A Home of Her Own

Until now. Now she realized she could never run far enough from the past and she’d come back do something about the house. But first she had to ask Mike for a favor before she froze to death. She doubted he was going to be very happy about it.

CHAPTER THREE

LUCKY SHIFTED from one foot to the other as she stood at Mike’s door. He might be chief among her rivals, but he was also one of the handsomest men she’d ever known and, without running water in the house, she hadn’t even been able to shower. She was soaked and shivering from wading through snow, and her nose and cheeks felt so raw she was sure they were bright pink.

Pink had never been a good color on her; pink wasn’t good for most redheads. But at this point, Mike Hill was her only option. No one else lived nearby.

A middle-aged woman came to the door. Her brown hair, full of gray streaks, was pulled into a bun with a pencil jammed through it. “You don’t have to stand out in the cold, honey. This part of the house is only offices. You can come in.”

“Th-thanks.” Lucky was so cold she could barely speak.

“You’re going to catch pneumonia if you don’t get out of those wet clothes and put on something dry as soon as possible,” the woman said, her gaze traveling over Lucky’s soaked jeans.

Lucky blinked the last vestiges of snow from her eyelashes and managed a smile. “I’m f-fine. Is Mr. Hill around?”

“Which one?”

“Mike.”

“He’s in his office. Can I tell him who’s looking for him?”

Lucky hesitated to state her name. She didn’t want to send shock waves through the community just yet. But Mike already knew she was back, which pretty much ruined her low-profile return. “Lucky Caldwell.”

The woman’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “Did you say Lucky?”

Lucky clenched her jaw and nodded. Her hands, feet and nose burned as they thawed, but the prickling sensation was the least of her worries. How was Mike going to react to having her appear at his office?

“You’ve grown up,” the woman said. “I didn’t recognize you.”

Lucky didn’t recognize her, either, and it must’ve shown because the other woman frowned. “I’m Polly Simpson—Mrs. Simpson to you, at least in the old days. I used to work in the attendance office at Dundee High, remember?”

“Oh, of course,” Lucky said. But she still couldn’t recall Polly Simpson’s face. Probably because she’d never missed a day of school in her life. School had been her refuge. She’d rarely visited the attendance office and had probably only passed Mrs. Simpson in the halls.

“I’ll tell Mike you’re here.”

“Wait.” Lucky caught her arm. “Is there a Mrs. Hill I could talk to?”

“If you mean Josh’s wife, she’s out of town. Mike’s not married.”

“Still?”

Mrs. Simpson chuckled. “Still. Do you want me to get him?”

Evidently, she had no better choice. “Yeah.”

With a final curious glance, Polly headed the other way, her panty hose rubbing as she walked. A moment later, she poked her head out of a room at the end of the hall and waved. “Mike says you can come on back.”

Lucky quickly removed her boots because the caked-on snow was beginning to melt and create puddles on the plastic protecting the entryway carpet. But when she saw her feet, she wished she hadn’t been so polite. There was a hole in her sock, which made her look like the white trash everyone here already thought she was.

“Miss Caldwell?”

Lucky straightened. “I’m coming.” Ignoring the hole, along with the wetness of her jeans and her generally haggard appearance, she refused to acknowledge the curious stares of the office personnel and walked down the hall as if she and Mike had been friends for years.

Mike had a large office with a mahogany desk, four soft leather chairs, a wet bar in one corner and several horse pictures hanging on the walls. Huge windows revealed the storm, but Lucky knew that on a clear day, they’d show the barn and the beauty of the land sweeping away from the house.

“Lucky.” Mike stood. Cool curiosity filled his hazel eyes, but he didn’t come to meet her, and he didn’t smile. “Is there something I can do for you?”

Lucky resented having to ask him for a favor, even a small one. But unless she wanted to turn into a Popsicle by morning, she had to. “I was hoping you wouldn’t mind letting me use your phone.”

“Of course not.” He paused briefly, studying her, and she stood completely still, forcing herself to bear the weight of his gaze. She had no doubt that he wouldn’t like what he saw. She’d lost a lot of weight since she’d lived here, but her hair color was too light to be the rich auburn everyone seemed to admire, and her skin was too pale.

