CHRISTMAS AT THUNDER HORSE RANCH (2 page)

Praying the engine would start, she turned the key and pressed the start button. The rumble of the engine echoed off the inside of the trailer but then it died. The second time she hit the start button, the vehicle roared to life. Shifting to Reverse, she backed down the ramp and turned to face the direction the helicopter had crashed.

A tower of flames shot toward the sky, smoke rising in a plume.

Her pulse pounding, Emma raced across the snow, headed for the fire.

As she topped the rise, her heart fell to her knees. The helicopter was a battered heap, lying on its side, flames rising all around.

Gunning the throttle, Emma sped across the prairie, praying she wasn’t too late. Maybe the pilot had been thrown clear of the aircraft. She hoped she was right.

As she neared the wreck, movement caught her attention. Another snowmobile was headed toward the helicopter from the north.
Good,
she thought. Maybe whoever it was had also seen the chopper crash and could help her free the pilot from the wreckage and get him to safety. She waved her hand, hoping the driver would see her and know she was there to help. He didn’t give any indication he’d spotted her. But the snowmobile slowed. The rider pulled off his helmet, his dark head in sharp contrast to his white jacket. He leveled what appeared to be a rifle across the handlebars, aiming at something near the wall of flames.

Emma squinted, trying to make out what he was doing. The pop of rifle fire made her jump. That’s when she noticed a dark lump on the ground in the snow, outside the ring of fire around the helicopter. The lump moved, rolling over in the snow.

The driver of the other snowmobile climbed onto the vehicle and started toward the man on the ground, moving slowly, his rifle poised to shoot.

Emma gasped.

The man was trying to shoot the guy on the ground.

With a quick twist of the throttle she sent her snowmobile skimming across the snow, headed straight for the attacker. At the angle she was traveling, the attacker wouldn’t see her if he was concentrating on the man on the ground.

Unarmed, she only had her snowmobile and her wits. The man on the ground only had one chance at survival. If she didn’t get to him or the other snowmobile first, he didn’t stand a chance.

Coming in from the west, Emma aimed for the man with the gun. She didn’t have a plan other than to ram him and hope for the best.

He didn’t see her or hear her engine over the roar of his own until she was within twenty feet of him. The man turned the weapon toward her.

Emma gave the engine all it could take and raced straight for the man. He fired a shot. Something plinked against the hood of the snowmobile engine. At the last moment, she turned the handlebars. Her machine slid into the side of his and the handlebars knocked the gun from his hand.

She twisted the throttle and skidded sideways across the snow, spinning around to face him again.

Disarmed, the attacker had turned as well and raced north, away from the burning helicopter and the man on the ground.

Emma watched as the snowmobile continued into the distance. Keeping an eye on the north, she turned her snowmobile south toward the figure lying still on the ground.

She pulled up beside him and leaped off the snowmobile into the packed snow where he’d rolled.

A man in thermal underwear lay facedown in the snow, blood oozing from his left arm, dripping bright red against the pristine white snow.

Emma bent toward him, her hand reaching out to push him over.

The man moved so quickly, she didn’t know what hit her. He rolled over, snatched her wrist and jerked her flat onto her belly, then straddled her, his knees planted on both sides of her hips, twisting her arm up between her shoulder blades.

Until that point, she hadn’t realized just how vulnerable she was. On the snowmobile, she had a way to escape. Once she’d left the vehicle, she’d put herself at risk. What if the man shooting had been the good guy? In the middle of nowhere, with a big man towering over her, she was trapped and out of ideas.

“Let me up!” she yelled, aiming for righteous contempt. Her voice wobbled, muffled by a mouthful of snow it sounded more like a frog’s croak.

She tried to twist around to face him, but he planted his fist into the middle of her back, holding her down, the cold snow biting her cheek.

“Why did you shoot down my helicopter?” he demanded, his voice rough but oddly familiar.

“I didn’t, you big baboon,” she insisted. “The other guy did.”

His hands roved over her body, patting her sides, hips, buttocks, legs and finally slipping beneath her jacket and up to her breasts. His hands froze there and she swore.

Emma spit snow and shouted, “Hey! Hands off!”

