don’t think He did me any favors.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that. If you’d gone off the other side of this curve at the speed you were traveling you might be dead now. There’s a steep drop and a stone wall on that side.”
He offered the bandanna again. “Are you hurt anywhere besides that cut on your forehead?”
“I’m not sure.” Taking the cloth from him, she held it to her head and gave a hiss of pain. After a second, she focused on him again. Sudden tears welled up in her eyes. “I’m so sorry. Are you sure you’re okay? Is your horse all right?”
“Dusty and I are fine, honest.”
“It all happened so fast. I almost killed you.” A sob escaped as a tear slipped down her pale cheek.
“Almost doesn’t count except in horseshoes and hand grenades. Hey, yelling I can take, but tears—don’t even go there,” he warned.
She managed a trembling half smile. “I’ll try.”
Sam shot a quick look at the windshield. The wipers had stopped with the engine, and snow already covered the glass.
“We need to get out of this weather, and this car isn’t going anywhere. My ranch isn’t far, but we should get going before this storm gets any worse. Can you move?”
“I think so.” She shifted in the seat, then gave a sharp cry as she grabbed her left thigh with both hands.
“What’s wrong?”
“My foot is caught,” she answered through clenched teeth.
He saw a tremor race through her body. The temperature inside the car was dropping rapidly. He needed to get her someplace warm and soon.
“Here, take my coat while I have a look.” He shrugged out of his sheepskin jacket and tucked it around her shoulders. They felt slender and fragile under his large, work-hardened hands. Her hair swept across the back of his wrist in a soft whisper stirring an unexpected awareness of her as a woman. He forced the thought to the back of his mind. He needed to concentrate on getting her out of here.
She bit her lip as she tried again to move. “My foot’s wedged under something. I can’t move it, and it hurts when I try.”
Reaching over the steering column, he turned on the interior light. “Hold still while I check it out.” Leaning down, he peered under the dash. “I’m Sam Hardin, by the way.”
Cheryl’s breath caught in a sharp gasp of surprise. He was one of the high-and-mighty Hardins. Her pulse began to pound. Feelings of shame and guilt rose like bile in the back of her throat. This couldn’t be happening. Not now, not after all this time.
She glanced fearfully at the man beside her. Did he know who she was? Had he seen her family’s pictures plastered across the local papers? Had he been at the trial that had sent her father and brother to prison? Did he know she had been her father’s accomplice and that she’d done time for her crime?
Chapter Two
Cheryl drew a shaky breath and forced herself to calm down. Of course Sam Hardin didn’t know who she was. How could he? It had all happened nearly fifteen years ago. She wasn’t a child anymore; she was an adult now. Driving by the old ranch had dredged up painful feelings and the accident had unnerved her, that was all.
“I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Hardin. My name is Cheryl Steele,” she said at last, watching his reaction. She’d changed her name when she was old enough, wanting to be rid of even that reminder of her childhood. Only a handful of people knew she had once been Cheryl Thatcher.
“Pleased to meet you, Cheryl Steele, and you can call me Sam. So where are you from? That’s an east-coast accent I hear, isn’t it?”
“Manhattan,” she confirmed, relaxing even more. It was true. The city had been her home for the past six years.
“You’re from Manhattan, Kansas?” he asked from under the dash.
“No, Manhattan, New York,” she said quickly. Something was wrong, seriously wrong. She tried but still couldn’t budge her foot. Fiery agony shot up her leg. “The pain’s getting worse.”
“Okay, hold still while I see if I can move this metal.”
“Hurry, please.”
“You’re a long way from home, New York. What are you doing way out here?”
“I thought I was taking a shortcut to Manhattan.”
“You were taking a shortcut to New York City on this road?” he asked, his amusement evident.
“Very funny,” she muttered in annoyance. “No, not a shortcut to the Manhattan. I’m trying to get your Manhattan. I need to be at the University Theater by seven at the latest. It’s very important.”
Her whole foot throbbed painfully now. She had to perform in less than an hour. She couldn’t be trapped out here.
He grunted with effort as he tried to move the crumpled metal. “It gave a little. Try now.”
Her foot wouldn’t budge. Panic swelled in her and she struggled against the confining metal. “Please, get me out of here!”
“I will. Take it easy.”
“I’m a ballet dancer,” she whispered. What if her injury was serious? What if she couldn’t dance? Didn’t he understand how frightened she was?
He sat up beside her. Softly, he cupped her cheek with one hand and wiped a tear away with his thumb. “You’ll be dancing again in no time, New York. Right now we have to keep our heads. Your foot is caught between the floor and the side wall where it’s caved in. I’ll get you out, but it may take a bit.”
She managed a nod. “Okay. I understand.”
“Thatta girl.”
Cheryl worked to regain control of her emotions. He was right. She had to keep her head. She needed to focus on something besides the fear and the pain. She had learned that trick early in life and used it often in her grueling career. She chose his face.
His rugged features softened when he smiled. It made the creases in his lean cheeks deepen and small crinkles appear at the corner of his eyes. His mouth lifted a little higher on one side, giving his smile a roguish charm.
Suddenly, she was grateful to have him in the dimness beside her. His hand was gentle when he’d touched her face. His voice was calm and steady. He inspired trust, and that thought surprised her. For most of her life she had considered ranchers to be the enemy—something else she had learned early on.
He said, “I need to find a way to pry this metal apart.”
“There should be a jack in the trunk,” she volunteered.
“Good thinking.” He flashed her a big, heart-stopping, crooked grin. “Kinda smart for a city girl, aren’t you?”
His