“You’re soaked,” he said. “Don’t tell me you walked over here.”

She didn’t want him to know how desperate she was for the basics in life, so she shrugged carelessly. “It’s only half a mile or so.”

“It’s storming.”

“I guess I could’ve dug my car out of the snow, but the closest thing I have to a shovel is a broom.” She chuckled, hoping to elicit a smile from him and ease the tension between them, but it didn’t work.

“In that case, I think you made the right choice.” He brushed past her as he dragged a chair across the carpet to a small table in the corner, where there was a phone.

As he swept by, Lucky caught the scent she’d noticed last night. Mike had been in his midtwenties when she was growing up, fifteen years her senior, but she’d always respected him—almost idolized him. And now that she could see him more clearly, she decided he’d changed for the better. Where he’d once been tall and lanky, he was well-muscled and perfectly proportioned. Faint laugh lines bracketed his eyes and mouth, and the skin of his face, hands and neck showed how often he worked outdoors. She liked Mike’s rugged virility, his light eyes and brown hair, the aura about him that said he’d been around awhile and knew how to handle life. But last night was the first time she’d ever gotten close enough to connect a specific scent to him. He smelled like the outdoors, like a wintry forest….

“Sit down and make yourself comfortable,” he said, but she knew his words were only a polite facade.

She shook her head. “I won’t sit, I’m too wet.”

He frowned at her soaked feet as if he’d missed them in his earlier perusal—and seemed to zero in on the hole in her sock. Her toes curled before he motioned her into the chair again. “I’m not worried about you getting anything wet.”

Clearing her throat, she did as he suggested so she could leave as soon as possible. “Um, do you happen to have a phone book I could use?”

He leaned into the hall and asked someone to bring him a phone book. “Can I get you a cup of coffee?” he asked, turning back.

Lucky longed for hot coffee. Without electricity, she couldn’t brew any for herself. But she wasn’t going to press her welcome long enough to drink it. She didn’t want to take anything more from Mike than absolutely necessary. “No, I’m fine.”

He opened his mouth to speak again but Polly Simpson interrupted with the phone book, which he immediately passed to her.

“Thanks,” she mumbled and tried to get her burning fingers to work well enough to turn the flimsy pages.

Mike shoved his hands into the pockets of his Wranglers and leaned against the doorjamb, then seemed to think twice about hanging around to watch. “I’m gonna grab a cup of coffee,” he muttered and left, and Lucky breathed a sigh of relief to find herself alone.

It took her nearly fifteen minutes to get through to the power company, and an additional five to reach the other utility companies, but when she finally hung up with her third customer service representative of the day, she had promises that the electricity and phone service would be restored at 215 White Rock Road. She just didn’t know exactly when. She’d been told it would happen after the storm, but the storm could last another day or two.

“All set?” Mike reappeared almost the second she closed the phone book.

Lucky took the question to mean that he was as anxious for her to leave as she was to go. “Yes. Thank you.” She stood and headed for the door, but knew she’d be stupid not to ask Mike if she could borrow a shovel. If she didn’t get power and water today, she’d have to dig out and drive to town. She was down to a small bag of sunflower seeds for food, only half a gallon of water and no more firewood.

Cursing herself for not being better prepared for the harsh Idaho winter, she paused on her way out. “I’m sorry to bother you again, but would it be possible to borrow a shovel? I won’t need it for more than a couple of days.”

He’d already started working on his computer. He glanced up—and hesitated long enough that she regretted asking.

“If you don’t have an extra one, I understand,” she said.

“No, that’s not it. I’m sure I can find something.” Getting up, he came around the desk and led her through the offices. When they reached the outside door, he told her he’d be right back.

She put on her cold, wet boots while he disappeared into the private part of the house. By the time he returned, she was dressed and ready to go, and he was carrying a fair-size snow shovel. “Here you are.”

“Thanks. I’ll get it back to you as soon as I can,” she told him and ducked out into the storm. She thought he said, “There’s no rush,” but the wind had kicked up so much, she could scarcely hear him.

LUCKY SPENT the next several hours shoveling snow in a veritable blizzard. The work warmed her body but did little for her fingers and toes. Soon her jeans were stiff with ice. She had to stop every few minutes to go inside, take off her boots and stick her frozen feet in her heavy sleeping bag in an effort to warm them.

