Snowbound with the Cowboy Read online

  Over the space of the past hour the silly mare had shied at chipmunks. Startled when a hawk flew overhead. Then there’d been a slight rustle of branches that could have been—well, anyone’s guess—but that had sent Blondie flying backward, nearly jerking the reins out of Sara’s hands.

  Now she was bobbing her head, as if trying to focus on something, which probably meant there was going to be yet another ruckus. Sara stroked the mare’s golden neck. “Easy, girl. There’s nothing—”

  “Sara,” Tate called from somewhere up on the hill. He sounded breathless. “Quick—call 911.”

  Startled, she spun around. She could see him now, winding through the massive boulders strewn midway down the steep slope. “What—why?”

  “Fire—at your place. I saw smoke.”

  A sick sensation clenched her stomach as she jammed a fingertip at the numbers on her keypad—then noticed the screen showed just one bar...and the call didn’t go through.

  All of those defenseless animals—trapped. No way out. Oh, Lord—please help us save them.

  A few seconds later Tate vaulted over the fence, slowing down as he approached the mare. He jerked his phone up to his face. “I still don’t have any reception. You?”

  “No.” As soon as Tate grabbed the reins from her, Sara took off running toward home. How far was it—a mile, maybe two? Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. The cabin was impossibly far...

  Hoofbeats thundered up behind her and she looked over her shoulder as Tate pulled to a stop. He reached down for her. “You can run, but this would be faster. Are you game? If she starts to tense you can slip off.” He slid his left foot out of the stirrup.

  Sara debated for just a heartbeat, then used the stirrup and his hand to land lightly behind the cantle of the saddle. “Please, Lord—let this work. Please, Lord—”

  Blondie shied to one side, her back bowed like a coiled spring, ready to explode into a bucking spree—but Tate distracted her by reining her into a tight circle, then pointed her nose toward home and pushed her into a lope—then faster.

  As if she knew she was heading in the direction of her barn, she opened up and flew through the timber, Tate guiding her around boulders and trees. In the meadow she picked up more speed yet.

  He settled her into a slower lope long enough to check the bars on his cell phone and hand the phone to Sara. “Got three bars here—make the call.”

  She made the 911 call and disconnected, then continued to pray. If the cabin was already engulfed, there would be no chance of saving it or the animals inside. But even if it was still small, what chance was there?

  The volunteer firemen in Pine Bend had to leave their jobs and ranches; some to the station for the fire trucks, others straight to the fire. But it was nearly a fifty-minute drive for her to reach town, and with the curvy road leading from the highway up to the cabin, they probably couldn’t make it any faster.

  Tate slowed as they neared the cabin, and Sara slid off before he’d even stopped. She raced for the fence. Even from here she could smell the heavy stench of burning rubber, and the smoke made it hard to breathe.

  “Wait—let me go,” Tate shouted. “I can lift the heavier cages—where are the extinguishers?”

  She looked back. Tate was already on the ground, leading Blondie toward her at a trot. The mare exhaled with a gusty sigh, her thick winter coat damp with sweat. Steam rolled off her neck and sides into the chilly air.

  “I—I—” Sara wavered, frustration flooding through her. The mare was breathing too hard to tie up and leave. “I need to go. I know where everything is. Come when you can.”

  Charging through the underbrush, she sped past the shed and little barn, then skidded to a stop. Black smoke was billowing from underneath the garage door, nearly obliterating the view of the structure. Something inside exploded with the force of a bomb, then again—aerosol cans, probably.

  Rushing up onto the deck, she felt the door for heat, then cautiously opened it and felt the five rescue cats rush past her ankles to freedom.

  Smoke poured from underneath the door leading out to the garage but—so far—she could see no flames inside the cabin itself.

  It would only be a matter of time.

  Coughing, she hurriedly packed kitchen towels against the base of the door, then ran to the dog cages, leashing and taking the six dogs outside by threes and tying them on the other side of the truck, then she went after Theodore’s bulky cage—which she dragged to the front door.

