Wild Highland Rose (Time Travel Trilogy, Book 2) (49 page)

A second explosion rocked the night. And hope died. Completely. Irrevocably. Cara dropped to the snow, sobs wracking her body. The pain almost unbearable. This time when the blackness came, she didn't fight its mind-numbing embrace.

*****

Michael Macpherson pulled his sheepskin coat tighter around him. It was cold. Ball shattering cold. He bit back a laugh, hearing his father's voice in his head. Duncan Macpherson wasn't one to mince words.

And he also wasn't about to be out in this kind of weather looking for cattle. No sir, he preferred to freeze his balls off up in the mountains looking for that elusive mother lode. Or maybe, if he was really smart, he was holed up somewhere with a bottle of whiskey for company. Michael had to admit that, right at the moment, the idea held a certain appeal. Not that he would trade places with his father.

Duncan had his share of problems, but then he also had Rose.  Michael's mother was the love of his life and, truth be told, Michael longed for someone like that in his life, too. Someone to wait up nights for him, fire stoked, supper warming. Someone to share things with, to build a life with.

He sighed. His mother always said there was one man for one woman, and that his was out there somewhere. Waiting for him. All he had to do was find her. 

Not that he was in any hurry. After all he was only nineteen. For the time being, he was content to wait.  There was plenty of time left.  He squinted into the falling snow, and tightened his hold on the reins. The storm was worsening, the wind whipping the snow into a frenzied dance, the force of it bordering on a blizzard. Urging his horse forward, he searched the gloom for lost cattle. Pete should have been out here with him. He could have used the help. But the ranch hand was laid up with a bum knee. An accident in the corral. And Patrick…

Hell, who knew where the kid was these days? At the Irish Rose helping his mother and Uncle Owen, no doubt. Patrick had no interest in ranching.  He'd made that more than clear. Michael reined his horse in, his eyes catching the shadowy mound of a cow under a tumble of rock.

Damn. It looked dead.  He swung his leg over the saddle and dropped to the ground, his long-legged stride taking him over to the fallen animal. It was covered in snow, and he bent down to brush it off, his heart heavy. He needed live cattle if he was going to make a go of his homestead, and the harsh Colorado winter, seemed determined to take them from him one by one.

His hand touched soft, cold skin and he froze, eyes widening in surprise. It wasn't a cow at all. It was a woman. He knelt beside her, searching for a pulse, his eyes locked on her pale face. There were streaks of blood on her cheeks and her hair was crusted with snow and ice.

An ice princess.

She was exquisite. But not a woman.  A woman-child.  And, unless he was badly mistaken, she certainly wasn't dead. He wrenched his gaze away from her and glanced up into the blinding fall of snow. One thing was certain, if he didn't get her to shelter fast, neither one of them would be alive much longer.

*****

Cara woke with a start. She was shivering uncontrollably and something solid and warm was holding her captive. She struggled against the bonds, not certain whether she was trying to escape or to snuggle closer to the heat. Her head felt as if it might split in two.

"Hush now, be still. I'm trying to get you warm."

The voice was soft, fluid, and very male, its resonance radiating through her. She relaxed, allowing herself to settle into his embrace. Which in and of itself was unusual. He was a stranger after all, and she hadn't the slightest idea how she'd gotten here.

All she knew for certain was that her head was pounding and that she was cold. He provided a refuge for one of her two ailments and for the moment that was enough. Her eyes flickered open and she saw firelight dancing on rock walls.

Firelight.

Memory slammed into her. The wreck. Her parents. She jerked away, her heart pounding, determined to go back—to find them. She tried to stand, but the world went topsy-turvy and she collapsed again, warm arms encircling her, keeping her from falling.

"I've got to find them." Her voice came out in a cracked whisper and she wasn't certain he'd be able to understand her.

"Find who?" Blue eyes moved into her line of vision. Blue eyes and black hair. A face just beginning to hint at the man he would become.

Cara searched his eyes, calmed by what she saw there. "My parents. There was a wreck. And everything ex…exploded." A vision of the two cars lighting up the night filled her brain, tears rolling down her face.

He frowned, one hand absently stroking her hair, the feeling soothing—right, somehow. "I didn't see anything like that."

"Well, I've got to go look. I've got to know for certain."  Panic rose inside her, and she tried to push it away.  It wouldn't do to lose control, but it was so hard to concentrate. To think.

"You can't." His voice held a note of finality. "There's a blizzard raging outside. You wouldn't get three feet in this weather."

"But they might need me."

"You can't help them now." His eyes were full of compassion, the emotion softening the harsh planes of his face. "And I can't believe they'd want you risking your life against a storm like this." He shifted, pulling her closer into his arms. "We'll look in the morning."

She fought against the blackness that beckoned just at the edge of her consciousness, but it was compelling her to close her eyes, to surrender. The pain in her head was so intense, and she was so tired. So very tired.

Her eyes fluttered closed. "What's your name?" The words came out on a whisper.

"Michael. Michael Macpherson."

Michael
. She sighed, letting the darkness carry her away.

Michael was the name of an angel.

*****

Michael trimmed the wick on the lantern, trying to save fuel. The fire had burned downed to embers. The lantern was their only source of light. And heat.  He reckoned it wasn't too much longer until dawn, and hopefully that meant they'd be able to make their way back to his ranch.

His horse snorted softly behind him, stamping with impatience, almost as if he'd read his mind. But then horses were like that. The woman by the fire moaned, and struggled against the confines of his greatcoat. Golden hair spilled out against the tanned hide of the sheepskin.

She was a beauty. Even with the gash on her head.

