Tina Radcliffe - Her Last Chance Cowboy

His gaze shot toward the sky to assess the weather. Several hours ago, a tornado watch had been issued for Osage County, Oklahoma. Conditions were ripe for dangerous storms and even a tornado. By the time Tripp finished his business in Pawhuska and passed through the small town of Timber, the watch had changed to a warning, meaning a tornado had been sighted.

Overhead, the angry gray clouds tinged with green crowded closer, making the threat of the first tornado of May all the more real.

When a ping hit the windshield and frozen pellets began to descend, Tripp made a split-second decision. Despite his need to get back to the ranch and out of the dangerous weather, he couldn’t ignore the disabled Honda. He parked a safe distance from the vehicle and flipped on his pickup’s emergency flashers.

Pulling up the collar of his denim jacket, Tripp reached for his cowboy hat before he got out. He inhaled. The air smelled like a storm was imminent. The smell of the ugly , some folks called it. Rain and ozone mixed together.

Hail continued to fall fast enough to form shallow puddles of white as he headed to the Honda and rapped his knuckles on the driver’s-side window.

The tinted window inched down a fraction and a woman’s big brown eyes met his gaze. She stared for a moment, no doubt taken aback by the scar that ran down the left side of his face, stopping right beneath his eye. After eighteen years, he was used to people staring.

“Ma’am, do you need assistance? Is everything okay?” he asked.

“Okay? Not lately,” she replied with a sigh.

“What’s wrong with your car?”

“Apparently, I ran out of gas.”

His glance swept the Honda, from the cracked windshield on the passenger side to the temporary tags hanging in the rear window. Colorado. Well, that explained the funny way the woman talked. Definitely not an Okie. But it didn’t explain why she was driving around in this weather. “Didn’t you hear the news of the tornado warning on your radio?”

“The radio is dead and my cell is off to save battery life.” The window inched down a little more and her gaze followed his to the dark sky. “Has a tornado been sighted?” she asked.

“Funnel cloud south of here.” Tripp frowned and turned back to the woman, whose face registered alarm.

“Why aren’t there any sirens?” she asked.

“Too far off the beaten track. The only thing up this road is Big Heart Ranch.”

“That’s where we’re going.”

He barely had time to register the word we when a little girl, about five or six years old, poked her head into the front seat. She pushed back a riot of orange curls and grinned up at him. “We want to go to the ranch and see horses, Mr. Cowboy.”

Tripp bit back a smile, his good humor fading fast as he realized the child was in the path of a tornado. “I’ll take you to Big Heart Ranch.”

“And who are you?” the woman asked, her gaze assessing.

“Tripp Walker. I’m the equine manager at Big Heart,” he said, annoyance mounting. “Ma’am, we need to hurry.”

The driver’s-side door opened and a petite dark-haired woman stepped out. She opened the back seat passenger door. “I’m Hannah Vincent. This is my daughter, Clementine.” The child sat in a booster seat and stared up at him while clutching a pink stuffed horse. She was dressed in clean pink jeans and a pink patterned long-sleeved shirt. Clearly, the kid had a penchant for that color.

“Come on, baby, we’re going to the ranch.” Hannah unbuckled the straps and pulled her daughter into her arms.

“Horses?” the little girl asked.

“Shh,” Hannah said. “We can discuss that later.”

Tripp glanced at Hannah’s left hand. No ring. Though his head tried to stop him, his gut moved quickly to judgment. Plain irresponsible. Who ran out of gas in the middle of a tornado?

Irritation continued to brew as he ran a hand over the scar on his face and worked to control the emotions he’d so carefully learned to stuff years ago. He’d spent a lifetime paying for the sins of an irresponsible single mother. Now the memories all came rushing back.

Hannah faced him with Clementine in her arms. “Is everything okay?” she asked.

“Just dandy.” Tripp turned and headed to the truck. He held the passenger door open. Hannah lifted Clementine into the cab and then put her foot on the truck’s running board. When she reached for something to hang on to, he took her arm and guided her into the truck.

“Thank you,” Hannah said.

He offered a curt nod.

She pulled Clementine onto her lap and inched nearer to her side of the vehicle as he went around to the driver’s side.

Once he got in, Tripp gripped the steering wheel and turned his head a fraction to meet Hannah’s dark eyes.

With that tumble of wavy chocolate-brown hair that touched her shoulders, and a face devoid of makeup, she seemed harmless. But he knew only too well how deceiving looks could be. As if sensing his annoyance, Hannah moved even closer to the door.

They headed down the ranch drive toward a split-log archway with the words Big Heart Ranch burned into a hanging sign. He stopped the truck in front of a drop-arm barrier that kept unauthorized visitors out and put his key card in the reader slot.

“Is this the ranch?” Clementine asked as the arm lifted.

“It is,” he said.

The child’s orange corkscrew curls bounced when she turned to look out each of the pickup’s windows. “Where are the horses?”

“They’re in the barn because of the storm. You’ll get to see them before you leave.”

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Cowboy.” She rewarded him with a huge grin. The kid had a smile that could warm even the most frozen hearts.

When his cell phone rang, Tripp pressed a button on the dashboard. “Walker.”

“Looks like the funnel cloud jumped past us. Storm moving in. A big one,” the mature female voice on the speakerphone said.

“Thanks, Rue. I’m bringing guests to the admin building.”

“Guests?”

“A Hannah Vincent. She ran out of gas on her way to see the Maxwells.”

The sound of papers shuffling could be heard. “The receptionist is out until Monday, but I’m looking at the appointment list she left and I don’t see a Hannah Vincent. Is she here to see all of them?”

Tripp turned to Hannah, and she nodded.

“That’s right, Rue.”

“Well, no worries. I’ll find them and we can sort it out.” She chuckled. “Just get out of that weather.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Once again, Tripp looked at his passenger. “You have an appointment at Big Heart Ranch, right?”

“Not exactly,” Hannah said.

“Not exactly?” Tripp exhaled and held back a biting retort. Though the tension in the cab was palpable, he focused on driving, staring straight ahead out the window where fat drops of rain began to splash on the glass as he approached the administration building.

His job was to manage the horses. It would be good to remember that. Hannah Vincent was Lucy Maxwell’s problem now.

Tripp pulled the truck into a parking lot and led them out of the rain and into the brick building. “This way.” He opened the door to a small conference room where Rue Butterfield sat with a cup of coffee watching the news. The gray-haired physician and retired army general turned to offer their guests a welcoming smile. “Welcome to Big Heart Ranch.”

“I hope I’m not...” Hannah began. She pushed back rain-dampened hair from her face.

“You’re not.” Rue stood. “Big Heart Ranch aims to be a refuge in the storm. Literally.” She chuckled and held out a hand in greeting. “I’m Dr. Rue Butterfield.”

“Hannah Vincent. This is Clementine.”