Snowflakes and Stetsons Read online

  With his rifle clamped in one hand—because he had learned the hard way never to go anywhere unarmed—he stopped in his tracks. An unidentified sound drifted in the wind. Lucas couldn’t name the source of the sound, but it put Dog on alert, too.

  His gaze bounced back and forth between the cabin and the snowy darkness. The thought of tossing another log on the fire and sitting beside the hearth to sip on steaming coffee held tremendous appeal. But the odd sound carrying in the wind had him concerned. Then he heard a distressed whinny—and he was definitely familiar with that sound. He reversed direction to the barn. Once inside, he held up the lantern to see his prize horses all safe and unharmed staring back at him from their stalls.

  Whoever or whatever was out there in the howling darkness would have to stay there, he told himself. Hadn’t he served humanity long enough? And what thanks had he gotten? He’d been called a breed because he was a quarter Comanche, a quarter Spanish and half-white. White and Mexican outlaws had jeered at him and Indian renegades labeled him a traitor because he was often forced to fight against them. His Indian cousins didn’t seem to realize that if not for his ability to act as their interpreter there would have been far more bloodshed and misunderstandings among white, Spanish and Indian than there were already.

  Well, as far as Lucas was concerned, all of fickle humanity could go hang themselves. If he had his way, he wouldn’t have been forced to grant right of way to build the railroad and the road that joined Wolf Grove and Cahill Crossing. In fact, that fledgling town called Cahill Crossing—which had sprung up in anticipation of the coming railroad—could shrivel up and die for all he cared. He and Dog got along fine with limited exposure to white society.

  Somewhere, a horse screamed in the inky darkness. The howls of wolves drifted on the wind. Lucas glanced down as Dog limped beside him. Dog was half wolf and half shepherd, and he heard the call of the wild. There had been a time—or three—in the past when Lucas thought Dog might answer the call. However, since the injury that had caused a limp, the animal rarely prowled the darkness unless he traveled with Lucas. Yet that didn’t mean Dog didn’t prick his ears and stare into the blowing snow, as if he, like Lucas, wasn’t quite sure where he belonged.

  What was left of his conscience, and the smidgeon of goodwill toward men that cynicism hadn’t burned out of him, raised their noble heads.

  “Well, hell,” Lucas grumbled sourly. “What if some idiotic traveler is stranded out there, stalked by wolves?”

  Dog whined and stared up at him.

  Lucas blew out his breath. “Fine, Dog. We’ll make the effort if you insist.”

  Lucas lurched around to return to the barn again. When he whistled, every horse lifted its head. “Come here, Drizzle,” Lucas commanded the dark gray Appaloosa with a white rump that looked as if someone had dribbled blotches of black paint on it. The well-trained stallion had been through hell with Lucas, just as Dog had. Sturdy, steadfast and experienced, Lucas mused as he set aside the lantern to saddle Drizzle.

  With the swiftness that came with endless practice, Lucas readied Drizzle for travel. Then he lit a torch to guide the way through the blowing snow. The smell of kerosene swirled around Lucas as he lifted the burning torch over his head. Dog limped ahead of them, following the sound of frantic whinnies and the distinct howling of wolves.

  Lucas stared through the holes of his protective hood. He held the torch in his left hand so he could grasp the reins and his trusty rifle in his right. His senses went on high alert when he spotted the silhouette of a nearly upturned wagon stuck in a snowdrift. A team of horses was hitched to it. One horse whinnied and sidestepped nervously. The other horse hobbled beside it, drawing up its injured leg then lowering it gingerly.

  Drizzle whinnied back as the threesome approached the wagon. When Dog growled, Lucas jerked up his head to search the darkness. He noticed what Dog sensed—a foursome of wolves skulking around the tilted wagon, prepared to attack.

  Lucas clamped the rifle against his hip and fired off three quick shots. He dropped two wolves but the others scattered. That was the bad thing about wolves, he reminded himself as he fired off another round for good measure. If you shot and missed, a wolf rarely gave you another chance. Wolves, like coyotes, were smart, elusive predators and they learned all too quickly.

