The Cowboy Rescues a Bride (Cowboys of Chance Creek) (12 page)

Just like the famous quote Autumn had told her to remember, the only thing she had to fear was fear itself.

Late that afternoon,
Ned threw his truck into 4 x 4 mode and drove off the main road onto an unmarked, snow-covered track that led into a sparse pine forest. A glance at Fila told him she was still sitting stiffly in the passenger seat, one hand now clinging to the handle of the door. She hadn’t spoken much during their drive, which wasn’t anything new, but still worried him. He knew she hadn’t ridden in a vehicle much at all when she was in Afghanistan. The sensation still seemed to bother her. She probably didn’t relish traveling into a remote, mountainous area in the dead of winter, either, but what could he do? He couldn’t leave her back in Chance Creek.

“It’s going to get bumpy for a while,” he warned her. “Hang on, okay?”

“Are you sure this is safe?” she asked as he gunned the motor and powered through the deep snow on the track.

“I’ve done this a hundred times. It’s slow going but we’ll get there just fine.”

It took nearly another hour and a half to advance the eighteen miles on the snow-covered dirt road to reach the steeply plunging driveway that led off of it to the left down to the cabin. He started down it carefully, but the truck’s tires slid as the driveway curved and Ned cursed, hitting the gas and turning the wheel sharply to avoid sliding off the track.

A quick intake of breath told him he’d scared Fila again. Ned gritted his teeth and kept going, inching forward. The snow was deeper than he’d imagined down here. They might have trouble getting back out. He’d seen a weather report, though; temperatures were due to rise in a few days. The snow would melt, which meant the way out would still be bumpy, but passable. If they had to stay an extra day or two, so much the better. He could use the alone time with Fila.

“There it is,” he said, pointing to the roof of the log cabin that had just come into view. “My father used to take us boys up here every year to give my mother a week of peace. We loved—shit!”

The driveway curved back up here and he had just goosed the engine again to plow through a particularly deep bank of snow when the truck hit a patch of hidden ice, stalled in place, then found purchase again and shot forward unexpectedly.

“Fila!” Ned shouted as they surged over the side of the track. The land dropped sharply away and Ned braced himself as the truck fell through the air, then hit the earth nose-first with a crash that shook every bone in his body. The left front fender crumpled as it took the brunt of the impact and a searing pain ripped through Ned’s leg. Something snapped. Fila shrieked as the truck flipped over, throwing Ned against its roof.

The world went black.

‡
Chapter 15

R
ough hands smothered
her in a burka, pulling the sky-blue fabric over her head and wrapping its folds around her so tightly she couldn’t breathe.

Fila fought back, thrashing her arms and kicking her legs, but she was pinned in place, the fabric of the burka cutting off her air.

“Stop it!” she cried in Pashto, her mouth filling with soft, fuzzy fluff that choked her until she pushed it back with her tongue. “Stop!” Her mouth filled again and Fila writhed and fought, but the unseen captors’ hands held her in place and her head pounded with her racing blood.

Once again she used her tongue to clear her mouth and this time she opened her eyes. When strength failed, it was time for cunning. Maybe if she relaxed, she’d fool her captors into letting go. She forced her muscles to go slack. At first the world was dark, as of course it would be beneath the all-covering burka. Where was the mesh that let her see out? Was the garment on backwards? Were they trying to kill her? She pushed back at the panic overwhelming her. One of her arms was pinned to her side, but the other was free. She began to feel around.

There was light but it was above her head, as if she was seeing out of a tunnel, and now that she thought about it, it wasn’t burka cloth that surrounded her. This was too warm, too soft. It was…she batted with her free hand.

Her winter jacket, Fila realized with a start. She wasn’t in Afghanistan, she was in Montana. In a truck, with Ned. She was…

Upside down.

The memory of their crash swept over Fila and she squirmed again, trying to put together the sequence of events. They’d slid over the side of the track, landed hard on the nose of the truck then tipped over altogether. She was hanging upside down, still strapped into her seatbelt, her thick winter jacket slipping up over her chin, her right arm pinned inside the straps of the seatbelt.