As the temperature dropped and the sky darkened, she considered heading back to Mike’s. It was getting harder and harder to wield that darn shovel, but she had too much pride to beg him for any more favors. She’d get by on her own, like always. She just needed to figure out a way to reach town.

The shovel scraped the gravel of the drive as she jammed it through the snow for what felt like the millionth time. Her back and arms ached, protesting the strain as she tossed a scoop off to the side before digging in again. Who would’ve thought clearing the driveway could take so long?

She slumped against the car and tried to catch her breath. Shading her eyes against the flakes still blowing around her, she squinted toward the road. She had at least twenty feet to go.

“I had to pretend I was coming home for Christmas, had to see the old place in winter,” she grumbled, longing for the cup of coffee she’d refused earlier and a hot bath. She imagined slipping into a steaming tub and promised herself she’d do exactly that—as soon as she had some hot water to do it with.

After another fifteen minutes of sheer determination, she finally threw the shovel down and, completely winded, wiped her nose with the back of her gloved hand. She wasn’t making enough progress, and it was getting too dark to see.

Tramping into the house, she flipped the first light switch she found, praying that her electricity had been restored. As hungry as she was, she could get by without food for one more night if only she had heat.

Nothing happened.

Dejected, she yanked off the hood of her coat and went to the kitchen to ransack her backpack. She was hoping to find an energy bar or something else she might have missed, but discovered nothing more than a few gum wrappers and crumbs. To make matters worse, her jug of water contained only a few ounces.

What was she going to do? She needed to finish clearing the drive and get out of here. But she couldn’t go back to shoveling….

Returning to the living room, she stared through the large front window at what she’d achieved so far. Maybe she could drive out. It was worth a try, wasn’t it?

Encouraged by visions of a hot meal and a cozy motel room, she grabbed her purse and hurried outside again. But she had trouble starting the car, and even after she got the darn engine running, she didn’t make it more than ten feet before her tires spun out.

“Come on!” She shifted the transmission into Drive. No luck. She gave the Mustang a quick shot of gas and reversed. Nothing. She was stuck—at least until morning.

Letting her shoulders slump, she hammered her forehead on the steering wheel. What had she been thinking, coming back to Dundee at Christmastime? She, of all people, knew there was no Santa Claus.

AS THE WIND TOSSED tree branches and snowflakes against the house, Mike stared at the ceiling of his room. He was exhausted and wanted to sleep, but this was one of the worst storms he’d seen in years and much as he wanted to forget Lucky, he couldn’t do it. He kept picturing her, small and cold with her toe poking through that hole in her sock, and he kept feeling guilty that he hadn’t sent over one of his men to shovel her drive. If she’d been anyone else, he would’ve done it in an instant. But she wasn’t anybody else. She was Red’s daughter, and she wasn’t as sweet as she looked.

He remembered her sticking her tongue out at him and decided he’d done the right thing. She’d been living on his grandfather’s money since she turned ten. The physical labor had probably done her some good.

Unless she’d never managed to get her car out of that long drive. Maybe she was sitting over at the house right now, freezing to death….

He thought of the broken windows and the snow drifting inside.

If she’d needed anything, she would’ve come back to the ranch, he told himself. She’d been over once—and he’d been nice enough.

But he wasn’t absolutely convinced she’d return. He could tell she’d had a difficult time appearing on his doorstep in the first place.

Punching his pillow, he rolled over. Mike had made sure his horses were safe in their stalls, each covered with a thick blanket, but he was letting a woman stay alone in a house that had no heat?

Not just any woman, he reminded himself. Lucky Caldwell. Lucky didn’t count. Besides, if she was cold, she’d build a fire. She’d built one last night, hadn’t she? A fire would keep her warm. He wasn’t going to lose any more sleep over the little brat who’d replaced him in his own grandfather’s eyes. Lucky wasn’t his responsibility, and he didn’t want anything more to do with her.

Work…he needed to think about work. With Josh gone he’d have plenty to do come morning. He had clients to call, payroll to sign—

The image of Lucky pressed between him and the wall, her eyes wide with alarm, flashed through his mind.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered and kicked off the covers. Evidently, it didn’t matter who she was. His conscience wouldn’t let him rest until he made sure she was okay.

