SNOWFIRES Read online

  During long pauses, Trent appeared to listen carefully, as if the party on the other end of the line imparted detailed information. Trent responded only with brief phrases between pauses. She watched his every move, listened to the rich texture of his voice.

  "No, we brought the dog into the house...Yeah, he was half frozen all right...we found the beans soaking and hamburger meat thawing and knew whoever lived here intended to return by now. That's why we were concerned...What?...Where?" Suntanned fingers raked back a lock of his jet-black hair.

  Pauses grew while he listened intently. The rugged planes of his face registered first shock, then something close to rage, but his voice remained even.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled. Eyes closed, he leaned his back against the wall. "I'll take care of everything...Yes, I realize it means a great deal to your family...I'll remember...No, no. There's no need to thank me...Yes, I have it all straight. Don’t worry. Unfortunately, I've done it all before."

  When he turned to replace the receiver, he leaned his head against the wall and let loose a string of oaths that would do any sailor proud. His fists clenched on the wall above him.

  Holly had listened to the one-sided conversation. She watched his range of emotions play out to end with something akin to a mixture of rage and resignation. Whatever the reason for the phone call, obviously it meant further disaster.

  She tried for a light tone to ease the tension in the room. "My guess is that wasn't good news. Was that the sheriff again?"

  Slowly, he raised himself from the wall and turned to face her as if he’d forgotten her presence. His eyes looked unfocused, almost dazed. "Sheriff finally located the family who live here. That was Mr. Martin, the owner. He and his wife and kids are stranded in town with his in-laws."

  Relief washed through Holly for people she’d yet to meet. Their absent hosts were safe. “Thank heavens, I’m glad they’re not trapped in their car somewhere. Was he upset we’re here?”

  “Seemed pretty happy about it. In fact, he asked for help.” His eyes closed. He rubbed a hand across his face and his voice rose in volume as he continued. "Cattle are in pens behind the barn. Martin wants me to get them into the barn's protection and feed them. Of course, the feed has to be mixed precisely."

  He paced across the kitchen then turned to pace toward her, ticking off items on his fingers as his frustration vented. "Then there's the chickens, and a cat somewhere, plus the water well and the pipes to keep from freezing, and water for the animals."

  He gestured wildly. "What the hell? Do I look like I wanted to play Old McDonald on a friggin’ farm?"

  She cringed. She’d seen him gruff and firm in business meetings, but always in command of the situation. Never in her presence had he failed to govern his temper. Her situation demanded smooth, unruffled reason. Who was she kidding? If she appeared calm, she deserved an Academy Award as Best Supporting Actress In A Terrifying Situation.

  "What are we going to do?" She doubted a heartless man like Trent Macleod would bother with a few helpless animals, no matter who had asked him?

  “We?” He slid into his leather flight jacket. "Damn, damn, and damn! There are animals to care for. Animals." He took several deep breaths and regained control before he answered in carefully measured words. “What I’m going to do is go to the barn and feed the damn animals--just like Martin asked."

  Guilt for her part in their situation compelled her to shoulder her share of whatever animals’ care required. She’d only meant to get a little of her own back from Trent, not strand them in the middle of this icy nowhere. Holly slid into her coat and peered out the kitchen window. Although her car had four-wheel drive, the blowing snow earlier had made it almost impossible to see where they were driving. It was just as bad now.

  "I can barely even see the barn. If this gets any worse, we won't be able to find our way back to the house." The day moved right up to a nine on the disaster scale.

  He snorted. "We? There's no need for you to go. Stay here and watch our dinner so it doesn’t burn. All I need is a city girl slowing me down. You'd probably faint at the smell in the barn. Lord knows what you'd do if you stepped in a cow pattie."

  The look he gave her left no doubt as to his opinion of her abilities. "You’d probably rush out of the barn in shock then wander off into the storm and get lost. A princess-type like you belongs back in your North Dallas mansion or attending parties at your country club."