She had to calm down. Thrashing would only make it worse. She wiggled the fingers of both hands, then fumbled with her left hand to reach up and undo the jacket’s zipper, high up over her face. She finally succeeded in unzipping it enough to allow cold fresh air to reach her nose and mouth. That was better. She could see a little, too.

Although that wasn’t an improvement. The ceiling of the truck had buckled and now lay just inches from her face. To her right, the passenger side window had shattered. The shape of the frame was all wrong and she knew there was no way the door would open.

“Ned?” she croaked. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Ned? Are you there?” Her jacket blocked her view when she turned toward the driver’s seat. She moved her head around, pushing the hood aside with her jaw and free hand as best she could. Finally, she spotted a crumpled shape that lay sprawled against the other side of the cab in a position that didn’t seem possible for a human body to take. “Ned? Ned!”

He didn’t move. She looked once more at his broken body and understood.

The accident had killed him.

She was alone.

A cold, hard lump of tears filled her throat but Fila swallowed them back. She knew how to conquer tears in a time of crisis. They got you nowhere in the little village where she’d spent her captivity. They didn’t feed you or protect you from the cruel sidelong looks of the other women. They didn’t clothe you when the wind howled around your shack or protect the skin of your fingers when you broke the ice in your washbowl at the beginning of another day.

First she must get free. Then she could face this new disaster that fate had thrown at her.

She realized that she was muttering one of the ancient protection prayers the village women often repeated. Well, why not? She needed as much protection now as they ever did. Her free hand searched for the seatbelt buckle and released it.

Remembering too late that it was all that held her aloft.

She hit the top of the cab with a hard thump that stung her scalp and shoulder. Claustrophobia gripped her as she realized how badly the cab had been crushed by the fall of the truck. Her only recourse was to slide out through the window where the glass had shattered. Muttering thanks for the thick protective cover of her winter coat, she did so slowly, wriggling and twisting until her body was free and she could extricate her legs.

Fila flopped back in the snow to catch her breath and felt the first kiss of snowflakes touch her cheeks and nose. Staring up at a leaden sky between Lodgepole pines, she realized the snow and the cold were now her enemies again.

Ned.

Sitting up quickly, she moaned as the world tipped and tilted and the blood rushed in her ears. She braced herself against the cold ground until she’d regained her equilibrium and then crawled on all fours to the other side of the truck. The driver’s side window was shattered as well, and she carefully cleaned away the shards until she could see inside. She hesitated before touching Ned. Knowing he was dead and seeing the truth of it were two entirely different things. She’d come to care for him deeply. She thought she might love him. She’d counted on there being enough time to learn more about him—and to master her fear of relationships. If she was honest she’d hoped someday they would be together.

She should have known better than to depend on there being that kind of time. Life changed in an instant—when you least expected it. Blink and the ones you loved were gone. Blink again and your own life hung by a thread. Fila blinked the sting of tears from her eyes, not that they’d fall. Not now when she needed to see clearly. She owed it to Ned to sit vigil by his death. To be a witness to it, so she could relay the circumstances to his family when she made it back to the ranch.

If she made it to the ranch.

She pushed that traitorous thought away. This was Montana, not Afghanistan. Ned had a cell phone. She’d make a phone call and someone would come and get them.

She touched Ned’s face, turned toward her where he lay on the ceiling of the truck cab, one leg curled under him, the other heading in an unnatural direction. His face was still warm, of course, but not as warm as she would have liked.

She put her hand to his cheek. Comforting the dead.

Saying good-bye.

The stubble of his beard scraped her bare fingers and she drew a breath. She should have touched him more when he was alive. There’d been nothing to fear from this man; she saw that now.

Something feathered against her wrist and Fila froze. Air from the window? A breath of wind? She dipped her fingers to his neck to test his pulse. Nothing.