MIKE HAD a four-wheel-drive, and one of his men had shoveled his driveway as late as five o’clock, but in this storm, the risk of getting stuck was still high. He decided it’d be better to take one of the snowmobiles he kept out back.

Grabbing the heavy-duty flashlight he used to check the horses, he bundled up in a heavy sheepskin coat and lined leather gloves, pulled on his cowboy boots and shoved his hat low on his head. Then he stalked outside and toward the shed. He’d be soaked and miserable by the time he got home….

The high whine of the snowmobile’s engine sounded oddly subdued in the storm’s bluster. The headlight barely cut the dark, but Mike knew the lay of the land. He’d been riding snowmobiles out here since he was five years old—back when both his grandparents were still alive and together and he came to stay with them so often.

As he shot over the snow, icy flakes clicked against his windshield, stung his unprotected face and threatened to rid him of his hat. But it wasn’t long before he was climbing the hill to his grandfather’s house—Lucky’s house now—feeling quite confident he’d find her gone. No one would stay around in a storm like this, he thought. Until he saw her car stuck halfway between the house and the road and knew she’d tried to go somewhere. She just hadn’t made it.

The tone of the snowmobile’s engine lowered by at least an octave as the hill grew steeper. He compensated by giving it more gas. He couldn’t see any lights inside the Victorian, which concerned him. He hadn’t really expected the utilities to be restored yet, not in a storm like this, but he assumed Lucky would light some candles or start a fire.

Maybe she’d fallen asleep, and the fire and candles had gone out.

Worry seeped through him, along with the cold, as he came to a stop next to an area that had obviously been shoveled fairly recently. He should’ve helped her. If she was in any kind of trouble, he knew he’d feel responsible.

The snow came above his knees as he climbed off, grabbed his flashlight and made his way toward the porch. Only this time when he reached the door, he found it locked.

“Lucky?” He banged on the thick wood, but received no answer. “Lucky, are you in there?”

Where else could she be? She seemed stubborn, but she wasn’t stubborn enough to try walking the fifteen miles to town, was she? God, he hoped not. If she’d done that, he was pretty certain he’d find her lying frozen in the snow.

His flashlight made a bright circle in the swirling flakes as he waded through the side yard. When he got to the back, he found that door locked, too, but easily slipped his hand through one of the broken windows to undo the safety latch.

The kitchen was barely warmer than the outdoors. She’d been wet when he saw her just after noon. Did she know enough to get out of those clothes? Did she have others? He had no idea what she’d brought with her or how well prepared she was for weather like this, but if what he’d seen so far was any indication, she sure as hell didn’t have much of a plan.

He trained his flashlight on the room around him. Lucky had cleaned in this part of the house, but he didn’t see her sleeping here.

“Lucky?”

No answer.

His heart pounded as he jogged into the living room, library, office. Empty. Damn!

Taking the stairs two at a time, he headed directly to the master bedroom. “Lucky? It’s Mike.”

Nothing.

His heart started to pound harder. “Lucky?”

“G-go away.”

The sound of her shaky voice brought both relief and more concern. He stopped abruptly and swung around, searching for her. She wasn’t in the master bedroom, but she was close, definitely upstairs.

“Are you okay?” he called, hoping she’d answer him again.

“I s-said, g-go away!”

She was in the second bedroom. He strode purposefully down the hall and opened the door to find a round lump in the bottom of a sleeping bag on the dirty old mattress he’d noticed on previous visits to the house.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, worry putting an edge on his words.

“Wh-what do you mean?”

Her teeth were chattering so badly he could hardly understand her, especially through the sleeping bag. “You don’t have any heat in here.”

“Not l-late-breaking news.”

“You should’ve come back to the ranch.”

“Because I’d b-be so w-welcome?” She finally poked her head out and, unless he imagined it, she looked blue around the mouth. In any case, her eyes seemed too large for the rest of her face, reminding him how young she was. Twenty-four. He’d barely graduated from college at twenty-four.

“Because you could freeze to death over here,” he said. “And my place is your only real alternative.”