  Theodore was nowhere to be seen.

  “Theodore! Pretty bird—pretty bird!” She spun on her heel, searching the rafters. The loft railing.

  Tate appeared behind her, his form hazy. “What’s left?”

  She coughed. “What about Blondie?”

  “This is more important—you’re more important.”

  “Theodore—can you see him?” she called over her shoulder as she raced up the loft stairs to the bird’s favorite haunt, while Tate searched below.

  The smoke inside the cabin was rising, pooling in the open rafters. In the loft it was hard to see and even harder to breathe. If the bird hadn’t headed for the lower level it might already be—

  “Found him!” Tate shouted. “But he isn’t looking too perky.”

  “Don’t touch him—just try to corral him.” She took the steps three at a time and found Tate crouching in a corner of the great room, behind an upholstered love seat. “He could bite off your fingers.”

  The bird was crouched in the corner, his wings held away from his body, his breathing labored. He swayed on his feet as she drew closer.

  Grabbing a fleecy afghan from the back of the love seat she gently wrapped him, his head covered, and took him to his cage.

  “I’ll take that. Where do you want him?”

  “Over in the shed by the corral. He’ll be out of the breeze, and away from the cats and dogs. It’s less smoky over there.”

  “Got it.” He took off with the bird and she spun on her heel, mentally ticking a list of the animals that were inside, then she ran for the fire extinguishers and set them by the front door.

  Building codes required a fire wall between a garage and dwelling—had that been honored here? How long would it hold? Had there even been any inspections during the do-it-yourself project Uncle Warren had undertaken?

  The steel roof seemed to be fending off random sparks, but losing the cabin itself was only a matter of time. The wisps of smoke coming through the seams of the pine paneling proved it.

  Grabbing a laundry basket, she hurriedly threw in her laptop, bag of camera gear and important file folders from a drawer in her desk, then scooped up irreplaceable mementos—photo albums, keepsakes—and ran outside to put them in her truck, which she’d not pulled into the garage, thank goodness.

  She turned to go back, still trying to draw fresh air into her smoke-filled lungs.

  Tate met her halfway and gently grabbed her arms. “Don’t.”

  She struggled to free herself. “But I need to. Everything I own is—”

  “It’s not worth it. Look.”

  The garage door buckled from the intense heat within, releasing a wall of flames that licked at the exterior siding and edged toward the cabin.

  More explosions.

  Then another that shook the ground and sent a blast of heat sweeping over her that felt like liquid fire. “Oh, my Lord—I’ll bet that was a gas can.”

  “There’s nothing more you can do, Sara. It’s over.”

  “But I’ve got the fire extinguishers. I’ve got to protect the cabin.”

  “You wouldn’t stand a chance, honey. It isn’t worth your life.”

  Defeated, she turned limp and dropped her head against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close, suffusing her with his warmth and strength.

  He stilled. “Listen.”<
br />
  The faint sound of sirens filtered through the trees, coming closer. But slowly. Not nearly fast enough—and that thought gripped her heart like an iron fist.

  She’d wanted paperwork on the cabin. A mortgage, or contract for deed, or something. But while Sara had gently wrangled with Warren and Millie, they’d only brushed aside her concerns and refused to discuss it. No one had brought up one important fact.

  They were older now, and more forgetful. The cabin had been sitting empty over a year. What if it wasn’t insured?

  * * *

  Gene Carlson pulled off his volunteer-fire-chief’s helmet and swiped at his forehead with the sleeve of his heavy turnout coat as he studied the front of the garage. The other three volunteers were gathering their gear and rolling up the hoses.

  “You were sure fortunate,” he muttered. “This old cabin was remodeled, right?”

  She nodded. “By my uncle.”

  “Most of these really remote places were built generations ago and don’t even come close to code. But he did add a fire wall between the house and garage.”

  “Apparently he did a good job. Right?”