  Dismounting, Lucas propped the torch in the snowdrift to shed more light on the bay’s swollen front leg. “Not broken, just sprained,” was his diagnosis. “Good, I don’t favor putting you down, boy.”

  Lucas glanced at the sorrel that didn’t look as if it had suffered injury. Then he scanned the darkness, unsure what had become of the idiotic man who owned the horses and buckboard. Drifting snow obliterated any footprints that might lead Lucas to the missing traveler. For certain the man had written his own death warrant when he ventured off the track.

  The tilted wagon was only a few hundred yards away from Lucas’s cabin, but visibility was so low you couldn’t see the light in the window. Hell, Lucas knew where his cabin and barn were but he couldn’t see them, either.

  Lucas unhitched the two horses then mounted Drizzle. He started off, making slow progress toward the barn, leading the hobbling bay and the skittish sorrel. A moment later he realized Dog wasn’t beside him.

  “Dog? Double damn, this better not be the night you decide to answer the call,” Lucas muttered beneath his protective hood. “Dog! Come!”

  Dog didn’t come. Lucas expelled an impatient sigh. He was cold, tired and anxious to huddle by the hearth and warm his innards with coffee. “Dog!”

  Dog barked loudly twice.

  Lucas frowned then lifted the torch to locate Dog. He was standing in front of a snowdrift near the tilted wagon. Frowning curiously, Lucas rode over to look down at his pet.

  “You sensing something I can’t, boy?”

  Dog whined and pawed at the snowbank.

  Befuddled, Lucas dismounted and tethered the horses. He stabbed the torch into the drift then stared wide-eyed at the lady’s kid boot Dog had unearthed…and the foot still in it.

  “What in the hell—?” Lucas croaked in disbelief. “A damn fool woman tramping around at night? Alone in a blizzard? Lady, you better hope you don’t get what you deserve—which is dead and frozen solid for your foolishness!”

  Displacing the wet snow and sleet, Lucas uncovered frilly skirts then noticed the pathetically ineffective jacket covering arms that were half-frozen from exposure to the cold.

  “Any man who’d let his wife venture out on a night like this ought to be shot,” he said then glanced sideways, wondering if there was an iced-over husband who had walked off to find help…and encountered the wolf pack before the predators surrounded the wagon, looking for dessert.

  Lucas didn’t have time to tramp around in search of a possible husband. The woman was unconscious and she needed attention. He slid his hand beneath her skirt to check her body temperature and his hand glided over her firm, shapely leg. She was deathly cold. He grabbed her by the hips then gave a mighty heave-ho, dragging her from the makeshift snow cave and onto his lap, falling off balance in the process.

  He gasped in amazement when the snow-caked scarf that covered her head and face came free. A pile of frothy silver-blond hair spilled across the snow, glowing in the torch light.

  “Rosalie Greer?” he crowed in amazement.

  Of course he knew who the attractive boutique owner was. What man in Cahill Crossing didn’t? She was considered quite a catch, though it was said that she had discouraged every would-be suitor who came calling. As he’d heard tell, Rosalie cleverly provided each jilted suitor with a good reason why he shouldn’t be interested in her. She had sent each one on his way, thinking he had called off the unproductive courtship.

  Rosalie had reminded one of her suitors that she was much too old and that he knew he should select a younger woman. She assured another averted suitor that she was much too independent and outspoken. And what man had the patience to deal with such glaring
flaws in a woman’s personality?

  Yet another beau received a lecture on trying to woo her with flowers because, according to Rosalie Greer, they reminded her of funerals and she didn’t even plan to attend her own so he shouldn’t bother with bouquets.

  Lucas wiped the ice from her pale cheek. “What the hell are you doing out here in this blizzard?” he asked the unconscious female who reminded him of a lifeless angel covered in snow. “You might not like funeral flowers but you might get them anyway.”

  His own comment spurred him into action. If this bewitching boutique owner was going to survive, he couldn’t dillydally. He had to get her thawed out—and quickly. He scooped her up in his arms then frowned when her head lolled against his shoulder and the glorious mass of silky blond hair cascaded over his arm. She looked hauntingly lovely, and about as close to dead as a woman could get. He would have to push Drizzle hard to clomp through the snowdrifts in haste to reach the cabin.

