Babes In Arms. Sara Orwig

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СКАЧАТЬ Colin raced into an alley, sliding and skidding as he turned out of it and doubled back, winding through alleys and down less traveled streets to the campus. At the animal-science building he jumped the curb to drive between two buildings, the college kids laughing as he bounced down into the street and sped away before the campus police were called.

      He wound through town for twenty minutes and then he took a section line into the country. With satisfaction he glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the road behind him was a swirling white emptiness. He slowed and relaxed, taking the highway.

      The first peppering of sleet was as faint as pebbles spilling on a sidewalk, but in seconds the hissing and staccato clicks drowned out the noise of the pickup’s ancient engine.

      “Katherine, we can’t get to Pawnee. In this I’ll be lucky to get home. I can get good traction in the snow, but nothing has traction on ice.” He glanced at her and was startled by the distrust in her eyes.

      “I’m safe for you to be with. If I weren’t, I could have done something back there in the garage,” he stated quietly. Even though she nodded, he could feel her reluctance and her fear.

      “I take groceries to my folks. They have a place next door to mine. It won’t take long, but I have to stop there,” he said, wondering if meeting his parents would reassure her.

      “Fine,” she replied, and her voice was impassive.

      “Where are you from?” he asked. “Tennessee?”

      “I was born in Virginia, but I’ve moved a lot since then. Is Oklahoma your home?”

      “Yes,” he replied, noticing she had avoided giving him an answer. “My parents are Comanche and my family has been here since my ancestors were sent to Indian Territory. I lived in Missouri for a long time after college, but my folks have always lived in Oklahoma.”

      “Are you married?” she asked him and he shook his head.

      “My wife died. Are you married?”

      “No,” she answered, locking her gloved fingers together in her lap.

      They lapsed into silence and the only sounds were the rumble of the motor, the clack of windshield wipers and the drumming of sleet, which had become fine bits of ice again.

      The world was a white blur, cedar limbs sagging under the weight of snow topped with ice. Lines and trees sparkled as ice coated thin branches and wires. A rabbit dashed from the bar ditch, racing across the road.

      Katherine felt chilled to the bone, even though the heater was keeping the interior of the pickup toasty warm. She glanced surreptitiously at the dark-haired man driving the pickup. He had gotten them out of Stillwater, but was she headed for something worse? A cop was about the last person she wanted to encounter, much less trust with her life. And this man looked strong and tough. She glanced at his hands on the steering wheel, looking at the straight, blunt fingers, well-shaped but large hands. She could imagine the hurt they might inflict.

      The pickup bounced across a cattle guard, rumbling over the rise and slowing as Colin headed for a house nestled beneath tall bare-limbed cottonwoods and bushy snow-covered cedars. A streamer of white smoke wafted from a large chimney. “This won’t take long. Come inside and meet my folks.”

      “I’ll wait here.” How dangerous could he be when he had his parents within miles? She knew too well that parents weren’t a guarantee against violence in grown sons.

      Ignoring her protest, Colin Whitefeather squared his black Stetson on his head, and went around to open her door. Long limbed, at least four inches over six feet tall, his dark skin and dark hair gave him a touch of wildness, as if he spent his time outdoors dealing with the elements. His shoulders were broad, his hands big, and he frightened her, but he was the only hope she had at the moment.

      When he closed the car door behind her, he stepped to the back. As he yanked free the ties of the tarp and swept snow to the ground with his arm, a tall, striking woman opened the back door. Waving at them, she had the same prominent cheekbones and dark eyes as her son. Colin picked up two sacks of groceries and handed them to Katherine, taking three more in his arms and hurrying to the house.

      Determined to get ahead of Katherine, Colin crossed the yard in long strides.

      “Did you have difficulty getting here?” his mother asked, her dark brown gaze going beyond him to Katherine.

      He leaned forward to brush his mother’s cheek with a kiss. “Don’t ask questions, Mom. I don’t know her and she’s in trouble.” He stepped onto the back porch and stomped snow off his black western boots and turned as Katherine entered.

      “Mom, this is Katherine Manchester. Katherine, this is my mother, Nadine Whitefeather.”

      “Co in. I have hot chocolate ready.”

      “M it’s icing up out there. We would get home while we can.”

      “You can drink hot chocolate,” she said firmly, leading the way into the roomy kitchen with glass-fronted cabinets.

      “I thought I heard voices,” Will Whitefeather said, entering the room.

      Katherine faced a man only a few inches shorter than Colin and even more broad in the shoulders. Will Whitefeather looked sturdy and strong enough to lift the front of the blue pickup off the ground. His dark skin was lined and creased from the weather, yet as he smiled at her there was something reassuring about him that made her want to drop her guard. And then she remembered how gullible she had been in the past, how pulled into danger she was now.

      “Dad, this is Katherine Manchester. Katherine, meet my father, Will Whitefeather.”

      “We’re glad to have you, even though it’s a terrible day to be out,” Will said openly and to her relief, her name seemed to mean nothing to any of the Whitefeather family.

      “Sit down, Katherine, while I put away groceries,” Colin said. “Mom will be back in a minute and pour the hot chocolate and then, Dad, I’ll help you break the ice and feed the livestock.”

      “If you need to get home, Colin, you go on. It’s getting slick and I just heard a weather report. We’re supposed to get more ice and six inches of snow.”

      “I’ll take your coat.” Colin Whitefeather stepped behind her, waiting while Katherine unfastened the wrinkled parka. He slipped it off her shoulders and hung it on a peg, turning to motion toward the kitchen chairs. “Have a seat,” he said, his gaze going over her fuzzy purple sweater, which hung to her knees. Shock immobilized him momentarily, now that the bulky coat no longer hid her figure. Katherine Manchester looked six months pregnant.

      Aware of his gaze going swiftly over her figure, she felt a flush of embarrassment. Self-consciously she removed her hat; she could imagine how terrible her hair looked. She had put it up in the early hours of the morning and worn the cap all day and she could feel locks that had tumbled loose from the braids. When she handed him her hat, her fingers brushed his in a casual touch that should have been unnoticed, yet the contact stirred a tingling current.

      As Katherine turned around, Colin’s dark gaze was on her, studying her features, and her self-consciousness increased. She never intended anyone to scrutinize her so closely. She stared into his dark eyes, conscious of him as a male, too aware of an electric tension snapping between them. Her pulse jumped СКАЧАТЬ