  “Actually, far better than the building codes require. That wall and the steel roof made all the difference.”

  “I can’t thank you and your crew enough for coming all the way up here.” Her arms wrapped around her middle, Sara gave him a wan smile, her face pale and smudged with smoke.

  She looked so worn-out that Tate wanted to pull her into his arms just to keep her steady. He settled for draping an arm around her shoulders and drawing her close to his side. “Can you tell what started the fire?”

  “I need to look it over again before I write up my report.” Gene settled his helmet back on his head. “The heaviest charring is around the electrical control panel in the garage, so I believe that was the point of origin. My guess is that mice chewed the insulation on some wires. Didn’t you say that the place was empty for quite a while?”

  Sara nodded. “I moved in the first of February.”

  “I’d have an electrician take a look at all of the wiring in the cabin, just to be safe. Next time you might not fare as well. As it is, you aren’t going to be able to stay here for a while. Even with large exhaust fans it’ll take a long time to air out. Your insurance agent can get you set up with those.”

  Sara heaved a sigh, hoping there was an insurance agent to ask. “I’ll check on that.”

  The charred garage door now lay in a twisted heap to one side, the black maw of the double garage still emitting faint plumes of smoke.

  The stench of wet cinders and burning rubber still filled the air.

  Tate tipped his head toward the other volunteers. “Can I help?”

  A grin creased the man’s weathered cheeks. “You’ll have enough to do after we’re gone. But if you really feel like helping, we can always use more volunteers. Only had four of us today—the others were out of town or just couldn’t get away.”

  “I would if I could, but I’ll be moving on in a few months. Sorry.”

  Gene studied him for a long moment, his brow furrowed. “Aren’t you one of the Langford boys? You might’ve gone to school with one of my sons—Jared Carlson.”

  “Smartest kid in his graduating class. A year ahead of me, I think. Quarterback, his senior year.”

  “He’s a college grad, headed for the big city—then he decided he’d rather be ranching than fighting rush-hour traffic.” The man beamed with obvious pride. “Real glad to have him back, and he’s even happier. You might want to think twice about leaving God’s country behind.”

  Gene glanced over at the volunteer firemen, who were waiting by the tanker fire truck. “Well, folks, we’ll be on our way. I’ll stop by sometime tomorrow to sift through the debris and see if I can find a more definitive cause for the fire.”

  Sara reached out to shake his hand. “I appreciate everything, Mr. Carlson.”

  As soon as the fire crew left, Sara stepped away from Tate’s embrace and rubbed her upper arms. “It’s only midafternoon and it’s already getting colder out. I need to get the animals moved, and I imagine you need to start for home. You have a long ride ahead of you.”

  The cats had lurked at the edge of the timber. After she caught all five and put them into small carriers, she loaded them into the front of the truck. The three smallest dogs she put in the backseat.

  “Are you going to have enough space for all of those animals at the clinic?”

  “I have no choice now. The cabin smells smoky, and that’s bad for all of them—especially the parrot.” She eyed the three bigger dogs she’d tied to separate trees by the truck. “But I’ll pick up exhaust fans tomorrow and start cleaning. Maybe in a couple days they can come back here.”

  Tate frowned. “Surely you aren’t going to stay here tonight.”

  She shrugged. “The electrical panel in the cabin is still fine. I’ve got lights and the furnace works. After I take the animals into town I can get started washing curtains and scrubbing the smokiness from the walls.”

  “Here’s a different thought—take the animals to my place. I’ve got empty box stalls for the dogs, and a warm tack room for the cats. As for the bird—its cage could go in there too. It’s far closer than hauling them all to town—and either way it’ll take two trips.”

  She hesitated. “That seems like a lot of bother for you.”

  “None at all. I’m glad to help an old friend. I don’t have any extra furnished bedrooms, but I know Jess and his wife have some spare guest rooms.”

  “That isn’t necessary. Really.”

