SNOWFIRES Read online

  Reviews for Caroline Clemmons’ other books include:

  “Ms Caroline Clemmons has written a book that was so good it was hard to put down. She had my attention from the first page.” The Romance Studio, 5 Hearts, for THE TEXAN’S IRISH BRIDE

  “Just when you thought a happily ever after was just around the corner, another corner appears...I want more!” Night Owl Reviews, Top Pick for THE TEXAN’S IRISH BRIDE

  “OUT OF THE BLUE is a beautifully written story. The extraordinary characters, descriptive setting and fast paced action/suspense made this a delightful, enjoyable read. The in-depth POV from the hero and heroine gave me a great insight on their emotions. This is the type of book that pulls you in and you just don't want to end, but leaves you with satisfied smile after the last page is read. A perfect mixture of witty dialogue, sensual love scenes, and the happily-ever-after ending, Caroline Clemmons pens a timeless tale that I could re-read over and over again and never tire of it!” Siren Book Reviews, 5 Siren Stones for OUT OF THE BLUE

  “Kudos . . . to author Caroline Clemmons for one of the most entertaining books this reviewer has ever read . . . absolutely outstanding job with strong, distinctive characters, impressive imagery and syntax. The story line is intelligent, sensuous and full of humor and emotion. I highly recommend THE MOST UNSUITABLE WIFE . . .” 　ReaderToReader.com

  ***

  SNOWFIRES

  Caroline Clemmons

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2011 by Caroline Clemmons

  Cover Artist

  Michael Pohl

  Cover Text by

  Lilburn Smith

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  Author contact information Mailto:HYPERLINK mailto:[email protected] [email protected]

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental.

  Acknowlegments

  Thanks to Sandy Crowley, Geri Foster, Jeanmarie Hamilton, Brenda Chitwood, and the Rosebud critters for their help critiquing this novel.

  As always, thanks to my family for supporting my writing habit--especially to my sweet Hero Husband.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Trent Macleod raked a hand through his hair with savage fury, and cursed the fact he was stranded in the Texas Panhandle’s godforsaken plains. Damned if he’d been able to make gnome-like pilot, Harley Gibbons, recognize the importance of this flight and the necessity for leaving immediately. The hayseed pilot’s obstinacy would drive any man crazy, and Trent was already halfway there.

  He pleaded again with the man who, at least for today, controlled Trent’s destiny. "How can I make you understand? I have to get to Dallas today! Dammit, you brought me here. You have to take me back to civilization." Fierce wind gusts whipped against him, molding his clothes to his body as he faced the other two men on the patio.

  Through the glass patio door, Trent spotted his host’s granddaughter watching from inside, hostility flashing sparks from her cornflower blue eyes. Great! As if he didn't have enough problems, Holly had to witness this contest of wills. Even in his fury, he didn’t miss the way her crossed arms pushed her breasts higher or the fall of honey blonde hair across her shoulders. Damn the woman for haunting his dreams.

  He couldn’t afford any distractions, and turned his attention back to the pilot.

  Harley looked at the darkening sky then shook his head and stuck out a thumb toward the plane setting nearby in a corrugated metal hangar. "In this wind and with that storm almost here, ain't nobody but a fool takin’ that there plane up today. My momma didn't raise no fools."

  Trent hated that this hick pilot had so much power over his life. He lowered his voice to a placating tone. "The main storm hasn’t hit yet. Let's both get the hell out of here while we can. Look, I'll give you a bonus to leave right now."

  The pilot folded his arms across his chest defensively and shook his head again. "Dead man cain't spend no bonus."

  A few snowflakes whipped by to announce the approaching storm. Trent stood with legs apart, feet braced against the wind, much as he had stood aboard ship in his sailing days. If only he were as certain of his choices here as he had been then.

  "Dammit man, we'll be flying away from the approaching snowstorm." Trent gestured east toward Dallas with an angry wave. He knew his voice sounded harsh, but too much rode on this to treat the situation any other way.

  Harley stepped forward and stabbed a finger at Trent’s chest. “Now, you listen here, sonny. You maybe were some kind of hero when you worked on that there boat a' yours. Maybe you always got your way there, but that plane and any passengers are my responsibility. If you knew beans from buckshot, you’d see why I don't fly in this kind of weather."

  "Weather won’t be a problem going east. Be reasonable, will you? I have to be in Dallas in the morning for the most important meeting of my life."

  Trent’s comment understated the importance of the meeting. Not only his personal financial future, the jobs of many hinged on the outcome of this one meeting with a delegation from Amberfield Industries. Over the past several weeks, he’d painstakingly laid his groundwork with letters and conference calls. This meeting was the payoff.

  He’d planned a detailed tour of the facility preceding a face to face discussion at which he’d present a well-thought-out campaign to the skeptical Amberfield people. The contract he sought would broaden the market for Marvel Incorporated and turn a stagnant company into a viable entity for the future.

