maybe... when she smiled.
Which she had, he recalled irritably. She’d smiled straight at him, all Mona Lisa-knowing, when he drove past the filling station in Kaycee where she’d stopped to gas, up. Just the memory set his teeth on edge. Clearly, she’d misunderstood his reason for slowing, assuming it was so he could take a second look at her. In truth, he’d merely been trying to get a bead on the weather, since it had started to snow.
Now, he narrowed his eyes against the river of white beating against the windshield. Grudgingly he conceded that—although his view of his fellow traveler had been partially blocked by an open car door—for once reality had lived up to the initial advertising. A man would have to be blind not to have noticed that her legs were long and slim, her arms and shoulders willowy, her provocative mouth balanced by a stubborn chin and dark, intelligent eyes. Just as he’d have to be obtuse not to conclude from the way the gas jockey had been scurrying around to do her bidding that the parts he couldn’t see were as compelling as those he could.
So okay. For a woman who wasn’t pretty, she’d been something to see with that soft, amused smile on her face and all that shiny hair blowing in the rising breeze.
Not that he cared, of course—except in the most elemental way.
Jared and Elise had seen to that. Between them, they’d cured him of caring about much of anything. Just as they’d relieved him of all his pretty ideals, his Pollyanna view of the world, his foolish hopes and secret dreams.
Maybe that was why the discovery that his libido wasn’t dead after all was such a shock. For three years, since the humiliating day in the judge’s chambers when he’d learned just how big a fool he really was, he’d divorced himself from intimacy. He’d banished want and need from his vocabulary. And he hadn’t felt a twinge of desire—for anything or anyone.
Until today.
Jack gave a snort of disgust and wondered what had come over him. There was a whale of difference between viable lust, where you had an actual acquaintance with the person you hankered to touch, and some pointless fantasy about a total stranger. That’s why it was so galling to have to admit that ever since the stranger in question had overtaken him again at Crazy Woman Creek—and had the salt to wave as she whipped past—he’d found himself wondering all sorts of things.
Such as whether that russet-colored hair was natural or not. And if her wide, full-lipped mouth would taste tart, like cherries, or as sweet as ripe berries. And how it would feel to have those long, luscious legs wrapped tightly around his waist.
And whether she made a habit of smiling at just anyone.
Foolish. Simply acknowledging such thoughts was enough to make the tops of his ears feel hot. Particularly when there were far more important matters to be pondered.
For example: Where exactly did she think she was going? He’d assumed she was headed for Gillette until an hour ago, when she’d gone north at Buffalo. Then he’d guessed she must have friends or family in the tiny town of Gweneth, until she drove straight past the turnoff. He’d been hanging back, puzzling over that, when she’d stunned him by slowing down and turning onto Johnson County Road Number 9.
That was when he’d decided she was either lost or crazy or both. Because other than the Double D, which they’d passed some twenty minutes back, the only ranch for the next forty miles was his. And he knew damn well she wasn’t coming to see him. Except for business, nobody came to see him anymore.
Not since he’d given away his son.
The familiar anguish splintered through him. Ruthlessly, he forced it away, reminding himself that it was over and done. It was then that the Cadillac began its inexorable slide across the road.
Jack watched in disbelief as the vehicle drifted sideways through the heavily blowing snow, spun slowly around in a heart-stopping three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turn, then disappeared from sight as if sucked into a black hole.
Instantly he eased up on the accelerator. There was no question of driving on. Jared had always claimed he was a Boy Scout at heart and, as Jack had been bitterly reminded in Casper again today, old habits died hard.
But he wasn’t going to think about that now. It was over, done; past. He was alone, irrevocably on his own. Or would be, as soon as he made sure the Cadillac’s driver was okay.
The thought brought him up short. Dismay splintered through him. Hell. He was actually going to have to meet this woman. Leave it to you, Sheridan. You can’t even enjoy a little red-blooded, from-a-safe-distance fantasy without reality screwing it up.
In the very next second, he clamped down on his wayward emotions. This wasn’t about him, he reminded himself harshly. This was about someone in trouble, someone in need of help. At the very best, she was going to be bruised and shaken, distraught about what had happened. And at the very worst—
Jack shoved the idea away. It was bad enough he had to get involved at all. No matter what condition this woman was in, he wasn’t going to let himself care on a personal level. He’d do what he could to help, one stranger helping another, but that was it.
That was how it had to be.
Keeping an eye on the dim outline of the fence that marched along the road to his left, he let the truck roll to a stop and took a long look around.
Nothing. He could see nothing but swirling sheets of snow reflected in the beams of his headlights. He let loose a single scathing curse. Shifting the transmission into park, he pulled on the emergency brake and doused the lights. He squeezed his eyes shut, allowed them a moment’s rest from the eerie onslaught of white, then slowly opened them and surveyed the area.
There. Ahead, and down a long, shallow slope to his right, was a gleam of red. He released a breath as he identified it as a taillight. Now that he knew where to look, he could see the rest of the Cadillac, too. It was barely visible, resting at an angle, with the wheels on the passenger side sunk into the shallow creekbed that paralleled the road. Snow, driven by the howling wind, was already starting to pile against the hood and windshield. The car’s pale blue paint blended perfectly with the monochromatic landscape.
His heart gave a twist. In another few minutes, with twilight graying swiftly to night, he never would have seen it.
He switched the headlights back on, then reached around and grabbed the coil of nylon rope and the heavy-duty flashlight he kept behind the seat. He shrugged into his sheepskin-lined coat, flipped up the collar and jammed his Stetson more securely on his head.
After a moment’s consideration, he elected to leave the truck running as a hedge against the cold. That decided, he hefted the flashlight, shoved open the door and plunged into the heart of the storm.
She was not going to panic, Tess Danielson told herself firmly.
Okay, so she’d had a little accident. On a remote, not-so-well-traveled road. In the middle of nowhere. During what was distinctly starting to look like a blizzard.
While she was willing to concede that the situation didn’t look good, she was not going to give in to the dread skating along her spine.
Although... a nice loud scream might make her feel better.
A smile curled through her. Slowly, she let loose the breath she hadn’t known she
