Tina Radcliffe - Stranded with the Rancher

Beth nodded.

“Just follow my lead. It’s a lot like a motorcycle for the passenger,” he said with a shrug.

“I’ve never ridden a motorcycle,” Beth admitted as she adjusted the goggles.

Dan raised a brow, but didn’t utter a word of surprise, and was kind enough not to mention her previous claims of seeking adventure.

“One last thing,” he said. “If there are any problems and it looks like I’m going to have to roll the machine and then jump off, I want you to jump away and uphill, as far from the snowmobile as you can.”

Beth gulped. Her gaze met his.

“Stay alert and keep your hands on me at all times. Understand?”

Again she gave a nod of understanding, this time accompanied by a smile of false bravado.

Reaching into the flatbed, he pulled out a black helmet identical to his.

When he handed it to her, Beth slipped it on her head.

Dan yanked off his gloves. “I’m going to adjust the strap. Don’t be in a rush to step away from me again or you might fall.”

Beth stood still, her cheeks tingling with embarrassment as she stared straight ahead at the dark stubble on his jaw and the patch of skin visible where his jacket met his neck. She feigned composure as his warm fingers brushed against her chin.

Finally, she dared to meet his eyes.

They reflected only compassion. “It really is going to be all right,” he said softly.

The man was intuitive.

As a physician, Beth was accustomed to being the one doing the reassuring, but somehow things had gotten turned around. Dan had told her everything was going to be all right, and she believed him. Believed him, though she’d missed her flight, her shoulder was probably sprained and she was headed to a destination unknown. Yet an unlikely peace had settled over her. How could that be?

Possibly the altitude.

“Okay,” Dan said as he pulled his gloves back on. “I’m going to get on first.” He inclined his head toward the snowmobile before smoothly sliding onto the machine.

On her second awkward attempt, Beth finally landed in the seat. She sat stiffly behind him.

“Put your arms around me,” he called over his shoulder. “And don’t let go.”

Don’t let go. Beth loosely wrapped her arms around his waist. Her helmet was inches from his back.

The engine revved and then the machine moved forward, propelling her backward with force.

Beth tightened her hold on Dan, gripping his jacket fiercely. She tucked her face behind his broad back, hiding from the stinging moisture of the rapidly falling snow.

Hypervigilant, Beth monitored the nuances of the engine and the man, adjusting herself to his movements. When he stood slightly and leaned forward as the snowmobile moved up an incline in the road, she did the same. They moved over the terrain, occasionally bouncing. Tension kept her rigid and silently praying that the machine wouldn’t capsize, and that the weather wouldn’t become severe enough to force them to stop.

Overhead, heavy gray clouds loomed ominously, while the wind chased them over an endless white vista.

As the minutes passed, Beth dared to relax, leaning back a tad to take in the snowy blur of the Colorado landscape. The air was crisp with the scent of pine and fresh snow. A small buzz of exhilaration thrummed through her as the wind rushed past, whipping her long hair into a frenzy.

Dan was right. Beth had lived all over, but “all over” looked like the same medical clinic and temporary housing in an endless stream of different cities.

Today’s adventure had made one thing clear. She hadn’t really experienced life at all.

Finally, the engine slowed and Dan signaled a left turn with his arm. Beth peeked around his shoulder, scanning the snowy horizon. The tension eased from her grip when she saw the hazy glow of lights ahead. Like a muted lighthouse beacon, they beckoned winter travelers up a long conifer-lined drive. Wherever they were, they had obviously arrived.

As they pulled up in front of a charming, two-story brick-and-clapboard house, Dan turned off the engine.

“We’re home,” he called over his shoulder.

Home? Beth released a nervous breath, along with a tiny smile of anticipation.

* * *

Thank You, Lord, for leading us home again to Gallagher Ranch.

Dan stared at the house for a moment, allowing the tension of the white-knuckle drive through the storm to slip from his body. The hundred-year-old farmhouse had weathered every storm the Sangre de Cristo Mountains had tossed its way. This particular system would be no exception. He came from a long line of Colorado pioneers and they had bred the same can-do spirit into him.

They knew how to handle winter in the mountains. There were backup generators, wood for the fireplace and enough canned goods to see them through six storms. Yeah, it was good to be home.

He got off the snowmobile and offered Beth a hand, easing her off the backseat.

Though her grip on his waist had been viselike, it was definitely not unpleasant to have her riding tandem. He’d expected the city girl would be a diva, but so far, well, she’d definitely proved him wrong.

Raising his arms overhead, Dan stretched his spine and then rotated his neck. “I’m going to open the garage,” he said. “Be right back.”

The echoing crunch of his boots as he crossed the yard filled the silence. Snow continued to fall like crystals into the night, but the pink glow of the mercury lights on the oversize storage building that served as a garage guided his way. He pulled open the big double doors, and they creaked in response. Inside, his mother’s mini pickup was parked next to his brother’s beat-up utility truck and the ranch ATV. Joe’s personal truck was in the corner, covered with a tarp, waiting for his return.

Dan maneuvered the snowmobile in, then grabbed Beth’s tote and the defibrillator. He plugged in the defibrillator to charge the machine before closing the garage door. Walking to Beth, he nodded toward the house.

The front walkway and the wooden porch steps had recently been shoveled and sprinkled with snow melt, though the precipitation was quickly re-accumulating. On the porch a battered red shovel stood neatly next to the door, along with his daughter’s small pink plastic shovel. Such an insignificant thing, but little Amy’s imprint on his life never failed to make Dan smile.

He turned to Beth, and placed a finger to his lips before slowly opening the screen, then the front door. The loud, discordant plunking and banging of a piano greeted them.

Dan pulled off his helmet and goggles. Beth did the same.

She whispered to him, “May I use your restroom? I need to change into dry pants.”

He pointed straight ahead. “First door on your left.”

“Why are we whispering?” she asked.

“I don’t want Millie to know we’re home.”

“Your daughter?”

“No, my dog.”

Her eyes rounded. “Oh.”

Beth slipped off her boots and put her helmet and goggles on the bright multicolored rag rug in front of the door. Taking her tote bag from Dan, she tiptoed down the hall.

He set his helmet next to hers and shut the door. The piano had stopped and the click of the door closing sounded in the room.

As if it had been a starting line gunshot, he prepared for the chaos to ensue. Barking erupted as Millie rushed from the back of the house to the front hall like a locomotive. Dan heard her well before he saw her. The lean black lab raced into the room, her nails clicking on the hardwood floor a minute before she leaped into the air and accosted him. Dan staggered back as the dog alternated between enthusiastic slobbering and mad barking.

“Down, Millie.” He rubbed the good-natured animal’s head and backside briskly. “Yeah, I missed you, too, girl.”