Montana Miracle. Mary Anne Wilson

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      “There isn’t any signal,” she admitted reluctantly.

      “I would have been surprised if there was out here in this weather,” the man said.

      “How far is it to Bliss?”

      “That’s where you’re heading?”

      “Just how far is it?”

      “Too far for you to make it in this thing,” he said.

      That feeling of no control when the car head slid on the road was transferring to no control over anything at the moment. “If the storm lets up a bit, I could do it, couldn’t I?”

      “Maybe, if you have chains.”

      She wouldn’t know what to do with chains even if she had them on the seat beside her. “I don’t know if I have any,” she said.

      “Pop your trunk,” he said as he headed to the rear of the car.

      She found the lever by her seat and waited while the man checked the trunk. Moments later she heard it slam shut. Then the stranger was back by the window. “No chains.”

      She sank back in the seat. “No driving.”

      “No driving,” he echoed.

      “Were you going into Bliss?”

      “Through it.”

      “Could you send someone back with chains or something so I can get going?”

      “There’s a garage. They might have chains.”

      “Perfect. I’ll just wait here.” She reached for the window button, but the man stopped her, gripping the top of the window with one hand.

      “Not so fast,” he said, and she stared at his bare hand. A very large hand with strong fingers, short nails and weathered skin. And no rings. “You can’t just sit here while I go off to get help. That could take a long time, and unless you’ve got a full tank of gas, it’s going to be a long, cold wait.”

      “Would it take you that long?”

      “Who knows on a night like this?”

      If he was trying to scare her, he was doing a good job. She had visions of being found when the spring thaw came, clutching the useless phone and frozen solid. “You think it’s that bad tonight?”

      “You can see it yourself. This car isn’t going anywhere.” She heard him exhale. “I don’t think you have any option but for me to give you a lift. My truck’s a four-by-four and can get there. I can drop you at the garage and they can bring you back with chains.” He paused. “And you can call your James from there so he’ll know you’re safe and sound.”

      Her James? She regretted the spur-of-the-moment lie, but didn’t bother to correct it. What she regretted was that she’d put herself in a situation where she had little to no choice about accepting a ride from a stranger. That wasn’t in her comfort zone at all, but sitting in this car in the storm, wasn’t anywhere near her comfort zone, either. She choose the lesser of two evils.

      “Are you coming?” he asked.

      She exhaled. “I’m coming,” she said, turning the car off. She dropped the keys in her purse, along with her phone and charger, but kept the pepper spray in her hand. She looked around, saw the files she’d read on the plane and decided to leave them on the passenger seat. She wouldn’t be gone that long. Gripping the suede straps of her purse with the same hand that held the spray, she reached for the door. She’d barely clicked the lock up before the man jerked the door open, letting in a blast of cold that almost took her breath away.

      She climbed out and the instant she was standing, she knew that her clothes weren’t much protection from the cold. The driven snow stung her face, and she ducked her head into the collar of her jacket, but nothing helped against the chill that was robbing her of body heat at an alarming rate.

      Hugging the purse to her chest, she turned and the stranger was there. He looked to be a couple of inches over six feet, but she barely caught more than a glimpse of a dark cowboy hat, before she walked toward his truck. That feeling of being out of control came back with shattering force as she headed away from her car and the known, and toward the truck of the stranger and the unknown.

      Her feet sank deeply into the drifting snow, her leather boots offering no protection and no traction at all. She moved cautiously toward the headlights and was very aware of the man following her. As she stepped around toward the passenger side of the cab, the snow seemed deeper.

      Just then her feet shot out from under her. She went flailing wildly, grasping for anything to stop her fall. Her right hand hit hard metal, sending a stinging pain up into her arm, then she was falling backward, only to be stopped with jarring suddenness. It took her a second to realize that she’d hit a hard body, that arms were going around her and circling her just under her breasts, and keeping her on her feet.

      She suddenly felt safe as the stranger pulled her back against him. “Whoa there,” he murmured by her ear as if soothing a skittish horse.

      Kate felt the heat of his breath on her skin before he released her. The cold was there full force again and she quickly reached for the hood of the truck to steady herself. The throb of the engine vibrated under her hand in the warm, damp metal hood.

      “You okay?” the stranger asked from somewhere behind her.

      “Sure, fine,” she said, and meant it until she realized that both her hands were pressed palms-down on the warm metal—her empty hands. No purse and no pepper spray. “Oh, shoot, my purse and my…” She twisted around and saw the stranger hunkered down in the snow with his back to her. In the bright lights she saw a dark suede jacket pulled taut over broad shoulders and fur at the collar. A huge man.

      Her pepper spray was all she had to protect herself. She’d never taken those karate classes she’d promised to take years ago. All she had for self-defense was that little cylinder of spray, and it had flown off into the snow when she fell. She moved toward the man in the snow, frantically looking around in the brilliance of the headlights, but not seeing anything but snow and more snow.

      Suddenly the man was standing and saying, “Found it,” and turning around to face her. She knew he had her purse in his hand, but all she could do was stare at the man caught in the brilliance of the headlights. The harshness of the glare cut deep shadows at his eyes and mouth, the hat adding its own shadows, but for a second she was certain she was looking at a rough, unkempt version of Dr. Mackenzie Parish.

      No Gucci loafers or Armani suits, but the lines and angles of the face were there the way she remembered from the photos. That frozen moment in time on the tape in James’s office. The same face, but different. There was roughness there now. Then again, maybe snow caused hallucinations. Maybe she’d been staring at his pictures so much on the flight out here that she was imagining it now.

      Was she imagining this huge man was the famous, playboy doctor to the stars? She had to be. Those hands, large hands, blunt fingers. Not the fingers of a surgeon. She blinked into the driving snow, and the man moved. The shadows claimed his features again as he pulled his hat brim lower to hold the driving snow at bay. “Here,” he said, coming closer.

      Hallucination. СКАЧАТЬ