Espino, Stacey - Hardcore Cowboys [Ride 'em Hard 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (4 page)

Chapter Four

The
Carson
ranch came into view. More like a shadow in a snow globe. Wyatt couldn’t tell where the narrow dirt road started, and deep trenches bordered the path to the house. If he didn’t turn at the right time, he’d end up in a ditch, far from the front door. He looked at the sleeping girl beside him, curled on her side. The sight only spurred him on, made him determined to get her to the house. He’d made her his responsibility, and he wouldn’t let her down. The heat in the truck was so high, sweat beaded on his brow, but she still wouldn’t wake up. Who was she? Where was she heading?

Thank God he turned at the right time. Even after a year absence, he still knew the old ranch like the back of his hand. The snow here was even thicker than it had been on the roads leading to the house. His brothers mustn’t have plowed since the storm started. A feeling of dread tightened his chest, and he hoped everything was okay. Then he saw smoke coming from the chimney, and a smile lifted his lips. Not only couldn’t he wait to see Cord and Val, but they’d be able to help the girl he’d rescued.

When he drove as close as he dared without the risk of getting trapped in the heavy snow, he dropped down into the knee-deep flurry and navigated to the passenger-side door. He gently lifted the girl into the cradle of his arms and painstakingly made his way to the side door. Wyatt kicked the heavy wooden entrance with his cowboy boot a few times, unwilling to shift his precious cargo.

A minute later, the door swung open. Cord stood in the doorway with a rifle cocked and ready. When recognition flitted across his eyes, his jaw went slack, and he lowered his weapon. “Wyatt? That you?”

“I hope I’m welcome, but right now I need your help.”

Cord set his rifle to the side of the door and reached out to take the bundle in Wyatt’s arms. “Of course you’re welcome, brother. For the love of God, we’ve been praying you’d show up sooner or later.” Acting with the calmness earned from his training in the fire department, he set the girl down on the sofa. A trail of melted snow dripped down on the hardwood in their wake. “Who you have here?”

“Don’t know.” Wyatt shrugged off his jacket and hung it up on the familiar coat-tree by the door. The house was warm enough to melt his frosty exterior. His face heated from the change of temperature. “I found her car stalled in a snowdrift. She hasn’t gained consciousness.”

“Val!”
Cord called up the stairs for his twin. Seemed they couldn’t do much without each other, even though they were both more than experienced in dealing with medical victims.

His other brother raced down the stairs but came to an abrupt halt when he spotted Wyatt standing in the family room. He looked like he’d seen a ghost. “Wyatt Carson. I thought you were dead.”

“Well, isn’t that a fine way to greet your brother.” Wyatt smirked.

Val was the spitting image of Cord, but Wyatt could usually tell his brothers apart. Although similar in personality, Val was more open with his feelings, while Cord kept things bottled in. On close inspection, Val had three beauty marks on his neck, but Cord had none. A little trick he used if he wasn’t sure whom he was talking to.

“You two can reminisce later. Val, get the medical kit. This girl has severe hypothermia.”

Val shifted his attention to Cord, who knelt beside the sofa, peeling the layers of blanket off the prone body. “Who the hell is that?” As Val spoke he moved into action, digging through the cupboards in the kitchen. He returned with one of the red insulated bags they took with them on emergencies. It carried everything they'd need to do her vitals. Val dropped down beside Cord. Wyatt watched from several feet away, not wanting to get in the way.

“How long was she outside?” asked Val accusatorily, feeling her head and then her pulse.

“I have no idea. Could have been hours or days. No way to tell unless she wakes up.” Wyatt wished he had more information to offer, but he was just as clueless. He did the best thing he thought to do, which was bring her home to his brothers for help.

“It all needs to come off,” said Cord, beginning to carefully undress the sleeping girl. “Wyatt, get an armful of blankets from the chest in the spare room upstairs. Bring them down and warm them by the fire.”

“Should we put her in a warm bath?” asked Wyatt, trying to be helpful.