No—

Wait.

She pressed harder. Felt the thready rhythm of his blood pulsing through his veins.

Not dead!

Fila drove her head and shoulders through the window frame to get a better look. She held her hand under his nose. Yes, that was another breath.

Gulping back an aching sob, she plunged her hands under Ned’s body as best she could, gripped his jacket and pulled.

It took long minutes to get him out of the truck. At one point he nearly woke. He tossed and turned his head, muttering unintelligibly. Fila tugged again, his broken leg jounced, Ned yelled and went unconscious.

Once he was free of the truck, she fished out the keys, slipped her own long jacket off, pushed and rolled and pulled at Ned until she’d laid him atop of it and used the sleeves to pull this makeshift sled along the ground. He slipped off of it again and again, until she had the idea of looping the coat-sleeves under his armpits. Still, she estimated it took nearly a half-hour to get him to the front door of the cabin. She thought she’d never get the large man up the three front steps and over the threshold and by the time his head hit the plank floor inside she was too far gone to worry about being gentle.

She manhandled him into the living room as close to the woodstove as possible then searched until she found newspaper, kindling and matches. She’d learned to start fires under worse conditions, so she was able to start one here without too much trouble. She fiddled with the flue until the fire drew well, and sat next to Ned to catch her breath.

In all her haste to get him inside and warm, she’d forgotten about his cell phone. She patted his clothing until she discovered it in his pocket. The glass screen was cracked, but the phone itself worked. Still, when she dialed the number for the Double-Bar-K, and then the Cruz ranch and then 9-1-1, she got no answer. They must be too far down this country road, she thought. Who knew the nearest place where she could get reception?

She tried going outside and even hiking up to the lane they’d drove in on, but it was no use. The cell phone didn’t pick up any signal. She’d have to find another way to get help. But first she’d have to set Ned’s leg or he could be crippled permanently.

The idea almost made her pass out. Like every other woman in her Afghan village, she’d learned the basics of first aid, and she’d often been made to assist an older woman who served as midwife and healer, as well. She’d witnessed bones being set many times over the years and as she grew older, she’d helped set them herself once or twice.

She’d never been the one in charge, however. The healer had told her where to sit, where to hold on and what to do. Now she was alone. She had no idea if she could do it right, but she knew she had to try. She found a small hatchet near the woodstove, went back outdoors and hunted around until she found two straight branches she could use for splints. She made quick work with the sharp tool to chop off small branches and bumps. Back indoors she found a well-worn sheet in the hall closet she could tear into strips.

Now came the tricky part. She surveyed Ned stretched out on the hard floor. He wore jeans, which she’d have to remove before she could set his leg and splint it. She’d never undressed a man before, though, and the thought left her sick with fear. What would Ned think of her when he knew? How could she touch a man in such a way? She hesitated for a long moment, wishing there was another choice, but she knew there wasn’t. Autumn or Hannah wouldn’t have wasted a second doing what needed to be done. What was modesty in the face of such an injury?

But Fila had been taught to value modesty above all else. She’d covered her face every time she left her compound’s walls. She’d been afraid to even look at a man. Now she approached Ned’s prone form and held her breath as she undid his belt buckle and the button of his pants. She almost closed her eyes when she unzipped them. Beneath his jeans he wore dark blue boxer briefs that didn’t cover nearly enough of his anatomy, to her point of view. She remembered the village healer and her brusque mannerism when she treated her patients. Fila fought for a similar composure, but touching Ned like this brought a rush of sensations to her body she hardly understood. Even in unconsciousness, Ned was all male. He posed no threat to her in this condition, which allowed her, in turn, to take a breath and appreciate him in a way she never had before. He was well-formed. Broad in the chest and shoulders. Strong of jaw. As she slid and tugged the jeans off of him as gently as she could, she revealed powerful thighs. They were thick with muscle, covered with a thatch of wiry hair. His briefs bulged in interesting places, but she tore her gaze away from them and focused on the job at hand.