As quickly as she’d been face-planted in the snow, the man on top of her flipped her onto her back and stared down at her with his dark green eyes.

“Dante?”

“Emma?” He shook his head. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Chapter Two

“Well, I’m sure not on a picnic,” Emma said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Dante stared down at the pretty young college professor he’d met when he’d taken classes at the University of North Dakota, working toward a master’s degree in operations management.

She stared up at him with warm, dark chocolate-colored eyes, her gaze scanning his face. “What happened to you?” She reached up to touch his temple, her fingers coming away with blood. “Why was that man shooting at you?”

“I don’t know.” Dante’s brow furrowed. “Did you get a good look at him?”

“No, it was all a blur. I thought he was coming to help, but then he started shooting at you. I rammed into him, knocking his gun out of his hands. Then he took off.”

“You shouldn’t have put yourself in that kind of danger.”

“What was I supposed to do, stand by and watch him kill you?”

“Thankfully, he didn’t shoot
you
. And thanks for saving my butt.” Dante staggered to his feet and reached down with his right hand and helped her up. “He shot down my helicopter with an RPG and would have finished me off if you hadn’t come along.” A bitterly cold, Arctic breeze rippled across the prairie, blowing straight through his thermal underwear. A shiver racked his body and he gritted his teeth to keep them from chattering.

Emma stood and brushed the snow off her pants and jacket. “What happened to your clothes?”

“I fell into a puddle of flaming aviation fuel when I climbed out of the helicopter.” He glanced back at the inferno. “We need to get out of here in case the fire ignites the fuel in the tank.”

He climbed onto her snowmobile.

“You should take my coat. I bet you’re freezing.” Emma started to unzip her jacket.

He held up his hand. “Don’t. I can handle it for a little while and no use in both of us being cold.” He moved back on the seat and tipped his head. “Get on. I don’t know where you came from, but I hope it’s warmer there than it is here.”

Her lips twisted, but she didn’t waste time. She slipped her leg over the seat and pressed the start button. She prayed the bent skid, damaged in the collision, wouldn’t slow them down.

Once she was aboard, Dante wrapped his arms around her and pressed his body against her back, letting her body block some of the bitter wind.

It wasn’t enough. The cold went right through his underwear, biting at his skin. He started shaking before they’d gone twenty yards. By the time they topped a rise, he could no longer feel his fingers.

Emma drove the snowmobile along a ridge below which a tent poked up out of the snow. A truck and trailer stood on the ridge, looking to Dante like heaven.

When she pulled up beside the trailer, Emma climbed off, looped one of Dante’s arms over her shoulder and helped him into the trailer. It wasn’t much warmer inside, but the wind was blocked and for that Dante could be very grateful. The trailer consisted of a bed, a sink, a small refrigerator and a tiny bathroom.

“Sit.” Emma pushed him onto the bed, pulled off his boots and shoved his legs under the goose down blanket and a number of well-worn quilts. She handed him a dry washcloth. “Hold this on your shoulder so you don’t bleed all over everything.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a smile.

Her brows dipped. “Stay here while I get the generator running.” She opened the door, letting in a cold blast of air.

“Keep your eyes open,” he said through chattering teeth.

“I will.” She closed the door behind her and the room was silent.

Dante hunkered down into the blankets, feeling as though he should be the one out there stirring the generator to life. When Emma hadn’t returned in five minutes, he pushed the blankets aside, wrapped one around himself and went looking for her.

He was reaching for the doorknob when the door jerked open.

Emma frowned up at him, her dark hair dusted in snowflakes. “The generator’s not working.”

“Let me look at it,” he insisted.

She pushed past him, closing the door behind her. “It won’t do any good.”

“Why?”

“The fuel line is busted.” She held up the offending tube and waved him toward the bed. “Get back under the covers. At least we have a gas stove we can use to warm it up a little in here. I don’t recommend running it all night, but it’ll do for now.”

“Why don’t we get out of here?”

“It’s almost dark and it started snowing pretty hard, I can barely see my hand in front of my face. It’s hard enough to find my way out here in daylight. I’m not trying in the dark and especially not in North Dakota blizzard conditions.”

“I need to let the base know what happened.” He glanced around. “Do you have any kind of radio or cell phone?”