“Too ironic, d-don’t you think? M-me asking you to p-put me up?”

“I would’ve done it,” he said.

“Not h-happily. D-don’t think your m-mother would approve of that much ch-charity where I’m concerned.”

He didn’t want to talk about charity right now, not when he’d ignored her needs the way he had. “That’s another matter. Come on.”

“What are you t-talking about?”

“You’re going home with me.”

“N-no, I’m not.” She ducked back inside the sleeping bag. “It’ll b-be morning soon. I’ll d-dig my car out and—”

“Like you did today?” he said.

“D-didn’t get an early enough st-start,” she grumbled. “It’s hard w-work.”

“Something you’re not accustomed to, I’m sure.” With all the money he sent her from Morris’s trust, she didn’t need a job and he doubted she’d ever had one.

“P-pardon me?”

“You can’t keep a job when you move every few weeks.”

“Who are you t-to sit in j-judgment of me? You and your family th-think you’re so much b-better.”

“That’s bullshit,” he said. “You don’t know me or my family. I passed you on the road a few times when you were a kid. That’s it.”

“Not quite.”

“There’s more?”

“Only s-something I’ve been t-trying to forget.”

“What could that be?”

She didn’t answer, and it was too darn cold to coax her. “Are you coming or not?”

The fact that she’d already curled up again didn’t seem hopeful. He considered his options. He could leave her here and send someone to dig her out in the morning. But then he’d go home, feel guilty and have to come back. Or he could take her with him.

Problem was, he didn’t know which he’d regret more….

“If you want a hot meal and a warm bed you’ll cooperate,” he said.

“I d-don’t remember asking you—”

“Look, we’ve never been friends. I know that. But for tonight, let’s forget about the past and pretend we just met, okay? Simple enough?”

“That’s m-mighty noble of you, M-Mike, but I’m sure I’ll l-live without your help.”

Mike wasn’t so sure. She obviously didn’t realize she could be in real danger. “You’re freezing, Lucky.”

“My problem, n-not yours.”

True. He’d tried to tell himself as much, but…“Are you going to make me do this the hard way?” he asked.

“The hard way?” She began to crawl out again, but he knew she’d only continue to argue, so he made a quick decision. Closing off the top of her sleeping bag before she could emerge, he slung her over his shoulder like a burlap sack filled with rocks and marched into the hall.

LUCKY YELPED as she banged into Mike’s back. “What are you doing? Leave me alone! Put me down! You egotistical, spoiled, self-righteous son of a—”

“All the traveling you’ve done in the past six years certainly hasn’t improved your personality,” he broke in dryly.

Adrenaline finally loosened her tongue. “Kiss my ass, Mr. Hill. You and your whole family can go to—Ouch…” he’d started down the stairs, which made her bump against him with every step “…to hell—ow!—because I don’t care who you are or what you—ouch!—have, you’re no better than I am!”

“Grown up angry, have we?” His breathing became labored as he reached what she thought had to be the front door.

She tried to slug him or kick him, but she couldn’t do anything through the thickness of the bag. She couldn’t even tell him off properly, which was probably why he was chuckling.

“I can’t breathe in here,” she said. “Let me out!”

“You were breathing in there just fine before I arrived. As a matter of fact, that bag might be the only reason you’re still breathing. So relax. You’ll be fine.”

“I don’t want to relax!”

“You’ll thank me in the morning.”

“For kidnapping me?”

“I doubt feeding you and keeping you warm for one night qualifies as kidnapping.”

Keeping her warm for the night? When she was sixteen and visiting his horses, she accidentally saw Mike kissing Lindsey Carpenter in the barn. She’d replayed that scene in her mind a thousand times, but when she imagined it, she got to be the woman moaning softly as Mike held her against him. For a girl with a mother like Red, a girl who’d learned too much too soon, it was quite an epiphany to see something so sweet and gentle going on between a man and a woman. Watching Mike that day had mesmerized her. The memory of it still did. But the fact that being kept warm by him in exactly the same way appealed to her only added to her humiliation. She’d wanted to slip into town and fix up the house while quietly searching for her father. A simple plan. If only she’d known to expect the worst blizzard of the century. Then she wouldn’t be going home with Mike Hill—in a bag!