SNOWFIRES (2 page)

But there appeared to be more than
resentment, more than mere anger with her lot in life. Her wrath
seemed directed specifically at Trent. If only he could read the
thoughts inside her beautiful blond head and see past the
resentment in her deep blue eyes. He’d neither said nor done
anything to incur her hostility. What was with her? What went on in
her clever brain?

He turned his mind back to the two men and
capitulated. "Okay. You two win." His anger unrelieved, he stood
with jaw clenched and chest heaving. He took two deep breaths of
the frigid air, calming himself into civility.

Stretching his arm out palm up to
Grayson, he pleaded, "Joe Bob, you know how conservative Amberfield
is, how skittish they’ve been. I
have
to be there! If I can't fly, at least take
me to a car rental agency so I can get out of here before the storm
hits."

"Son, this isn't downtown Dallas. The closest
car rental place must be in Amarillo or Dalhart."

Harley scratched his head. "They might be one
over to Borger or Dumas. Yeah, Joe Bob, I think maybe the Ford
dealer at Dumas rents cars."

Trent was a hard man but fair. For most of
his thirty-six years, life had treated him harshly and hardened
him. Because of that, he hadn’t acquired the polish most in his
position possessed. He was direct, take charge, no nonsense in
business and personal matters and knew no other way to act.

The press had slapped him with that
ridiculous nickname "The Pirate" that added to his reputation for
driving a hard bargain. His generous acts he kept secret, like the
home for troubled boys he helped support. Those things were better
left unnoticed and unreported. For now, he must resolve this
horrendous complication and be on his way--no matter how badly he
wanted to explode or bang his head against the brick wall of
Grayson’s home.

"Help me out here, Joe Bob. Let me use one of
your vehicles to drive back. I'll have someone return it to you
tomorrow."

The chilly air held the scent of wood smoke
from the Grayson’s fireplace, but something more. Trent looked up
and to the northwest, then deepened his frown. In only the short
time they had talked here on the patio, the storm clouds had grown
darker and more ominous.

He blinked and shaded his eyes with his hand,
hoping to erase the vision. Hot damn, that must be some storm
headed this way! No wonder Harley refused to fly.

Grayson stroked his chin and smiled. "Say,
our little Holly is leaving right away. Ila Mae and I have talked
‘til we’re blue in the face to get her to wait out this storm, but
she’s the stubbornest woman alive. Says she's leaving right away.
She’s chompin' at the bit to get back to Dallas before the bad
weather hits. Ila Mae’s packing up some food for the drive right
now."

Trent wondered if Holly Tucker realized she
cringed each time one of her grandparents referred to her as
"little Holly." He understood she might be annoyed at Grayson
speaking as if she were a child, when in reality she must be close
to thirty and stand five-feet-eight or –nine in her stocking feet.
No matter what anyone else called her, in his mind she remained
"Princess."

Grayson turned and clapped him on the back.
"Yep, that'll work out just fine. You ride with our little Holly.
She’s driving that new Lexus I gave her for her birthday—got good
tires and that four wheel drive and all—but Ila Mae and I will sure
feel better with our little lady having a man along on the long
drive in this weather."

He wondered if that’s what Grayson had in
mind all along, the old fox. As Trent grabbed his duffle bag and
raised his eyes, he met Holly's horrified gaze through the patio
door. She hugged her arms as if waiting for him to decline, her
luscious mouth opened and widened blue eyes almost pleading. He
shared her reluctance of the six-hour drive to Dallas together, but
desperation drove him to accept. At least, he might learn the
reason she didn’t like him.

"Yeah, Joe Bob, I can do that. I'll even
drive."

***

Holly Tucker fought to calm the terror from
her ride through a blinding West Texas snowstorm followed by a trek
to this little house. Her hands trembled and her insides quivered
like jelly. She sat in a stranger’s kitchen and reminded herself
she was safe. Sort of.

No one had died.

No one had starved.

No one had actually frozen...yet.