He'd tried to clean it up the best he could, and bandaged it, but it was obvious she needed a doctor. And that presented a problem. Even with the cessation of the storm, they'd be lucky to make the ranch.  There wasn't much chance he could get her into Silverthread. There would be too damn much snow.

Hell.

She moaned again and opened her eyes, firelight reflecting in the green of her gaze. Her look of confusion softened as she recognized him. "Michael."

He wasn't certain his name had ever sounded that good. He shook his head, clearing his thoughts, and moved to sit beside her, bringing the meager light of the lantern with him. He reached out to brush the hair back from her face. "How are you feeling?"

"Better, I think." She managed a weak grin. "Still cold though."

He shivered in response.

"Oh God, I've got your blanket." One hand slid out of the cocoon, confirming the fact. "And your coat. You must be freezing." She tried to sit up, but instead she grimaced and dropped back onto the floor of the cave. "I'm sorry."

He smiled. Impressed by her fortitude. She wasn't one to complain. Most ladies he knew would be whining every which way. But not this one. "Lie still, I'll crawl in beside you. That way we'll both be warm."

She nodded, and he slid underneath the blanket and coat, and pulled her body back against his. Her warmth seeped into him.

"It's better like this." He couldn't see her face, but he could hear the smile in her voice. "Has the storm stopped?"

"It's dying down. Should be gone by morning."

"And then we can look?" Her voice held a note of determination, and fear.

He understood the feeling. Once when he was about eleven his father had been buried in a mine. They'd worked for hours to get him out, each passing moment another step closer to his demise. But, in the end, they'd won. Duncan had survived. Still, Michael recognized her plight. "And then we'll look."

They were quiet for a moment, the only sounds the hissing of the dying fire and the soft movements of the horse. He could feel her breathing. Feel the rise and fall of her body against his. He supposed in the same way she could feel him. Somehow, it made the moment more intimate, as if they were joined—one sustaining the other.

"Cara."

The word filled the night air, jerking him from his reverie, the resonance of her voice sweet and low. "Cara?" He sounded like a parrot.

"Cara Reynolds. That's my name." Again he heard the smile.

It was a beautiful name. He liked the way it sounded. Sort of soft and strong all at the same time. Like her.

"So where are we, exactly?" He could almost feel her words, as if they were communicating body to body.

"An abandoned mine tunnel. It was the closest shelter I could find."

"How did you know it was here?"

"This is my land," he said simply. "I know every inch of it."

Again they lay in silence. He listened to the sound of her breathing. It slowed and then deepened. Sleep would do her good. He closed his own eyes, but couldn't stop thinking. He kept seeing her lying there in the snow.
If he hadn't found her.
He shivered at the thought.

But he had. And now, despite all she'd been through, she'd be all right. He'd make certain of it. 

"Michael?" She rolled over to face him, her voice hesitant, her eyes wide. "If someone was out there. In the storm, I mean. Could they—could they live through it?"

She suddenly sounded so young and lost, he thought his heart might break. He tightened his arms around her. "Anything is possible, Cara."

"And if they're dead…" She trailed off, leaving the question unfinished.

"Then I'll take care of you." He looked deep into her eyes, and before he had time to think better of it, he leaned forward, pressing his lips to hers, the contact sending lightening flashing through him. He pulled back, breathless from the depth of his emotion, his gaze still locked with hers. "I promise."

*****

Cara woke with a start.  The tunnel was filled with half-light. Morning had obviously arrived.  She sat up gingerly, her eyes scanning the cave for Michael. She sighed with disappointment, except for a horse, the mine shaft was empty. But a fire burned merrily in the stone fire ring. Surely evidence that'd he be right back.  All she had to do was wait.

She explored the injured side of her head carefully, satisfied to note that the bandage felt dry. At least the bleeding had stopped. Which was more than she could say for the pounding. Still, all in all, she seemed to have survived.

Pain wracked through her at the thought. How could she be so casual with her thoughts? When her parents might be out there this very moment, injured or worse. She sucked in a ragged breath and fought against the panic that threatened to overwhelm her. Michael would help her. He'd promised. She had to hang onto her hope.

Using the side of the cave to brace herself, she pulled up to a standing position, still clutching Michael's blanket around her. The world tilted lopsidedly and then slowly, slowly righted itself again.

"Cara?"

Michael
. She smiled despite herself and took a wobbly step forward. He called her name again, and it was a moment before it registered that the voice was not Michael's. It was her grandfather's. Joy welled up inside her. Michael had obviously gone for help. Sucking in a fortifying breath, she began to make her way out of the cave. Certain that somehow, between Michael and her grandfather, everything would be all right.

*****

Michael stood up, carefully capping his canteen. At least the worst of it was over. The sky was still a hazy white-gray, threatening snow. But the wind was gone, and the air dry.  With any luck, they'd make it to the ranch before nightfall.

He carefully made his way up the slippery slope of the creek bank. The snow was deceptively thick in places and he knew that beneath the soft banks there was often ice.  A broken leg, out here in this kind of weather, would most likely be the death of a man. And he had no intention of cashing it in now. Not after last night.

He reached the scattered tailings pile that marked the entrance to the mine. A small blue spruce stretched its frail limbs from the center of the loose rocks and debris. Michael smiled at the tenacity of the tree. Probably never make it, he thought, but it sure had courage to try.

A lot like the girl who slept in the tunnel. She had grit all right. And she was a beauty, too.

One woman for every man.
His mother's voice filled his mind, and he smiled. Maybe.  Just maybe, she was right. But right now there were more important things to think about. Like survival.  He stepped into the mouth of the tunnel.