  That's why he’d agreed to let Joe Bob Grayson’s pilot fly him to Grayson’s ranch in the Texas Panhandle for an in-depth strategy session over the long weekend. As one of the founders of Marvel and now its Chairman of the Board, no one alive understood the company better than Grayson. More importantly, Trent needed Grayson’s support to put together this deal.

  Lord, how had his life gotten so complicated in such a short space of time?

  The pilot's voice brought him back to his present predicament.

  "I got just three words for you--Patsy Cline, Buddy Holly, Big Bopper." The small man stuffed his hands into his pockets, all the while nodding in satisfaction, as if his brief statement furnished a wealth of information which needed no further explanation.

  How had he managed to get stuck on the back steps of nowhere dealing with a moronic hick? Trent threw up his hands in disgust. "Hell, man. What are you talking about? That's six words, and what do dead entertainers have to do with you flying me to Dallas?"

  "Humph, you bet they’re dead." Harley stabbed at Trent with a forefinger. "Them's just three of the greatest singers ever lived, and you know why they’re dead? They thought they just had to get somewhere in spite of bad weather. Yessirree. But when their plane crashed, they missed those meetings anyway, didn't they?"

  Harley nodded, agreeing with himself, pounding a fist into his open hand to punctuate his words. "Like I said, planes don't fly with ice on their wings."

  "For the love of—“

  Joe Bob's grasp of Trent's arm interrupted his response. "Now, Trent, listen to Harley here. He may be an old country boy, but he's the best damned pilot out there. If he says it isn't safe to fly, then it isn't and that's that. Remember this is a cow pasture runway, not a high tech airport. We have enough on the line without fighting the weather.�
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  Joe Bob looked toward the house and leaned in to confide in Trent. “Holly’s other grandparents—that’d be my former partner and his wife—died in a plane crash in a rainstorm with high winds. You just can’t be too careful when a plane’s involved."

  Recognizing defeat, Trent assaulted his hair again. As his eyes sought Holly through the closed sliding door, he also caught his own reflection mirrored in the glass. His hair stood out in owlish clumps. Damned if he didn’t look as desperate as he felt.

  When he had called to pick Joe Bob’s brain late Wednesday afternoon, having Joe Bob invite him for the weekend was a shocker. But what the hell, it’s not as if he had anywhere else to be. The real surprise came when he arrived Thanksgiving morning and found Grayson’s granddaughter here.

  As if contending with her hot body and cold stares at the office weren't enough, she had to be visiting her grandparents this weekend. Hell, he could have ridden down with her Wednesday if he’d known in time. Or maybe she hadn’t wanted him along. No, she’d seemed as surprised to see him as he was to see her.

  He would have expected a princess-type like Holly Tucker to be swept up in a series of parties each weekend at her Dallas country club or the homes of society's elite. Not here in the middle of nowhere doing something as boring, or kind, as visiting her grandparents. Glares and one-word snippets were all she had for him, but the elegant Ms. Tucker cheerfully pampered her grandparents as much as they doted on her.

  While her attitude irritated him, Trent had caught her too damned frequently in his mind of late. Like ever since he’d met her. He had no business even thinking of her, yet an intense fascination with her created fantasies in his dreams—asleep and awake. No matter how he tried to rein in his sophomoric hormones, he couldn't stop his attraction for her.

  A gorgeous woman, regal and full of life, she must have to fight off men. If Dallas men had red blood pumping through their veins, she must have them lined up at her door. If she didn't work for him, and if he were over the hump on this financial crisis, he’d probably be pushing his way to the front of that line.

  Hell, he admitted she wasn’t for him. They were as different as light and dark. He’d never fit in her world and she wouldn’t want to fit in the life of an orphaned nobody trying to make the transition from merchant seaman to up-and-coming entrepreneur. He’s better keep his mind on business and get her out of his thoughts. Not just his thoughts, where he had come to think of her as "Princess," he must also exorcise her from his nighttime dreams. Like that was easy.

  Puzzled again as to why she appeared to dislike him so much, he knew she deliberately watched this tableau unfold around him. He understood she might resent anyone who came into the company as CEO after the death of her father. Even knowledge of the folly of her father gambling away his share of a family business might not offset her indignation at the situation, so he cut her some slack.

  But there appeared to be more than resentment, more than mere anger with her lot in life. Her wrath seemed directed specifically at Trent. If only he could read the thoughts inside her beautiful blond head and see past the resentment in her deep blue eyes. He’d neither said nor done anything to incur her hostility. What was with her? What went on in her clever brain?

  He turned his mind back to the two men and capitulated. "Okay. You two win." His anger unrelieved, he stood with jaw clenched and chest heaving. He took two deep breaths of the frigid air, calming himself into civility.

  Stretching his arm out palm up to Grayson, he pleaded, "Joe Bob, you know how conservative Amberfield is, how skittish they’ve been. I have to be there! If I can't fly, at least take me to a car rental agency so I can get out of here before the storm hits."

  "Son, this isn't downtown Dallas. The closest car rental place must be in Amarillo or Dalhart."

  Harley scratched his head. "They might be one over to Borger or Dumas. Yeah, Joe Bob, I think maybe the Ford dealer at Dumas rents cars."