  “It is. At least for tonight. If that smoky air in the cabin isn’t safe for the animals, it sure won’t do you any good.” Tate looked at the time on his phone. “I’ll tell you what—I’ll head for home with Blondie now so I can get her back before dark. You go ahead and settle in your animals however you see fit. You know the barn better than I do. I’ll probably get there by the time you finish your second trip.”

  “I feel really bad, making extra work for you, though.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “But—”

  He gave a firm shake of his head. “I’ll let Jess and Abby know you’ll be coming for a night or so. Everything in your cabin is probably too smoky to wear, so bring any clothes you’d like to wash. Tomorrow afternoon I’ll be over here to help with the cleanup. Okay?”

  “No. You’ve got a lot to do as it is. I’ll take care of it.”

  “Neighbors help each other around here, Sara. And believe me, if you don’t let me pitch in, I will never hear the end of it from my grandma.”

  She stared at the blackened garage for a long moment, her eyes weary and a little dazed. “You’re a good man, Tate. I’d forgotten just how kind you are.”

  She rested her hands on his shoulders and rose on her tiptoes to kiss him lightly on the cheek. And then she hurried to her truck without a backward glance.

  He stared after her, the world shifting beneath his feet.

  Since she’d come back to town, nothing had been said. No parameters had been discussed. But he’d understood their tacit agreement—whatever they’d had between them was in the past, and they were practically strangers now.

  So why did that swift, innocent kiss of gratitude send a shock wave clear to his core, and suddenly seem to mean so much more?

  * * *

  “You poor, poor girl,” Tate’s grandma Betty tutted when he and Sara walked into the kitchen at the Langford Ranch late that evening. “I’m so glad Tate told us about your dilemma. You are certainly welcome to stay with us as long as you like. Right, Abby?”

  Abby moved forward with a warm smile and gave Sara a hug. “Absolutely.”

  Embarrassed, Sara tried to dredge up an answering smile, but knew it probably ended up more of a grimace. “Sorry—I imagine I still smel
l smoky.”

  Abby waved away her concerns. “And who wouldn’t? Sounds like you’ve had a terrible day.”

  “But eat first, while everything is nice and hot. You can get cleaned up later.” Betty bustled over to the oven and pulled out a pan of rolls, then lifted the lid of a Crock-Pot and stirred the contents. “We’ve got a hearty beef stew, parmesan rolls with whipped herb butter, and blueberry pie.”

  “It all sounds wonderful.” Sara breathed in the rich, delicious aromas. “I never imagined the day ending like this. Thank you.”

  “The powder room is just around the corner if you need it.” Betty’s silver hair shone under the kitchen lights as she brought the rolls and butter to the oblong oak kitchen table. “Otherwise, just have a seat. You must be exhausted.”

  The table was already set, with emerald place mats and white dishes, and Abby was bringing the black crockery liner of the slow cooker to the table when Sara came back from washing her hands.

  “Just sit anywhere. The twins ate earlier and have gone to bed, and Jess is back out in the barn waiting for a mare that should be foaling any minute.” Abby smiled. “I’m afraid this will be a very informal meal, and that you’ve only got the two of us for company.”

  Sara sank into a chair. The warmth of the cheery kitchen made her suddenly feel incredibly tired. “I am so grateful to you both.”

  “Let’s pray,” Betty murmured from across the table. “Thank you, Lord, for bringing Sara here tonight. For saving her cabin, and for keeping her and the animals safe. Bless all those who will be helping her life return to normalcy during the next weeks, and please protect Abby during her journey to California. Finally, bless the food we are about to eat. Amen.”

  “Leaving wintry Montana for sunshine sounds rather nice,” Sara murmured. “Will you be gone long?”

  “Two weeks. I’m in a distance-learning PhD program, but three times of year I need to be on-campus for seminars and consultation with my advisers. I started last September.”

  Fascinated, Sara cocked her head. “That’s impressive. What’s your major?”

  “Special Ed, with my focus on autism research.”