  The team of horses would have to wait, he decided. Time was of the essence. He couldn’t hold the torch, Drizzle’s reins, plus those of the other two horses, and balance Rosalie in his lap while moving at a swift pace.

  Even when Lucas tossed Rosa awkwardly over the saddle so he could climb up behind her she didn’t rouse. Neither did she respond when he levered her over his arm. She lay there like a lifeless rag doll. That didn’t bode well.

  Holding her close, hoping to share his body heat, Lucas urged Drizzle to make haste to reach the cabin. The powerful, surefooted Appaloosa half leaped and half trotted over the drifts, setting an uneven pace.

  When Lucas dismounted then pulled Rosalie into his arms, Drizzle whinnied. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he told his faithful mount. “We’ll fetch the sorrel and bay before they freeze to death.”

  With Dog trotting along on his gimpy leg, Lucas hurried onto the stoop. He shouldered his way through the door then positioned Rosalie’s motionless body beside the fire. Hurriedly, he tossed on a few more logs to provide extra heat. Then he stepped back to contemplate Rosalie’s snow-covered clothing.

  “Those garments need to come off,” he told his unconscious houseguest. “Can’t say I won’t enjoy this, but I’ve spent thirty-two years doing what has to be done to survive.” A faint smile pursed his lips and he tried to recall the last time he’d felt like grinning. Had he ever? His hardscrabble lifestyle of dodging flying bullets, knives and arrows didn’t lend itself to amusement.

  Lucas squatted down on his haunches to remove her shoes then her stockings. The lacy petticoats came off next. Naturally, a woman who operated the most fashionable boutique this side of Austin would have the softest, most delicate fabric brushing against her skin, he reasoned.

  “There’s a reminder I don’t need,” he grumbled to himself. He was already aware that he had been too long between women. Touching this beguiling female was entirely too pleasurable…considering her unresponsive condition.

  “What are you looking at?” Lucas asked the dog sitting beside him. “I don’t need a four-legged conscience.”

  Lucas inhaled a steadying breath then peeled off her stylish but thin jacket. He unbuttoned the front of her crimson-colored gown…and lust hit him below the belt buckle with enough force to steal the air he had drawn into his lungs. The garment lay open, exposing the lacy pink chemise and the creamy fullness of her breasts. Lucas involuntarily groaned when unappeased desire bombarded him.

  Her breasts rose and fell with each shallow breath she took. At least it signaled that she was still alive—for now. The farther he pulled down the gown, past her rib cage, her waist then her hips, the more difficult it became for him to breathe.

  “Double damn,” he wheezed as he removed the expensive gown that covered silky pantaloons.

  Since her undergarments weren’t wet—and too bad about that, he thought—he left her in them.

  Rising from a crouch, Lucas lurched around to hurry into his bedroom. He returned with a buffalo-skin quilt guaranteed to warm a half-frozen body within a few hours. He tucked the heavy blanket around her then watched the dancing flames cast light and shadows across her lovely face.

  Enchanting, he mused as he studied her with masculine appreciation. In his opinion, she was the most alluring woman in town. With her arresting figure, bewitching facial features and those unique amethyst-colored eyes she could captivate a man without even trying.

  Of course, she would have no use for the likes of him, he reminded himself realistically. She looked delicate and polished and he knew she possessed polite and sophisticated manners. Which made them polar opposites. Born and raised by the Comanche, trained as a warrior then as a soldier and finally as a Ranger, Lucas had endured everything life had thrown at him. Rosalie Greer, on the other hand, didn’t have enough sense not to venture out alone in a blizzard.

  He’d tell her so—if she ever woke up.

  His thoughts flitted off as he watched Dog sniff the pile of feminine clothing then hobble over to sniff Rosalie’s curly hair that spilled across the planked floor.

  “Don’t know what to make of her, do you?” Lucas said to Dog. “That makes two of us.”

  He scooped up the damp, frilly clothing then draped the garments over the back of the chairs he positioned by the roaring fire.

  “You can help me fetch the team of horses or stay here with her,” Lucas told Dog then wheeled toward the door.