  She whirled and faced him with hands on her hips. He had as low an opinion of her as she had of him. A princess-type? If only he knew how false the label was that he derisively flung at her. Ha. She’d show him this so-called princess-type in action, beginning with the sharp side of her tongue.

  "Oh, sure. You man, me woman. You Tarzan, me Jane. Well look, Cheetah, you'll need help with those cattle."

  She lowered the burner under the pan of pinto beans and gave them a good stir before replacing the lid, then did the same with a pot of chili. Because the soaking beans and thawed ground beef they’d found on the counter would have spoiled if they hadn’t used it right away, she didn’t feel bad about cooking their hosts’ food. She and Trent would have something warm to eat by the time they returned.

  If they returned.

  He tucked his jeans inside his boots then rummaged in a cabinet. "At least the lantern is where Martin promised, along with a cap." He jammed the frayed woolen cap on his head and tugged the flaps over his ears.

  She tucked her favorite periwinkle cashmere muffler around her head and anchored it inside her full-length navy cashmere greatcoat. Following his example, she pushed her tailored navy wool flannel slacks into the tops of her new periwinkle suede boots. The tall boots hugged her calves so tightly the slacks ballooned at their top.

  Brushing her hands down the front of her coat, she sighed. Her clothes definitely were not intended for farm work. From her pocket she pulled buttersoft kid gloves whose shade perfectly matched her muffler and boots.

  "You'll need something on your hands, too." She grabbed a pair of worn gray gloves from atop the clothes dryer and handed them over.

  He accepted and shoved his fingers inside the sweat-stiffened rawhide. Suddenly he paused, then put a gloved hand on her arm.

  "Look, I apologize. I've been way out of line. Chalk it up to worry over tomorrow's meeting and this situation. We're lucky we found this place. Caring for the owner's animals is little enough in return for our food and shelter, but I can do this alone. You stay in here where at least it's almost warm."

  She cursed the unexpected tenderness in his green eyes. The depth of despair she saw there shocked her. She hated the way this man had wedged his way into her family’s company and everything he had planned for it. Hated the hard-edged disregard he’d shown for her late father. But her responsibility in causing at least a part of that desperation left her bearing a heavy burden of guilt.

  "No, thank you. We're in this together. I'll go with you and do my share."

  The brief tenderness she saw reflected in his eyes disappeared in a flash. He shrugged in apparent agreement. "Have it your way. I can definitely use the help."

  When he opened the back door, the wind hit even more fiercely than when they had found the isolated house. An icy gale blew mammoth snowflakes into the house even as they stood in the doorway.

  He sent her a glare as frosty as the wind. "Martin said there's a cable from the back door to the barn. Hold on to it as if your life depends on it because, believe me, it does."

  In the frigid temperature with visibility cut to a few feet, they had no guarantee a barn existed. Holly held to the cable with one hand and to the back pocket of Trent's jeans with the other. She forced herself to ignore his tight buns and tried to step where he stepped. The struggle to keep pace had her gasping by the time they reached the barn.

  What a fool she’d been to direct Trent down a farm-to-market road instead of the main highway toward Interstate 40. She’d only meant to delay their trip, to
give Trent a few moments of discomfort and worry over the time they’d arrive in Dallas. She intended the diversion as repayment for the worry and sorrow he’d caused her, and to forestall his misguided plans to diversify and expand the company. How could she know the storm would intensify so rapidly and trap them in its wake?

  She admitted her beloved father was a failure at his personal finances, but it was because of his gambling and not his business judgment. He’d always stressed to Holly the importance of keeping the company focused on their current clients with no risks from expanding or diversification. How unfortunate he’d never applied his "safe and steady" business motto in his personal life.

  Walter Tucker's business and private finances remained separate until the last. Against the advice of everyone except the man pushing the investment scheme, Holly's father used his shares of forty percent in the family business as collateral for a loan to invest in a high-risk stock venture. The collapse of the stocks meant he couldn’t pay his short-term loan and he forfeited all his shares of Marvel Incorporated.