On a disaster scale of one to ten for
horrendous days, maybe this rated only, say...seven point five and
climbing.

How could she have been so stupid? She
reviewed her own blunders that had left her stranded in the Texas
Panhandle during the worst blizzard of the last hundred years.

Not alone. That would have been bad
enough.

But no, she had to be marooned with Trent
Macleod, only the most attractive hunk of a man she’d ever met—or
hated.

She looked around the room. “Things could be
worse. At least we have shelter and heat.”

Trent glared at her. “You call this heat? You
could hang meat in that living room. No wonder they didn’t bother
to lock the place.”

“
Which means that, technically, we’re
only guilty of entering, not breaking in.” Not that it mattered.
They’d been so cold they would have kicked in a door if
necessary.

“
Yeah? I hope the sheriff and the
homeowner see it that way.” Even in this demanding situation, Trent
oozed potent testosterone and sexual appeal.

She’d heard of his time at sea and his pirate
nickname that fit him. He stood now as he must have aboard his
ship, back straight and legs braced. The knit shirt and taut jeans
revealed each ripple of muscle along his powerful body.

A woman would have to be dead not to
appreciate his rugged good looks, but Holly would die before she
let him know she found him physically attractive. In the meantime,
there was no penalty for covert admiration. Liking him wasn’t
required to admire his physique.

That the gorgeous hunk involved in this
misadventure happened to be her irritating, annoying, high-handed,
rat of a boss only made this isolation more disastrous. Said
exasperating, gorgeous man just happened also to be the person
whose arrogant actions she blamed for the death of her rapscallion
father. Okay, in review, the day slid right up to eight point five
on the disaster scale.

The kitchen range, a dilapidated floor
furnace, and a small bathroom space heater kept the tiny house
habitable if far less than comfortable.

She rubbed her hands together. “I wish the
sheriff would call back about the people who live here. What if
they’re stranded in this blizzard?”

“
Like we almost were.” The first thing
Trent had done when they arrived and discovered the house empty was
to call the sheriff and let him know they had sought emergency
shelter here.

Emergency? Now there was an
understatement.

The ringing phone jolted her from
reverie. She stood, but Trent stepped to the wall phone and grabbed
the receiver. Of course,
he
has to be in charge. Well, let Mister Macho Control Freak
deal with the call about their absent hosts.

During long pauses, Trent appeared to listen
carefully, as if the party on the other end of the line imparted
detailed information. Trent responded only with brief phrases
between pauses. She watched his every move, listened to the rich
texture of his voice.

"No, we brought the dog into the
house...Yeah, he was half frozen all right...we found the beans
soaking and hamburger meat thawing and knew whoever lived here
intended to return by now. That's why we were
concerned...What?...Where?" Suntanned fingers raked back a lock of
his jet-black hair.

Pauses grew while he listened intently. The
rugged planes of his face registered first shock, then something
close to rage, but his voice remained even.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and
exhaled. Eyes closed, he leaned his back against the wall. "I'll
take care of everything...Yes, I realize it means a great deal to
your family...I'll remember...No, no. There's no need to thank
me...Yes, I have it all straight. Don’t worry. Unfortunately, I've
done it all before."

When he turned to replace the receiver, he
leaned his head against the wall and let loose a string of oaths
that would do any sailor proud. His fists clenched on the wall
above him.

Holly had listened to the one-sided
conversation. She watched his range of emotions play out to end
with something akin to a mixture of rage and resignation. Whatever
the reason for the phone call, obviously it meant further
disaster.

She tried for a light tone to ease the
tension in the room. "My guess is that wasn't good news. Was that
the sheriff again?"

Slowly, he raised himself from the wall and
turned to face her as if he’d forgotten her presence. His eyes
looked unfocused, almost dazed. "Sheriff finally located the family
who live here. That was Mr. Martin, the owner. He and his wife and
kids are stranded in town with his in-laws."