“I have a cell phone, but it won’t work out here.” She shrugged. “No towers nearby.”

His body shook, his head ached and his vision was hazy. “I need to get back.”

“Tomorrow. Now go back to bed before you fall down. I’m strong, but not strong enough to pick up a big guy like you.”

Dante let Emma guide him back to the bed and tuck him in. When she smoothed the blankets over his chest, he grabbed her hand.

Her gaze met his as he carried her hand to his lips and kissed the back of her knuckles. “Thanks for saving my life.”

Her cheeks reddened and she looked away. “You’d have done the same.”

“I doubt seriously you’d be shot down from the sky. Your feet are pretty firmly on the ground.” He smiled. “Paleontologist, right?”

She nodded.

“Isn’t it a little late in the season to be at a dig? I thought they shut them down when the fall session started.”

She shrugged. “With our unseasonably warm weather, I’ve been working this dig every weekend since the semester started.”

“Until recently.”

“Since it snowed a few days ago, I figured I’d better get out here. I’d heard more snow was coming, and I needed to dismantle my tent and bring it in.” She stared toward the window as if she could see through the blinding snow.

“I take it you didn’t get the tent down in time.”

She gave him a little crooked smile. “A downed helicopter distracted me.”

“Well, thank you for sacrificing your tent to be a Good Samaritan.”

Her cheeks reddened and she turned away. “Let’s get that shoulder cleaned up and bandaged.”

She wet a cloth and returned to the bedside. Pushing the fabric of his thermal shirt aside, she washed the blood away.

Her fingers were gentle around the gash.

“It’s just a scratch.”

Her lips quirked. When she’d washed away the drying blood, she applied an antiseptic ointment and a bandage. “As it is, it was just a flesh wound, but it wouldn’t do to get infected.” Patting the bandage, she stepped back, the color higher in her cheeks. “I’ll make you a cup of hot tea, if you’d like.”

Studying her face, Dante found he liked the way she blushed so easily. “Have any coffee?”

“Sorry. I didn’t expect to have guests.”

“In that case, tea would be nice.” Dante glanced around the tiny confines of the trailer. “Aren’t you afraid to come out to places like this alone?”

Emma reached for two mugs from a cabinet. “Why should I be? It’s not like anyone else comes out here.”

“What if you were to get hurt?”

She shrugged. “It’s a chance I’m willing to take.”

“As close as it is to the border, you might be subject to more than just an elk hunter or farmer.”

“I have a gun.” Emma opened a drawer and pulled out a long, vintage revolver.

Dante grinned. “You call that a gun?”

She stiffened. “I certainly do.”

“It’s an antique.”

“A Colt .45 caliber, Single Action Army revolver, to be exact.”

Nodding, impressed, Dante stated, “You know the name of your antiques.”

Her chin tipped upward. “And I’m an expert shot.”

“My apologies for doubting you.”

The wind picked up outside, rocking the tiny trailer on its wheels.

Emma struck a long kitchen match on the side of a box and lit one of the two burners on the stove. A bright flame cast a rosy glow in the quickly darkening space. She filled a teakettle with water from a large water bottle and settled it over the flame. “I have canned chili, canned tuna and crackers. Again, I hadn’t planned on staying more than a couple of nights. I was supposed to head out before the weather laid in.”

Despite his injuries, Dante’s stomach grumbled. “I don’t want to take your food.”

She leveled her gaze at him. “I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t have enough.”

“Then, thank you.”

She opened two cans of chili and poured them into a pot, lit the other burner and settled the food over the flame.

Before long the teakettle steamed and the rich aroma of tomato sauce and chili powder filled the air. Emma moved with grace and efficiency, the gentle swell of her hips swaying from side to side as she moved between the sink and the stove. Dante’s groin tightened. Not that she was his typical type.

Emma appeared to be straitlaced and uptight with little time in her agenda for playing the field, as proved by their one date that had gone nowhere. Still, it didn’t give him the right to go after her again.

He shoved aside the blanket and tried to stand. “I should be helping you.” A chill hit him, penetrating his long underwear as if he wore nothing at all.

