided she would be perfectly honest with him. “Staying here for a couple of days and then buying bus tickets will take every dime I have. That job is my last hope, and it won’t be available past the first.”

He grimaced. “Unless you’re exaggerating your circumstances, you’d better think of something else real quick. Because I’d say your chances of getting out of here in time have just gone from slim to none.”

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