Rebecca Winters - Stranded With The Rancher

“That’s good to know, but I’m fine.”

“All right. See you in the morning.”

He patted Gip’s head before facing the elements again. This time, icy shards of sleet attacked him. It was turning fast. There was going to be a storm the likes of which he suspected Alex Dorney had never experienced.

* * *

WRAPPED IN THE PARKA, Alex sat on the stool and drank another mug of coffee. It was great coffee, much better than she was used to, and she was comfortable enough because of the heater Wyatt had turned on. But she continued to shiver at the ferocity of the storm raging outside. If she didn’t know better, they could be on Mount Everest, which was a silly thing to think since she’d never been on any mountain.

She didn’t fear for her life. Royden Fielding’s grandson had already proved he was a breed apart from any man she’d ever met or known. She was convinced he could handle any situation and wouldn’t let anything happen to her. But home felt an eternity away and she was stuck up here with a total stranger who hadn’t asked for her company.

A man who didn’t have the right to be so impossibly gorgeous. Being a writer who made her living choosing the right words, Alex kept coming back to that particular adjective because no other synonym, like striking, attractive or handsome, adequately described him. She wondered if he was married. If so, he didn’t wear a ring, and his grandfather hadn’t mentioned a wife.

When he came back into the tent, removing his windbreaker and parka, she couldn’t decide which look she liked better—the firefighter in dress uniform or the hunky mountain man needing a shave. He wore a long-sleeved wool shirt and jeans that molded to his powerful thighs. The combination of disheveled raven-black hair and eyes that glowed blue was too much. Maybe the lack of oxygen really had affected her.

“Ms. Dorney? The privy tent is right around the side of this one. You can hold my windbreaker over your head while I take you out. Shall we go now?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

She’d been worrying about that. After she carried the mug over to the little kitchen camp table, he handed her the windbreaker to arrange before he put his parka back on. “The wind is gusting, so just hold on to my arm.”

“Oh—” she cried when she stepped out of the tent. The blizzard blew nonstop snow in her face. She might as well have been blind as he led her to the little tent he unzipped. After he handed her a flashlight, she managed to zip up the tent and do her thing. The whistle of the wind sounded so eerie, she was afraid she’d be carried off into the void.

In any other situation, she’d rather go through this alone, but at the moment she was thankful he was right there when she unzipped the flap again. He pulled her against his rock-solid body and zipped the tent closed, then held her around the waist until they reached the entrance to the big tent. The warmth and safety of it and him, felt like heaven.

He took the windbreaker and shook off some of the snow before zipping them inside. Alex walked over to the heater and knelt in front of it for a minute.

“More coffee?”

“No, thank you. I think I’d better not.”

“Smart girl.”

“More like desperate.”

When she stood up, she found him smiling. It warmed every ounce of her body. The high altitude couldn’t be blamed this time for turning her legs into traitors.

“Here I thought I’d be staying overnight in a saloon with rooms upstairs when I drove into Whitebark.”

“And a bunch of rowdy cowhands throwing a week’s pay at you for the chance to be up there with you?”

She laughed. “Something like that.”

One black brow lifted wickedly. “The place exists.”

Her smile faded. “I’d rather be here with you.” Her voice throbbed. “Thank you for helping me. I know I was the last thing on earth you expected to see arrive with the storm.”

His hands went to his hips in an unconscious male stance that made him even more desirable. Utterly desirable. “You’re right about that, but I admire your calm.”

“Thank you.”

Those piercing blue eyes played over her. “This has been a long day for both of us. Can I get you anything before I turn off the lantern?”

The lines of his rugged features fit the outdoor life that made him so extraordinary. “Maybe some ear plugs,” she teased. The roar of the elements was almost deafening.

“That’s probably the only thing I didn’t bring with me.”

“So I’ve noticed. ‘Everything but the kitchen sink’ has taken on new meaning.”

A chuckle escaped his lips.

Alex took a deep breath. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough for putting up with me when you didn’t have a choice. No unwanted visitor was ever treated with better care. I’m ready for bed now.” Though she couldn’t imagine sleeping with the wind threatening to lift the tent off the ground. She’d worry about brushing her teeth tomorrow.

“The heater will go off and on during the night, but you’ll stay warm.”

This cowboy took care of everything. She removed the parka and laid it over the end of the sleeping bag where she’d spread out the blanket. After sitting on the stool to take off the cowboy boots, she climbed in and curled up on her side while she watched him.

In an economy of movement he tidied the kitchen area. To her surprise he walked over and handed her a bottle of water. “You might get thirsty during the night anyway.”

The “anyway” brought more laughter to her lips. His sense of humor shouldn’t have come as a surprise, not after meeting his grandfather.

“There should be another word besides thank-you.”

His eyes searched hers for a quiet moment before he reached up and turned off the lantern. The moaning of the wind drowned out any noise he made getting ready for bed. It was the loneliest sound in the world. But with him inside the tent, she knew a strange contentment that was foreign to her.

“Ms. Dorney?” came his voice out of the darkness.

“Please, call me Alex.”

“All right, Alex. I’m waiting to hear what was so important my grandfather sent a woman fresh from the Big Apple up to sheep country.”

“I work for Rockwell Food Business Magazine , based in Manhattan as a contributing writer.”

“I read it regularly.”

She sat up. “You do?”

“It and a dozen other publications that keep abreast of news in the meat industry. Depending on how long you’ve been writing for them, I might have read one of your articles.”

His grandfather’s words rang in her head. Among other things, he’s a sheepman and knows it all.

Alex lay back down, surprised by her own stupidity. Everything was making sense, including the fact that his grandfather read her article thoroughly before asking questions.

“Last Saturday I flew out to Colorado to talk to some sheep ranchers at the Wool Growers Association convention in Montrose. After a few days I flew to Casper to attend a similar convention there. The people in charge told me the best person to ask for information was Royden Fielding.”

“Grandad would have liked to be there, but he needed me to take him, and I had to be up here.”

If he had attended that convention, Alex would have met both of them there. But it hadn’t happened that way. The thought of not meeting Wyatt Fielding bothered her in a way she didn’t understand.

“I called and set up an interview this morning, then flew to Jackson Hole.”

“And you were spared having to spend a wild night in Whitebark.”

She smiled. “Being up here on a mountain with sheep, fighting rain and gale-force winds, is what I’d call the real Wild West. I came to pick your brains about lamb.”