“Stay put.” She waved in his direction. “There’s little enough room in the trailer without two people bumping into each other. And I’ve got this covered.” She shed her jacket and hung it on a hook on the wall.

“I can at least get the plates and utensils down and set the table.” He glanced around. “Uh, where is the table?”

Emma grinned. “It’s under the bed. You were lying on it.”

He gave her a half bow. “Where do you propose we eat?”

“On the bed.” She grinned. “Picnic-style.”

“Do you always eat in the bed?” Images of the slightly stiff Emma wearing a baby-doll nightgown, sitting on the coverlet, eating chocolate-covered strawberries popped into Dante’s head. He tried but failed to banish the thought, his groin tightening even more. The slim professor with the chocolate-brown hair and eyes, and luscious lips tempted the saint right out of him. And the kicker was that she didn’t even know she was so very hot.

“I don’t usually have company in my trailer. I can eat wherever I want. In the summertime, I sit on a camp stool outside and watch the sun set over the dig.”

He could picture the brilliant red, orange and mauve skies tinting her hair. “I’ll consider it an adventure.” He reached around her and opened one of the overhead cabinet doors. “Where are the dishes and utensils?” As he leaned over her, the scent of roses tantalized his nostrils. Her hair shone in the light from the flame on the stove as much as he thought it might in the dying embers of a North Dakota sunset. Despite having shed her coat, the thick sweater, turtleneck and snow pants hid most of her shape. But he could remember it from the class he’d audited while attending the university in Grand Forks.

He tucked a hair behind her ear. “Why was it we only went out once?”

Her head dipped. “One has to ask for a second date.”

Dante gripped her shoulders gently and turned her slowly toward him. “I didn’t call, did I?” He stared down at her until she glanced up.

Her lips twisted. “It’s no big deal. We only went out for coffee.”

Dante swallowed hard. He remembered. It had been shortly before a particularly harsh bout of depression. One of his buddies from the army had been shot down in Afghanistan. He’d wondered if he’d stayed in the army if he could have changed the course of events, perhaps saved his friend or if he would have died in his place. Losing his fiancée and his friend so soon afterward made him question everything he’d thought he’d understood—his role in the war on terrorism, his patriotism and his faith in mankind. It had been all he could do to get out of bed each morning, go to work and fly the border missions.

“I’m sorry.” He brushed a thumb across her full lower lip and then bent to follow his thumb with his mouth. He’d only meant to kiss her softly, but once his lips touched hers, he couldn’t stop himself. A rush of hunger like he’d never known washed over him and before he realized it, he was crushing her mouth, his tongue darting out to take hers.

When he raised his head, he stared down at her through a haze of lust, wanting to drag her across the bed and strip her of every layer of clothing.

Her big brown eyes were wide, her lips swollen from his kiss and pink flags of color stained her cheeks.

Dante closed his eyes, forcing himself to be reasonable and controlled. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I don’t—” she started.

The teakettle whistled.

Emma jerked around to the stove, one hand going to the handle of the kettle, the other to her lips.

Dante retrieved bowls from the cabinet and spoons from a drawer and stepped back, giving her as much space as the interior of the trailer would allow.

The wind churned outside, wailing against the flimsy outer walls, the cold seeping through.

As she poured the water into the mugs, Emma’s hand shook.

Kicking himself for his impulsive act, Dante vowed to keep his hands—and lips—to himself for the duration of their confinement in the tight space.

Since resigning his commission, Dante hadn’t considered himself fit for any relationship. He’d come back to North Dakota, hoping to reclaim the life he’d known growing up. But the transition from soldier to civilian had been anything but easy. Every loud noise made him duck, expecting incoming rounds from hidden enemies. Until today, it had only been noise. Today he’d been under attack and he hadn’t been prepared.

Emma dipped a tea bag in each mug until the water turned the desired shade. Then she pulled the bags out and set them in the tiny sink. “I’m sorry, I don’t have milk or lemon.” She held out a mug to him. “Sugar?”

The way her lips moved to say that one word had him ready to break his recent vow. “No, I’ll take it straight.”

When she handed him the mug, their hands touched and an electric surge zipped through him. He backed away and his knees bumped into the mattress, forcing him to sit and slosh hot tea on his hand. The scalding liquid brought him back to his senses.