Cathy Thacker - A Baby in the Bunkhouse

“I’m trying to find Indian Lodge at Davis Mountains State Park.”

He angled a thumb in the opposite direction. Then growled, “You’re at least sixty miles of back roads from there.”

Which might as well have been six hundred, given how low visibility was in this pouring rain and thick mist. Even in good conditions, the speed limit on these winding mountain roads was barely thirty-five miles per hour.

These weren’t good conditions.

Plus, her back was aching, and all she wanted was a good bed and a soft pillow.

So much for her plan to do a little leisurely sightseeing on the way to her sister’s place in El Paso. “How far to the nearest hotel then?” Jacey asked, more than ready to be en route again.

“About the same,” he told her grimly.

She suppressed a groan. “Can you give me directions?”

He shook his head. “Too difficult to follow, even without the bad weather. I’ll lead you back to the main highway, point you in the right direction, and you can take it from there.”

Telling herself she could make it another hour or two if she had to, Jacey smiled with gratitude. “Thanks.”

She put her road map aside while the sexy cowboy in the yellow rain slicker stalked back to his pickup. He motioned for her to back out of the gate, then climbed into the cab of his truck. She did as directed and he took the lead.

Body still aching all over from way more hours in the car than she’d expected, Jacey turned her windshield wipers on high and followed the large pickup in front of her. They’d gone roughly two miles down the paved lane, when he started down a hill, then braked so abruptly she almost slid right into him. Wondering what the holdup was, she waited as the rain came down even harder.

She didn’t have long to wait. He put his truck in Park, hopped out and strode back to the driver side of her station wagon once again. “There’s water on the bridge,” he shouted through the window.

Jacey’s view of the low stone bridge was obscured. “How much?” she shouted back.

He grimaced. “About a foot.”

Jacey swore heatedly. If she drove across the low-water crossing, she’d be swept off the concrete bridge and into the current of the river. She looked at him, heart pounding. “Now what?”

“There’s a ditch on either side of the lane, and no room to turn around. You’re going to have to back up the hill.”

Jacey was not good at backing up. Never mind in these conditions. “Can’t I just—”

“Just do it,” he said abruptly. “And stay off the berm.”

“Easier said than done,” Jacey muttered as she took her car out of Park and put it in Reverse.

For one thing, she didn’t have headlights behind her, which meant she was essentially backing up in the dark. For another, the road wasn’t a perfectly straight line. In addition, she couldn’t recall exactly where the curve at the top of the steep hill began. And last but not least she wasn’t as physically agile these days as she normally was. Which made turning around to look over her shoulder while still steering with one hand very technically difficult, if not damn near impossible.

So it was really no surprise when she felt the station-wagon wheels on the right side slip as she inadvertently left the paved surface and hit the gravel along the edge. Slowing even more, she turned the steering wheel in the opposite direction in an effort to get back up on the road.

To no avail. The heavy rains, combined with the mud, had the wheels on the right side of the car sinking even lower. Jacey stopped what she was doing, not sure how to proceed.

The cowboy got out of his truck.

He stalked back, took a look and muttered a string of words she was just as happy not to catch.

“You’re not stuck. Yet,” he said.

Thank heaven for small miracles. Jacey flashed a weak smile.

“Just give it a little bit of gas and keep backing up slowly,” he instructed.

Jacey put her foot on the accelerator, pressed ever so lightly. The car didn’t move—at all.

He frowned. “More than that.”

Jacey pressed down harder. The wheels spun and the right side of her car sunk. She was stuck. Stuck in the mud on a lonely country road in Texas with a disgruntled cowpuncher staring at her as if he wanted to be anywhere else on earth.

She knew exactly how he felt.

Exhaling ferociously, he strode back to her side, while lightning flashed overhead. He stomped around to further examine the wheels on her tilting car then came back. “We’re not going to be able to get your vehicle out until morning,” he said as another clap of thunder split the air.

Jacey had been afraid of that.

“We can put you up in the bunkhouse.”

She blinked. This whole night was getting more and more bizarre. “With… cowboys? ” she echoed incredulously.

“The cook’s quarters are unoccupied right now,” he told her curtly. “And they’re private.”

Jacey faltered. Asking someone she didn’t know for directions was one thing, accepting lodging another. “I don’t know…”

The cowboy seemed to have no such reservations. “What choice do you have? Besides sleeping in the car?”

And they could both see, with the most necessary belongings of her life taking up every available inch of space in the car, there was definitely no room for that.

It was only as Jacey was grabbing her purse and the small overnight bag she had planned to take with her into the lodge that she realized he hadn’t told her his name.

As soon as she got her bearings after working her way out of the car, she thrust out her hand. “I’m Jacey Lambert,” she said with a smile.

He reached out to swallow her palm in a warm, strong grip, and his gaze fell to her rounded belly. His polite but remote smile faded. “You’re pregnant.”

“You just now noticed?” Jacey was approximately two weeks away from actually delivering her baby. She felt large as a cow.

Irritation tautened his lips. “I wasn’t looking.”

“Guess not.”

They stared at each other in the pouring rain.

He had a rain slicker on. She did not. And the water pouring down from the heavens was quickly drenching her hair and clothing.

Evidently realizing that, at long last, he put an arm around her shoulders and hustled her toward his truck.

“I hope you’re better at backing up a vehicle than I was,” she joked as he shifted his large capable hands to her waist and lifted her into the cab.

He shot her a level look, a grimness that seemed to go soul deep in his eyes.

“I don’t think I’ll have any problem,” he said as he climbed behind the wheel.

“You still haven’t told me your name,” Jacey said after he successfully steered the truck past her car, and they proceeded rapidly toward the entrance of Lost Mountain Ranch.

“Rafferty Evans.”

“Nice to meet you, Rafferty.”

Her greeting was met with silence.

His mood was even more remote as he parked at a group of sprawling adobe buildings. They got out and walked the short distance across the pavement in the pouring rain—this time beneath a wide umbrella he’d plucked from behind the driver’s seat. When they reached the portal of the bunkhouse, he shook the umbrella out, closed it and set it just beside the door.

Looking over at her, he said, “The hired hands are asleep. So if you could be as quiet as possible…”

She nodded, incredibly grateful now that safety was upon her. She didn’t care if this handsome stranger had wanted to rescue her and her unborn child or not—he had.

“No problem,” she told him just as quietly.

The bunkhouse was a large, square building, built in the same pueblo style as the main ranch house.