  Now that Trent Macleod held the reins of Marvel, he planned both expansion and diversification, which included launching a project with a fiberoptics company. In her mind, his plans doomed the company and its employees to loss of livelihood. She couldn’t let that happen.

  In spite of her potent physical attraction for him, many times she wished Trent Macleod as dead as the man whose death, in her mind, he had callously caused. Her vendetta to make him pay for the pain he caused her family and the havoc he intended to wreak on her family's business had almost proved lethal for them both.

  Hopelessly stranded in the fierce storm and drifting snow, they had forgotten their differences to rejoice at the sight of the little house. The mercury vapor light on a pole near the house acted like the beacon of a lighthouse. If not for the light that had shone to guide them through the storm, who knows what might have happened to them?

  By contrast to the diminutive size of the house, the barn seemed huge. Trent wrenched loose a door frozen to its frame. Square bales of hay filled a loft at one end of the building and overflowed beneath it. Covered bins of feed lined up on one wall. Nearby chickens clucked for attention in a corner pen with a series of strong lights for warmth. From atop a stack of hay, a large yellow striped cat watched warily.

  Holly plopped onto a hay bale to catch her breath, heedless of the straw's effect on her coat already dampened from the snow. Trent went to work with a vengeance, striding through a gate into a penned area at the far end of the barn. She marveled at his strength as he forced two huge and unwilling doors, apparently frozen in place, to slide open at the end of the barn. When the doors opened, it took little coaxing to get the cattle to desert their exposed feeding pens for the covered barn interior.

  The persuasion came in guiding the animals to make room for one another. With Trent and Holly working as a team, the cattle were soon penned and the massive doors once again closed. Trent counted the animals, then recounted.

  "We're one short. Come stand by the door to prevent any from leaving while I go look for the damned escapee." He slid the door wide enough for one animal’s width, and Holly positioned herself in the icy blast of the opening while he slipped into the storm.

  When a curious steer approached her, she yelled, "Shoo! Shoo, you! Get back over there with your friends."

  The animal looked as if it would push into her. She removed her muffler and waved it at the behemoth that appeared to grow before her eyes. When it seemed as if she were about to be trampled, something nudged her behind.

  She yelped and stepped aside as the lost animal surged into the barn. Trent followed and quickly closed the door. He stamped his feet to free them of snow and other suspiciously unpleasant substances.

  "Damn stupid animals. I hate cattle. And by the way, what were you doing waving that muffler around like a flag?"

  "This smelly giant and I engaged in a contest as to whether he would stay or leave. I almost lost the argument. What took you so long?"

  "That's what I'm telling you, cattle are stupid. Let's get out of this penned area before we get trampled. I’ve got to man that tub mixer over there and feed them."

  Holly watched as Trent mixed cottonseed and some stalk things in a tub-like contraption then hauled the result to the food troughs. He pitched hay into the pen and she followed his example. She stabbed at the loosened bale and picked up a small amount of hay then tossed her load to the cattle. With fluid motions, Trent heaved two or three times as much as she did. His ease of movement spoke of strength and excellent physical condition—and anger.

  She wasn’t that happy herself. Barn duty was not high on her list of fun things to do. "You couldn't have learned all this from one phone conversation. You didn't even make notes."

  Trent broke open another bale. The sweet, pungent aroma of the freshly unbound grasses helped diffuse the cattle’s smell. "For your enlightenment, I have an exceptional memory so I didn't need notes."

  She heard herself groan as she heaved her pitchfork’s contents into the makeshift corral. "I thought you were a sailor, but you've done all this before, haven't you?"

  He didn’t pause but speared another fork load. "Damn, why can't you just let me get this nightmare over with in silence? Yes, I have done these same hideous chores countless miserable times."

  She waited until he stepped out of the way, then got another stack. "When? Where?" She hated herself for hounding, but she wanted to know more about him. Maybe if she did it would end this fascination drawing her toward him.