  Dog sat down, looked at Rosalie then turned his attention to Lucas. After Lucas pulled the hood over his face to protect him from the cold, Dog reluctantly limped over to join him. Even Dog was smart enough to know he should keep his distance from someone who had no place whatsoever in his rough-and-tumble world.

  Lucas exited, reminding himself that he didn’t fit into Rosalie’s world any better than she fit into his. He would do his best to nurse her back to health then send her on her way.

  “And you’d better not spend any more time thinking about how good it felt to touch her,” Lucas lectured himself sternly.

  The cold wind bombarded him the instant he stepped onto the porch, but it didn’t cool the lingering warmth of the erotic fantasy dancing in his head while he rode off to fetch the team of stranded horses.

  Chapter Two

  Dazed, groggy, teeth chattering, Rosa awakened. Her hands and feet tingled and burned. The kind of warmth she never thought she’d feel again pulsed through her. She frowned, trying to orient herself to her dark surroundings. When she glanced left, she was surprised to see a fire raging in a stone hearth. Shadows leaped like specters performing demonic dancing rituals on the walls.

  She tensed when she glanced right to note the wolflike creature that lurked close enough to take a bite out of her. She gasped in alarm when her fuzzy gaze landed on the ominous silhouette, wearing a black hood and a long black canvas duster coat. Firelight reflected off the twin holes of the hood, giving the impression that flames burned where eyes should be.

  God have mercy! Rosa thought in dismay. She must have frozen to death in the snowdrift—and gone straight to hell. She was about to be roasted over her personal bonfire while the wolf-dog that guarded the gates of Hades kept a watchful eye on her. And here, she mused uneasily while she cowered beneath the quilt, was the devil himself looming over her. He was here to steal her soul before he cremated her in the fire.

  “No!” Rosa shrieked then cursed herself for cowering before the devil. That was not the way she wanted to leave the world—or rather the underworld. She was not a coward…?. Or at least she preferred to think she wasn’t…?. Or maybe that’s why she had landed in hell to begin with, because she wasn’t as humble as she thought she was. Or maybe it was because she had wished her disgusting stepbrother to hell in a handbasket and had ended up cursing herself to the farthest reaches of Hades.

  “Calm down, Ms. Greer. You’re okay. Are you warmer now?” the towering demon questioned in a deep, resonant voice.

  Of course, the devil would have an eerily provocative voice, she reasoned. After all, he
was the master of temptation and seduction, wasn’t he?

  “Not as warm as I’m going to be when you toss me in the fire,” she muttered grimly.

  The devil chuckled. A deep, rumbling sound filled the empty space between them. The sound was not as wicked and frightening as she had expected it to be. To her bewildered amazement, the devil removed the dark hood that covered his head, revealing thick, collar-length raven hair, midnight-black eyes and a ruggedly handsome face that boasted a five o’clock shadow that looked at least two days old.

  “I hadn’t planned to roast you over live coals. I was only wondering if you were suffering frostbite,” he said.

  Rosa collapsed on the planked floor in relief. Her breath gushed out in a whoosh. This wasn’t the devil. It was Lucas Burnett, the former Texas Ranger who owned a horse ranch that butted up against the road to Wolf Grove and bordered Cahill’s sprawling 4C Ranch on the east and north. Rosa had noticed the tall, brawny horseman on rare occasions when he came to town for supplies. It was hard not to notice a man whose appearance drew her gaze and speculation. She had been fascinated with his powerful physique and the way he moved with such predatory grace.

  He was nothing like the swaggering dandies from the East whom she had left far behind—and good riddance to them!

  If Rosa hadn’t lost faith in men eight years ago—and had yet to meet a man who had changed her opinion of the male gender since—she might have pursued her secret admiration of Lucas Burnett. Not that he had the slightest interest in her, she reminded himself.

  He was a recluse who didn’t want anything to do with society. But she suspected Lucas made regular visits to the wrong side of the tracks in Cahill Crossing. Although the train had yet to arrive in town, there was already a Wrong Side and there was a freshly painted train depot waiting to greet the locomotive due to arrive within the next few months.

  “Let me check your hands and fingers,” he said, reaching for the fist she had knotted in the quilt. “I rubbed on a poultice an hour ago. Hopefully, it has helped to restore feeling and circulation in your arms and legs.”