Both brothers turned to him with matching scowls. “Are you nuts? She could have some serious frostbite. What she needs is dry warmth. Body heat.” Cord slid her boots off her feet, then her socks. Her feet were a shade of blue. Wyatt knew the deadly effects of frostbite. Even their chickens lost toes in the winter from scratching about for food. He hoped it wasn’t too late to bring her body back to health.

“You’re right, Cord. Get your clothes off and lay down beside her.” Val turned to Wyatt, still rooted in place. “The blankets!”

“Right.”
Wyatt bound up the creaky wooden stairs to the second level, taking two at a time. He flicked the light switch in the upper hall, but the power was out. Luckily he had been born and raised in the old
Carson
home. He could find his way to the different rooms with his eyes closed.

Wyatt was used to being in charge, only accountable for himself and his own actions. The life of a drifter had always suited him. But he felt a deep-seated sense of relief that his brothers were here to help. He’d been on the road too long and needed to stop for a while, to breathe. Most importantly, he needed that girl to open her eyes, smile, and have no lasting damage. From the moment he realized she wasn’t dead, she had become his responsibility.

* * * *

Cord stood up and unbuttoned his checkered shirt and then tugged off his white undershirt. Val was busy easing the girl’s clothes off. Her body was chilled to the marrow and an unhealthy color. He could tell she’d have a beautiful olive complexion when not frozen half to death. She wore a pink lace bra, with mismatched blue panties.
Cute.
He mentally scolded himself for appreciating her soft curves and flat stomach. Cord needed to remember who he was. He held a position of authority as an emergency worker and had to maintain a professional nature when dealing with patients.

“Skin to skin. Come on. She’s barely breathing.” Val shifted her body to the side to make room for Cord. If she’d lost consciousness from the cold, her internal organs could be affected, and her heart weak. If Wyatt hadn’t shown up when he did, she’d have never woken up from her sleep.

Cord stretched out against the length of her body. Her cool skin was a shock against his warm flesh, but he pressed in firmly alongside her, attempting to offer the dry warmth her body needed. He tucked her head into the crook of his arm and stared down at her, cupping her cheek in hopes of bringing some color to her ashen face. Her lashes were thick and long, curling outward. Her nose was small and slightly upturned. But those lips, even void of a healthy pink hue, were plump and exquisitely shaped—made to be kissed.

“She’s a beauty, ain’t she?” said Val.

Cord turned to see his brother appreciating her from his perch on the arm of the sofa. Of course they had the same taste in women. This girl was petite with beautiful brown curls and delicate features. They’d had enough of the blonde, blue-eyed farmers’ daughters. It was always women with that unique, exotic flare who pulled them in and held them captive, but those types of women were few and far between in the great open plains of
Alberta
. What was she doing out here in the middle of nowhere by herself? Where was she heading? Cord wondered what her story was, but pulled himself out of his curiosity. All that mattered now was her health. He needed to bring up her core temperature.

“She’s something else,” Cord agreed. “Fetch me Ma’s old bean-warmers. Put them on the woodstove and heat them up.”

“Good idea.” Val slipped off the sofa and set off to find the hand-made heating pads in the kitchen.

Their mother had used old floral dressmaking fabric and filled them with dried beans and corn kernels before sewing them closed. She’d heat them on the stove when they came home after working a long day on the ranch. They were great for sore joints and aching shoulders. Right now they’d help increase the girl’s body temperature.

“Come on, darlin’. Wake up, sweet thing.”

Her little body molded right against the center of his, so fragile and feminine. He continued to coo in her ear but received no response, not even a twitch of recognition. If she’d been outside long enough, there could be lasting brain damage.

Wyatt came down the stairs with an armful of old patchwork quilts. “Cord! What in hell are you doing with your clothes off?” His face bore a heated scowl as he raked his gaze over their mostly nude bodies on the sofa.

“I’m warming her up,” he said. “Now do as I said and warm those blankets by the fire, then cover us up.”

