Rich Rancher For Christmas. Sarah M. Anderson

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СКАЧАТЬ bare leg was going to appease him. If only she’d guessed that the man she was looking for was the cowboy from the feed store, she would’ve at least put on long pants because that cowboy had not been interested in her body. And, by all accounts, he still wasn’t.

      “My name is Wesley,” he said through gritted teeth.

      “Sure, we can play it that way. CJ Wesley, right?” With shivering fingers, she pulled out her phone and opened up the camera app.

      The next thing she knew, she was staring at her empty hand. She blinked and looked up just in time to see Wesley pocketing her phone. “Hey! Give that back!”

      “No,” he said, and almost smiled. “I don’t think I’m going to. You’re on private property, Ms. Baker. You’re about two steps away from flat-out stalking me. You’ve been working your way through the population of Firestone for the last three weeks trying to get out here. I’m trying to think of a good reason why I shouldn’t call Jim Bob and have you arrested for stalking, trespassing, and—” His gaze swept over her body. “And sheer stupidity. Did you even look at the weather before you drove out here today? Don’t you know there’s supposed to be a blizzard that hits tonight? And you’re out here in what—a pair of heels and a skirt? You’re lucky you’re not dead of exposure already.”

      She stared at him and, for a moment, forgot to arrange herself in the most seductive way possible. The first part of what he said—the trespassing and stalking—wasn’t so surprising. She’d had people angry at her before.

      But the part about the blizzard and exposure? He was mad at her—perhaps justifiably—but it had almost sounded like he was concerned about her. “Our meteorologist said it wasn’t going to hit until tomorrow.”

      “Get in your car,” he said sharply.

      The force of his words backed her up a bit. Although it could have been the wind. “What? No! You’re crazy if you think I’m going anywhere without my phone.”

      Unexpectedly, he jerked his head up and looked at the sky. Dark, she realized. His eyes were a deeper color—hazel? Maybe light brown. Not the light green of so many of the Beaumonts. The shadow from the brim of his hat had to have been the reason why she hadn’t seen the Beaumont in his face in the feed store. Every Beaumont man had the same jawline. CJ Wesley was no exception.

      She was beginning to shake, the wind was that vicious. She eyed his heavy sheepskin coat with jealousy. “Look,” she began, “I’m sure there’s something—”

      “Ms. Baker,” he interrupted, “get in your car and start driving. That storm isn’t going to hit tomorrow. It’s coming. Now.” As he spoke, he reached back into the bed of his truck and pulled out several grocery bags. “And I’m not giving you your phone back. I’ll take a hatchet to it before I let you take pictures of me and splash them all over God’s green earth. My life is not for sale.” He looked up at the sky and grimaced. “City slickers,” he mumbled, she thought.

      He brushed past her, moving too fast for her to grab him and get her phone out of his pocket. He set down the groceries on the porch and fumbled with his keys.

      She just stood there, gaping at him. “I am not leaving without my phone.” Her life was on that phone—her connection to the world. If she didn’t have it...well, she didn’t have anything.

      He stopped as he got the door open and turned back to her. “You leave right now or you won’t be leaving at all.” He pointed at the sky behind her.

      Reluctantly, Natalie turned her face into the wind. It was so bitingly strong that it was hard to keep her eyes open. Finally, she saw what he was talking about. It wasn’t just the gray sky that had washed the colors out of the landscape—it was a huge gray cloud. Suddenly, she could tell that it was moving—quickly. The cloud was bearing down on them, erasing the landscape underneath it. It was a living, moving thing—a wall of swirling white. She hadn’t noticed because she’d been too busy looking at her phone and then at him. There weren’t many buildings around here to use as landmarks, but it was clear now that the storm was almost upon her and that she was screwed.

      For the first time that day, she felt real fear. Not just the everyday anxiety that she struggled with all the time—no, this was a true, burning fear. Storms in Denver could be a weather event—but there were snowplows and twenty-four-hour pharmacies. There were snow shovels and sidewalks, and sooner rather than later, she would be able to get out and move around her city.

      But now she was in the middle of nowhere with a blizzard about to hit. This wasn’t the makings of a white Christmas. And given that she was already half-frozen, it wouldn’t take much to finish her off.

      She didn’t know how long she stood there, staring at the cloud wall. Time seemed to slow down the faster the storm moved. Then, suddenly, she was in the wall of snow and wind. She tried to scream, but the wind tore her cries out of her throat and threw them away. Her first instinct was to curl into a ball and shield her nearly bare legs, but dimly, in the back of her mind, she knew she needed to move. Standing still meant death. Not the slow death of a ratings slide. A real, irreversible, not-coming-back-from-it death.

      She stumbled to one side, but the wind pushed her back. Her car! She looked around but couldn’t even see the Mustang. There was nothing but gray and stinging snowflakes and blisteringly cold wind.

      Then, unexpectedly, she felt something warm and solid at her back. Arms closed around her waist and physically lifted her into the air. Wesley. Her first instinct was to struggle—but the fact that he was warm overrode everything else. She let him carry her, trusting that he knew where he was and where he was going. After what seemed like an hour but was probably only a minute or two, a dark shape loomed out of the snow—the house. He carried her up steps and thrust her through the door, where she promptly tripped over the groceries. She landed with a thud on her bottom, dazed and freezing and wet.

      She looked up and saw Wesley struggling to get the door shut. He put his shoulder into it and slammed it against the wind, and instantly, she felt at least ten degrees warmer.

      “Thank you,” she said. Well, she tried to say it. Her teeth were chattering so hard what came out sounded more like a keyboard clicking.

      Wesley loomed over her, his hands on his hips. At some point, he’d lost his hat, which meant that for the first time, she had a really good look at his face. His hair was a deep brown and his face was tanned. He had snowflakes stuck to his two-week beard. She couldn’t stop shivering, but he just stood there like an immovable boulder.

      An angry immovable boulder.

      She didn’t like the way he was looking at her, as if he could see exactly how worthless she felt. So, still shaking so hard that she could barely get her feet under her, she stood. It was then she realized she’d lost one of her shoes. Dammit, those had been Dolce & Gabbana.

      “Thank you,” she said again. It came out less clicky this time. “I’ll just warm up and then I’ll go.” She swallowed. “I’d like my phone back, please, but I promise I won’t take any pictures of you.” It hurt to make that promise because her producer was expecting results and without them...

      CJ Wesley had just saved her life. He obviously didn’t like her, but he’d still dragged her into his house. And for that, she was grateful.

      “You don’t get it, do you?”

      She could be grateful and still be irritated at the tone in his voice, right? “Get what?”

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