  He shook his head and his jaw clenched before he answered. "It's part of my past, Princess. Leave it there."

  With a sad half-smile he took her pitchfork from her and set it aside with his. He dipped a pail into a small bin then handed it to her. "Take this and feed the chickens." He replaced the lid on the bin and sealed it.

  She grasped the battered pail to her chest and looked at the contents. It appeared to be a ground corn product. But what did she do with it?

  As if reading her thoughts, Trent said, "If there’s a metal trough in the pen, pour it in that. Otherwise, you sprinkle it on the floor so they can get to it."

  His muscular body moved naturally and he didn’t seem to be winded from his exertion. She emptied the pail, carefully remaining outside the pen and tossing the food toward a feeding tray inside. Trent pointed to a heavily insulated faucet near the chickens' area.

  "Be sure they have fresh water while I check the well’s pump. Martin asked me to start a fire in a small brazier in the well house so the pump won’t freeze. Then make certain the generator is all set in case we lose electricity."

  She nodded. Made sense because Grandpa had a similar setup at his ranch. "When, not if. Rural areas out here can lose power on a good day, and this is definitely not a good day."

  "Right on that. It's the second worst day of my life."

  "The second worst? What could be worse than today and being stranded in a blizzard?”

  "Tomorrow, when I fail to make that meeting will be the worst day of my life." With that he left the barn, banging the door behind him.

  Just as well he’d gone outside. How could she have answered him?

  CHAPTER TWO

  After a few minutes, Trent returned and unzipped his coat. As they prepared to exit the barn for the house, he grabbed the cat and zipped her into his jacket with him.

  The return trek with the wind at their back would have been easier, but the soft snowflakes had now turned to ice pellets relentlessly stinging Holly. She welcomed the little kitchen as gratefully as if it were a million-dollar mansion.

  Trent pulled the large cat from beneath his coat and released the feline gently onto the floor. The cat stretched indolently before launching an inspection of the room. The dog greeted them with enthusiastic tail wagging. Trent rewarded him with a few pats on the head before gently pushing him aside.

  Striding to the wall phone, Trent picked up the receiver. He tapped the cr
adle several times then hung up. “Damn, now the phone’s out.”

  “I’m not surprised.” Holly sank onto a chair beside the kitchen table. "My feet are numb and my hands hurt. I don't think I've ever been so cold in my life."

  Trent regarded the deteriorated condition of her boots. "Hell, look at you. What were you thinking, wearing those boots outside Dallas’ city limits?"

  He picked up a kitchen towel and warmed it on the oven door left open to generate more heat into the room. "Get those ridiculous boots and socks off before you catch pneumonia."

  Holly pulled off her gloves. Apparently he noticed the redness and stiff movements of her hands, because Trent let out a string of curses. During his diatribe, he wrapped her hands in the warmed towel and patted them gently onto her lap. He knelt before her and eased the sodden boots from her then peeled away her sheer trouser socks.

  The sight of her feet seemed to frighten him. "Lord, woman, you should have told me your feet were close to frostbite. These boots are soaked and frozen."

  "They’re a birthday gift from my sisters. When I put them on I had no idea I’d need snowshoes."

  Her lovely suede boots were now a total loss. She dared not think what else besides snow reduced the supple leather uppers to a dark, sodden mess pulling loose from the soles. Those boots would never again be wearable.

  With a sigh, she wished her sisters' extravagant gift had lasted at least until after she received the bill for them. The cat sniffed the boots warily, then glared at Holly and sauntered across the room.

  Trent searched the kitchen drawers and cabinets for more linens and a large pan before he wrapped Holly's toes in another towel. Turning on the spigot, he adjusted the water before filling the pan.

  "Here, put your feet in this tepid water until they thaw out. I'll search our hosts' closets to see what I can find for you."

  As circulation returned, horrific needles of pain shot through her feet. She wanted to cry from the ache, but only clasped more closely at the towel warming her hands.