RaeAnne Thayne - A Cold Creek Christmas Surprise

The actual trip from the clinic to the ranch house was mostly a blur of random impressions, pain and confusion and embarrassment. There had been a kind doctor, a painful procedure and then the rest was a blur.

Why was she back at the River Bow and not at her room at the Cold Creek Inn? And how had she ended up in that bed with her shoes off and a pillow tucked under her arm?

It must have been Ridge. Who else? Her stomach trembled when she thought about him taking care of her. Had he carried her inside? Slipped her onto the bed? Covered her with that blanket?

She could hardly imagine it.

She had to talk to him, right away, before things became even more complicated. She wouldn’t be in this mess if only she had been able to find the courage to tell him everything when she showed up on his doorstep, instead of letting her fear at what he might think of her overwhelm all her good sense.

How long had she slept? She couldn’t see anything outside the fragile lace curtains. She found the clock radio beside the bed and was shocked to discover it was after 9:00 p.m. She must have been out of it for hours, though she wasn’t exactly sure how long she had been at the clinic in Pine Gulch.

She was just trying to gather the energy and the courage to go in search of her unwilling host when she heard a knock on the door.

“Ms. Whitmore? Are you awake?”

Nerves trembled through her to join the aches and pains. “Yes. Come in.”

He pushed open the door and stood there wearing a soft-looking blue shirt and jeans.

You are one great-looking cowboy.

The words seemed to echo through her memory, and she frowned, wondering where they came from. Not that it mattered—they were absolutely true. Ridge Bowman was even more handsome than she remembered, tough and rugged, with shoulders that looked as if they could bear the weight of the world.

“I’m under orders from Doc Dalton to keep an eye on you through the night. I guess I’m supposed to make sure you’re not delusional or anything.”

She thought of the crazy choices she had made since she showed up at the ranch that morning. Really. Cleaning the man’s house as an avoidance method. Could she be any more ridiculous?

“I was half hoping this whole thing was some kind of wild nightmare,” she said. “Does that count as delusional?”

The corner of his mouth danced up just a bit as if he wanted to smile, but he quickly straightened it again. “I’m supposed to check. Do you know your name?”

“Yes. Sarah Whitmore.”

“That’s what your driver’s license says.”

He was holding out her bag, which looked incongruously feminine in his big, masculine hand.

“You looked through my purse?”

“I was trying to find a cell phone that had an emergency contact on it. I couldn’t find one.”

She didn’t go anywhere without her cell phone. She frowned, trying to remember. “Did you check the car? It might be there. Otherwise, I probably left it at the hotel.”

“I’ll look through the car again. Maybe it fell on the floor. I can also have Laura look at the hotel.”

“Why don’t you just take me back to the hotel and I can look for myself?”

He looked sternly implacable. “You can’t stay on your own tonight. Doctor’s orders. And as great as the service is now at the Cold Creek Inn since Laura took over, she just can’t send a desk clerk to your room every couple of hours to check on you. I’m afraid you’re stuck here, at least overnight.”

She wanted to argue, but she couldn’t come up with the words, between the pain and her angst.

Some of her distress must have shown on her features. He held out a water glass she hadn’t noticed before, along with a bottle of medication.

“You’re also late for your pain pill. Sorry about that. I was supposed to give it an hour ago, but I had a problem down at the barn and now I’m running late.”

She didn’t want to take it—she and pain medication didn’t always get along—but she could hardly think around the pain in her head and her arm.

“Maybe I had better only take half. I sometimes get a little, er, wacky on pain meds.”

“Do you?”

Again, that little corner of his mouth twisted up, and she had to wonder what had happened during the time she couldn’t remember.

He broke the pill in half and held it out to her. She swallowed it quickly, more grateful for the water than the narcotic, at least right at that moment.

She drained the glass then handed it back to him. “Thank you.”

“Need something to eat? I’ve got plenty of leftover food from the wedding last night and you haven’t had a thing for hours.”

“I’m not really hungry,” she said honestly.

“I’ll bring you a couple of things anyway. That pain medication will sit better in your stomach if you’ve got something else in there.”

He was gone for only a few moments. When he returned, he had a plate loaded with little sandwiches, puff pastries, tiny bite-sized pieces of cake. He was also accompanied by the cute little Chihuahua who hopped in on three legs.

“Your dog is adorable.”

“Destry and I are supposed to be dogsitting, but she stayed another night at her cousin’s. This is Tripod, who belongs to my new brother-in-law and his kids.”

“Hi, Tripod,” she said to the dog, who hopped over to greet her with gratifying enthusiasm, though he might have been more interested in the plate of food on her lap.

She took a little sandwich and nibbled on it, discovering some kind of chicken salad that was quite delicious.

“These are really good.”

“We had a great caterer,” he said.

She suddenly remembered what had started all this. “Oh. I didn’t finish cleaning.”

He gave her a long look. “Happy House Cleaners and I have worked all that out. Their real employee just left about an hour ago. I’m surprised you didn’t hear her vacuuming. I guess you were really out of it.”

Apparently she didn’t need to tell him as much as she thought, if he knew she hadn’t really been hired to help clean his house.

“I’ve made a terrible mess of everything, haven’t I?”

“You’re a woman of mystery, that’s for sure. Who are you, really, Ms. Whitmore?”

She nibbled at another of the little sandwiches. “You looked through my purse. You tell me.”

He gave her a long look, filled with curiosity and something else—something almost like male interest, though she knew she had to be mistaken. From a quick look in the bathroom mirror while she washed her hands, she knew she was a mess. Her hair was flattened on one side where she had been sleeping, she had a couple of really ugly bruises and her eyes looked inordinately huge in her face. Like she was some kind of creepy bug or something.

“Didn’t tell me much, if you want the truth,” he answered. “You like cinnamon Altoids. You live in Apartment 311 of the Cyprus Grove complex in San Diego. You have a school district ID card, and your birthday is March 14, when you’ll be twenty-nine years old. Funny, but I couldn’t find a single thing in your purse that might explain why you showed up at my ranch out of the blue and started cleaning up for me.”

She could feel her face heat with her ready blush, the redhead’s curse. “You assumed that’s why I was here. I tried to tell you otherwise but you seemed in a rush to go back to your office. Besides, I could tell you really did need help.”

“I absolutely did, which is why I hired someone who wasn’t you to take care of it,” he pointed out. “Since you weren’t here to clean, why did you show up on my doorstep?”

She chewed her lip, trying to figure out the best way to explain.

“Oh! I have a case in my rental car,” she exclaimed suddenly, horrified at her negligence. “I need to bring it in from the cold. Oh, I can’t believe I forgot it!”