  Trent was a hard man but fair. For most of his thirty-six years, life had treated him harshly and hardened him. Because of that, he hadn’t acquired the polish most in his position possessed. He was direct, take charge, no nonsense in business and personal matters and knew no other way to act.

  The press had slapped him with that ridiculous nickname "The Pirate" that added to his reputation for driving a hard bargain. His generous acts he kept secret, like the home for troubled boys he helped support. Those things were better left unnoticed and unreported. For now, he must resolve this horrendous complication and be on his way--no matter how badly he wanted to explode or bang his head against the brick wall of Grayson’s home.

  "Help me out here, Joe Bob. Let me use one of your vehicles to drive back. I'll have someone return it to you tomorrow."

  The chilly air held the scent of wood smoke from the Grayson’s fireplace, but something more. Trent looked up and to the northwest, then deepened his frown. In only the short time they had talked here on the patio, the storm clouds had grown darker and more ominous.

  He blinked and shaded his eyes with his hand, hoping to erase the vision. Hot damn, that must be some storm headed this way! No wonder Harley refused to fly.

  Grayson stroked his chin and smiled. "Say, our little Holly is leaving right away. Ila Mae and I have talked ‘til we’re blue in the face to get her to wait out this storm, but she’s the stubbornest woman alive. Says she's leaving right away. She’s chompin' at the bit to get back to Dallas before the bad weather hits. Ila Mae’s packing up some food for the drive right now."

  Trent wondered if Holly Tucker realized she cringed each time one of her grandparents referred to her as "little Holly." He understood she might be annoyed at Grayson speaking as if she were a child, when in reality she must be close to thirty and stand five-feet-eight or –nine in her stocking feet. No matter what anyone else called her, in his mind she remained "Princess."

  Grayson turned and clapped him on the back. "Yep, that'll work out just fine. You ride with our little Holly. She’s driving that new Lexus I gave her for her birthday—got good tires and that four wheel drive and all—but Ila Mae and I will sure feel better with our little lady having a man along on the long drive in this weather."

  He wondered if that’s what Grayson had in mind all along, the old fox. As Trent grabbed his duffle bag and raised his eyes, he met Holly's horrified gaze through the patio door. She hugged her arms as if waiting for him to decline, her luscious mouth opened and widened blue eyes almost pleading. He shared her reluctance of the six-hour drive to Dallas together, but desperation drove him to accept. At least, he might learn the reason she didn’t like him.

  "Yeah, Joe Bob, I can do that. I'll even drive."

  ***

  Holly Tucker fought to calm the terror from her ride through a blinding West Texas snowstorm followed by a trek to this little house. Her hands trembled and her insides quivered like jelly. She sat in a stranger’s kitchen and reminded herself she was safe. Sort of.

  No one had died.

  No one had starved.

  No one had actually frozen...yet.

  On a disaster scale of one to ten for horrendous days, maybe this rated only, say...seven point five and climbing.

  How could she have been so stupid? She reviewed her own blunders that had left her stranded in the Texas Panhandle during the worst blizzard of the last hundred years.

  Not alone. That would have been bad enough.

  But no, she had to be marooned with Trent Macleod, only the most attractive hunk of a man she’d ever met—or hated.

  She looked around the room. “Things could be worse. At least we have shelter and heat.”

  Trent glared at her. “You call this heat? You could hang meat in that living room. No wonder they didn’t bother to lock the place.”

  “Which means that, technically, we’re only guilty of entering, not breaking in.” Not that it mattered. They’d been so cold they would have kicked in a door if necessary.

  “Yeah? I hope the she
riff and the homeowner see it that way.” Even in this demanding situation, Trent oozed potent testosterone and sexual appeal.

  She’d heard of his time at sea and his pirate nickname that fit him. He stood now as he must have aboard his ship, back straight and legs braced. The knit shirt and taut jeans revealed each ripple of muscle along his powerful body.

  A woman would have to be dead not to appreciate his rugged good looks, but Holly would die before she let him know she found him physically attractive. In the meantime, there was no penalty for covert admiration. Liking him wasn’t required to admire his physique.

  That the gorgeous hunk involved in this misadventure happened to be her irritating, annoying, high-handed, rat of a boss only made this isolation more disastrous. Said exasperating, gorgeous man just happened also to be the person whose arrogant actions she blamed for the death of her rapscallion father. Okay, in review, the day slid right up to eight point five on the disaster scale.

  The kitchen range, a dilapidated floor furnace, and a small bathroom space heater kept the tiny house habitable if far less than comfortable.

  She rubbed her hands together. “I wish the sheriff would call back about the people who live here. What if they’re stranded in this blizzard?”

  “Like we almost were.” The first thing Trent had done when they arrived and discovered the house empty was to call the sheriff and let him know they had sought emergency shelter here.

  Emergency? Now there was an understatement.

  The ringing phone jolted her from reverie. She stood, but Trent stepped to the wall phone and grabbed the receiver. Of course, he has to be in charge. Well, let Mister Macho Control Freak deal with the call about their absent hosts.