Relief washed through Holly for people she’d
yet to meet. Their absent hosts were safe. “Thank heavens, I’m glad
they’re not trapped in their car somewhere. Was he upset we’re
here?”

“
Seemed pretty happy about it. In fact,
he asked for help.” His eyes closed. He rubbed a hand across his
face and his voice rose in volume as he continued. "Cattle are in
pens behind the barn. Martin wants me to get them into the barn's
protection and feed them. Of course, the feed has to be mixed
precisely."

He paced across the kitchen then turned to
pace toward her, ticking off items on his fingers as his
frustration vented. "Then there's the chickens, and a cat
somewhere, plus the water well and the pipes to keep from freezing,
and water for the animals."

He gestured wildly. "What the hell? Do I look
like I wanted to play Old McDonald on a friggin’ farm?"

She cringed. She’d seen him gruff and firm in
business meetings, but always in command of the situation. Never in
her presence had he failed to govern his temper. Her situation
demanded smooth, unruffled reason. Who was she kidding? If she
appeared calm, she deserved an Academy Award as Best Supporting
Actress In A Terrifying Situation.

"What are we going to do?" She doubted a
heartless man like Trent Macleod would bother with a few helpless
animals, no matter who had asked him?

“
We
?” He slid
into his leather flight jacket. "Damn, damn, and damn! There are
animals to care for.
Animals
." He took several deep breaths and
regained control before he answered in carefully measured words.
“
What I’m going to do
is go
to the barn and feed the damn animals--just like Martin
asked."

Guilt for her part in their situation
compelled her to shoulder her share of whatever animals’ care
required. She’d only meant to get a little of her own back from
Trent, not strand them in the middle of this icy nowhere. Holly
slid into her coat and peered out the kitchen window. Although her
car had four-wheel drive, the blowing snow earlier had made it
almost impossible to see where they were driving. It was just as
bad now.

"I can barely even
see
the barn. If this gets any worse, we won't
be able to find our way back to the house." The day moved right up
to a nine on the disaster scale.

He snorted. "We? There's no need for you to
go. Stay here and watch our dinner so it doesn’t burn. All I need
is a city girl slowing me down. You'd probably faint at the smell
in the barn. Lord knows what you'd do if you stepped in a cow
pattie."

The look he gave her left no doubt as to his
opinion of her abilities. "You’d probably rush out of the barn in
shock then wander off into the storm and get lost. A princess-type
like you belongs back in your North Dallas mansion or attending
parties at your country club."

She whirled and faced him with hands on her
hips. He had as low an opinion of her as she had of him. A
princess-type? If only he knew how false the label was that he
derisively flung at her. Ha. She’d show him this so-called
princess-type in action, beginning with the sharp side of her
tongue.

"Oh, sure. You man, me woman. You
Tarzan, me Jane. Well look,
Cheetah
, you'll need help with those
cattle."

She lowered the burner under the pan of pinto
beans and gave them a good stir before replacing the lid, then did
the same with a pot of chili. Because the soaking beans and thawed
ground beef they’d found on the counter would have spoiled if they
hadn’t used it right away, she didn’t feel bad about cooking their
hosts’ food. She and Trent would have something warm to eat by the
time they returned.

If
they
returned.

He tucked his jeans inside his boots then
rummaged in a cabinet. "At least the lantern is where Martin
promised, along with a cap." He jammed the frayed woolen cap on his
head and tugged the flaps over his ears.

She tucked her favorite periwinkle cashmere
muffler around her head and anchored it inside her full-length navy
cashmere greatcoat. Following his example, she pushed her tailored
navy wool flannel slacks into the tops of her new periwinkle suede
boots. The tall boots hugged her calves so tightly the slacks
ballooned at their top.

Brushing her hands down the front of her
coat, she sighed. Her clothes definitely were not intended for farm
work. From her pocket she pulled buttersoft kid gloves whose shade
perfectly matched her muffler and boots.

"You'll need something on your hands, too."
She grabbed a pair of worn gray gloves from atop the clothes dryer
and handed them over.