B.J. Daniels - Hard Rustler

She let the car glide into the spot next to where the cowboy had pulled off the highway. I’ll just bum a little fuel and be on my way. Nothing to worry about. Just the thought made her laugh. Her life was one big worry right now, she fretted, as she took in the rangy-looking cowboy standing by his truck.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” She groaned. Taking risks is what got you into this mess. Like she had to be reminded.

The engine let out a final cough and died. Committed now, she had no choice as she braked next to the horse trailer. Turning off the key in the ignition, she checked her makeup and hair in the mirror. You’re Annabelle Clementine. You can do this. The woman who stared back at her from the mirror looked skeptical at best.

Bucking up her courage, she stepped out of the car, careful not to let her last pair of expensive heels get muddy. “Excuse me?” she called, determined also not to get too far away from her open car door. “I’m afraid I have a small problem and really could use some help.”

She was ready to make a hasty retreat back into the car, if need be. Not that she would be going far if things went south. But at least she could lock herself in. She instantly regretted the fact that she’d bought a canvas-topped convertible, which had been perfect in Southern California.

The cowboy had his back to her and hadn’t looked up from where he’d been digging around in the back of his pickup bed.

“Excuse me?” she tried again. He had to have heard her. But so far, he hadn’t acknowledged her presence in any way.

Forced to move away from the car, she took in the cowboy as she approached and wasn’t impressed with what she saw. But then again, she’d grown up with cowboys so she’d never understood the fascination. Admittedly, this one was tall, broad shouldered, slim hipped, long legged and not bad from the backside.

Unfortunately, everything else about him looked worn and dirty, from his jeans, boots and canvas jacket to the Stetson on the too-long dark hair curling at the nape of his red neck.

At her approach, he gave her a quick glance over his shoulder. She could see little of his face. He wore mirrored sunglasses against the winter glare, his hat pulled low. Under the dark shadow of his Stetson, she glimpsed several week’s growth of beard, making him look even more craggy and unkempt. No designer stubble on this cowboy.

Either he’d been on the range for days or this was as good as it got with him.

You’re not marrying him. You’re just bumming fuel . “Hello?” she said louder and with more attitude as he went back to what he was doing.

“There a problem?” he drawled in a low, lazy tone as he finally finished and turned, seemingly reluctantly, to give her his attention. She saw that he’d been feeding his dog in the back of the pickup. The dog—little more than a puppy—was a furry mutt with one blue eye and one brown one circled by a patch of black. He didn’t look much better than his owner.

She shifted her gaze back to the cowboy who was looking at her car as if he’d never seen one like it before. Probably doesn’t get off the ranch much.

He slowly slid his gaze back to her with a nonchalance that made her grind her teeth.

“Yes, there is a problem.” She’d thought she’d already told him that.

He lifted the brim of his hat, dropped his sunglasses down to look over them for a moment. She caught a glimpse of brown eyes as he surveyed her, making her feel nearly naked under the black cashmere sweater and slacks she was wearing, before he lifted his sunglasses again.

“I’m afraid I forgot to buy gas at the last station,” she said, wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible—even if it did make her look like a fool. She had worse problems. “I was wondering if you might have some gas that I could borrow? Just enough to get me into town?”

“Borrow?” He chuckled at that. “And town being?”

She hated to even admit where she was headed. “Whitehorse.”

“That’s another hour up the road.”

As if she didn’t know that. “My car used more gas than I thought it would.” She gave a nervous laugh, hating that she had to resort to acting as if she didn’t have a brain. Back when she was making money, fuel was never an issue. She hadn’t realized how much a lot of things cost—until she couldn’t pay for them anymore.

He nodded, glancing toward the river as if considering her request. “I suppose I could siphon some out of one of my tanks.” He didn’t sound thrilled about it. Nor had he moved.

“I would appreciate that so much.” She glanced at her watch.

“Got some place to be, do you?”

“I have an appointment.”

“In Whitehorse?” From under the brim of his hat and behind the mirrored sunglasses, he studied her a few moments more before he sighed. “Best pull up next to my pickup while I grab a hose.”

She feared the car wouldn’t start, let alone move. But there must have been just enough fumes left for her to pull up before it died again. She shut off the engine, staying in the car to pop the gas compartment open and watch him move slow as molasses. He acted as if he had all day. He probably did.

Patience had never been one of her strong suits. She tapped a toe as she heard him talking to his dog, mumbling so she couldn’t make out a word. As if she didn’t know he was giving the dog an earful about her.

The dog, still in the pickup bed, wagged its tail enthusiastically at whatever the cowboy said. Whatever he was saying, he certainly found it amusing from that hint of a grin under the beard. Annabelle consoled herself with the thought that the mutt was probably the closest thing the cowboy could get to a female companion.

After a good five to ten minutes, he finished. She hadn’t thought past getting enough gas to get to Whitehorse. Now her stomach clenched at a thought. Not only should she offer him money, but he also might demand it. And since she had no money and doubted he took credit cards—even ones that weren’t frozen for lack of payment...

She watched him walk to his pickup to put the hose away and knew what she had to do. It was the coward’s way out. But she told herself that she had no choice. She’d been telling herself that for months now. Not that it made her feel any better as she quickly started her car and threw it into reverse.

Whirring down the passenger side window, she called out, “Thank you so much. If you’re ever in Whitehorse...” With that she took off, torn between guilt and glee over seeing that he’d given her almost a full tank of gas.

When she dared look back, she saw him standing by his pickup shaking his head as he watched her leave. She thought of that glimpse of golden brown. Even shaded under the brim of his old Stetson, those eyes... They’d almost seemed...familiar.

Chapter Two

Dawson Rogers swore as he pulled off his worn Stetson. Raking a hand through his hair, he watched the silver sports car take off like a bat out of hell.

“Annabelle Clementine.” He said the name like a curse. For years, he’d only seen her staring back at him from glossy women’s magazine ads. He’d been just fine knowing there was no chance that he’d ever lay eyes on her in the flesh again. She’d been real clear about never setting foot in this state again when she’d left all those years ago.

So what was she doing headed for Whitehorse?

That his heart was still pounding only made him more furious with himself. When he’d heard her voice behind him...he couldn’t believe it. He’d thought for sure that his worn-out, dog-weary body was playing tricks on him. He’d frozen in place, counting to ten and then ten again, afraid to turn around for fear he’d be wrong—or worse—right.