Val and Wyatt knocked shoulders as they busied themselves by the old cast-iron woodstove. They usually kept a kettle of water on the burner during the winter months to humidify the air. Otherwise, it kept the house a lot warmer than the open fireplace could alone. A few minutes later, Val returned with the heating pads.

“Careful, they’re really hot,” Val warned, passing two to Cord.

He set one behind the girl’s head and neck and slipped the other one at the small of her back. “Hurry up with them blankets, Wyatt!” he called out.

Once they were cocooned in warmth, it would just be a matter of time before she woke up or proved her condition was permanent. There really was no point trying to head to the hospital, nearly an hour’s drive away. The roads were treacherous and there was nothing the personnel there could do that Cord and Val weren’t trained for.

Wyatt came up next and draped the warm quilts over the two of them. Already Cord’s brow beaded with sweat, but he needed to stay put and offer his body as a source of natural warmth.

“You know her name?” asked Val. Val took up residence on the arm of the old sofa again. Wyatt pulled one of the dining room chairs close to the sofa and sat down, leaning over his knees on his elbows.

“No. Didn’t even think to look for a purse or ID. I only focused on getting her out of the car and safe from the storm.” Wyatt sat straighter and exhaled, dragged a heavy hand through his hair. “You think she’ll be all right?”

“Can’t tell yet. Prayers wouldn’t be a bad idea, though.” Cord became lulled by the soft, rhythmic sound of her breathing.

The room was so dim with the windows boarded up and only a stormy night on the other side. Firelight flickered, creating random shadows along the walls. Crackling and snapping of burning wood comforted Cord, and the familiar smell filled his lungs. Even in the short time this stranger had been in the house, he felt more focused, more needed than he had in years. It would feel good to have a woman of his own to care for, to love. But it was all a fantasy created in his mind, loneliness playing tricks on him. This girl could be anything but sweet, married, or more trouble than he could handle. It was hard not to create endless scenarios with her soft little body pressed tight against his.

Chapter Five

Her thoughts drifted in and out of reality and a dreamlike state. Samantha tried to piece together the fractured memories swirling in her head. It hurt to think. Her head pounding like a sledge hammer worked against her skull. But she had to think. The car was trapped. She was so cold. She had shivered uncontrollably as her vision went blurry. Her mind became a jumble of irrelevant thoughts. That was all she could recall.

She wriggled her toes.
Warmth.
Samantha was shrouded in so much warmth, like a loving caress she never wanted to end. She thought she’d never know what it felt like to be warm and comfortable again. Was this heaven or hell? She couldn’t remember being rescued, so maybe it was all a bizarre dream, her body’s attempt to transport her to a happier place in her final hour.

“Open your eyes, darlin’.” A male voice echoed in her mind.

She recognized the soothing baritone from her dreams. She wanted to respond, to comply, but her body was so sluggish, like wading through molasses.

“Look! She moved her toes.” Another voice.
My savior.

Yes, now she could remember bits and pieces. When all was lost, his voice had cut through the darkness, and he had lifted her as if she weighed nothing more than a loaf of bread. Then she had blacked out again.

There were hands on her now, rubbing her skin, brushing her hair. It felt good, brought her dormant body to life. Every minute that passed brought reality to the forefront of her mind. She must be in a hospital. Samantha finally managed to crack open one eye, the natural light blinding her.

“That’s a girl.” Someone shifted her body into a sitting position, which made her so dizzy she thought she might be sick. She knew the noise she heard was her own groan, but she barely recognized the sound of her voice. “Get a bucket, Val.”

The man was right. She vomited a minute later, her stomach heaving in deep, guttural waves. Someone held her hair from her face and rubbed her back during the ordeal. Samantha was too sick to care what she looked like or who watched, but probably would once she returned to her old self.

A warm, moist cloth brushed over her mouth after she'd been sick. It was like being a child again, taken care of by her two sisters when she had the stomach flu. Going so many years on her own, it was nice to have someone else take care of her for once. But who exactly? She felt better with her stomach empty. Her headache was no longer as pounding, but still distracting.