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Hours later, hunched over the steering wheel of her rental car, Cheryl peered through snowflakes the size of goose feathers as they filled the beams of her headlights. She was driving into a storm and into the middle of nowhere, and for what? Because she couldn’t bear to remember the look of disappointment on her sister’s face.
Tightening her grip on the wheel, Cheryl marveled at her own folly in leaving the turnpike for this deserted stretch of rural highway. She had a major performance later tonight. She should be resting in her hotel room by now. But when the exit sign for Highway 77 had appeared, she had taken it—almost against her will. That had been an hour ago—long enough to regret her decision a hundred times. Still, she had to be close now. She fought down the feeling of dread that rose with the thought. Seconds later, the gray shape of a rural mailbox loomed out of the snowy night.
She braked, feeling the car slide on the slick road as she turned into the barely discernable country lane and stopped.
At least the snow and the darkness hid the desolate landscape of the rolling Flint Hills from her sight. Only a dim gleam, from a porch light or perhaps a window, showed her where the old ranch house stood out on the prairie. She was home.
No sense of nostalgia filled her—only bitterness—a bitterness buried so deep she hadn’t realized she still carried it until this moment. Staring at the flickering light in the distance, she suddenly understood why she had come.
She hadn’t come because of Angie’s pleadings. She had come to prove that nothing remained of the frightened girl who had left so many years ago.
“You can’t hurt me anymore!” She wanted to shout those words in the old woman’s face, but she didn’t move. Her fingers grew ice-cold where she gripped the wheel as the old shame and fears crawled back to replace her bravado.
Coming here had been a mistake. She shifted the car into Reverse. She couldn’t change the past. No one could. Cheryl Thatcher had effectively buried that past. Cheryl Steele didn’t intend to resurrect it. Angie might believe in forgiveness, in healing old wounds, but Cheryl didn’t. There was no forgiveness in this bleak land.
The tires whined as they spun in the snow, then suddenly they caught and the car lurched out of the lane and onto the pavement. Cheryl shifted into Drive, then stepped on the gas and didn’t look back as she headed down the winding two-lane highway that would take her away. This time, forever.
Half an hour later, she raged at her own stupidity and bad luck. The snow came down faster and thicker with every mile. Her side trip had turned into a major mistake. A glance at the clock on her dash showed it was already half-past six. It would be close, but she could still make it. She had to. Her position was too important to risk by missing a performance. She would have to let Damon know she was running late. She dreaded placing the call. He wasn’t an easy man to deal with at the best of times. Reaching down, she fumbled in her purse for her cell phone.
“Dumb cow,” Sam Hardin muttered under his breath. “I try to do you a favor and this is the thanks I get. You make me ride home in the dark.”
He glanced across the corral to the long, low shed where his cattle huddled together out of the wind. One stubborn heifer had refused to join the herd and had kept Sam searching for her long after the others were rounded up. He swung the metal gate shut with a clang after she ambled through. Now all his expectant cows and those with newborn calves at their sides were safe from the approaching storm. He dismounted to make sure the gate was secure, then leaned his arms on the top panel.
The truth was he didn’t mind the ride or the time alone. He didn’t have a reason to hurry home tonight. No one would be missing him. His grandfather might be up pretending to watch television while he dozed in his chair, but the twins were spending the night with Sam’s mother, and without the girls’ constant activity and chattering voices, the big house felt empty and lonely. As empty as his heart had felt since Natalie left him.
Beside him, his bay gelding snorted and shook his head. Drops of melting snow flew from his long mane, and his bridle jingled faintly in the cold air. Sam left off his somber musing and gathered the reins as he cast a worried look at the sky.
“I guess that stockman’s advisory is going to be right on the money, tonight, Dusty,” he said in disgust. “When was the last time it snowed like this in April?”
Mounting, Sam turned his horse for home. It was dark and snowing heavily by the time he reached the main pasture gate. He dismounted, opened it and led Dusty out, then he stretched the barbed wire strands taut and lowered the wire hoop over the gatepost. He turned his coat collar up against the rising wind and settled his hat more firmly on his head.
Remounting, he patted Dusty’s neck and spoke to the patient cow pony. “Only a little longer, fella. Then you can bed down in a warm stall with an extra ration of oats—you’ve earned it.”
Dusty’s ears perked at the mention of oats, and Sam laughed softly as he set his horse into a trot along the wide shoulder of the highway and headed for the ranch house. Suddenly, the glare of headlights blinded him as a car sped out of the snowy night and came straight at him.
At the last second, the car swerved, then pitched into a skid on the icy roadway. From the corner of his eye, Sam saw the vehicle fly past as his horse leapt sideways. It missed them by inches as it spun off the road, plunged down an embankment and slammed to a stop in a small group of trees.
Sam reined in his terrified horse. It had been a close call—too close. The thought of his daughters losing another parent sent a chill up his spine that had nothing to do with the temperature. Thank You, dear Lord, for sparing me.
With his heart still hammering wildly, Sam dismounted and stared at the car in the ditch. Please, let everyone be okay.
He left his horse at the edge of the road and made his way down the steep slope to the wrecked car. His boots slipped in the wet snow, and he skidded the last few feet to the bottom. He saw the driver’s door was crushed against a cedar tree, so Sam made his way to the opposite side. What kind of idiot drove at such breakneck speed in this weather, anyway? He yanked open the passenger door and the dome light came on.
The idiot was a woman. Her blond head rested against the high seat back with her pale face half turned toward him. A thin line of blood trickled from her left temple, slipped down the slender column of her throat and disappeared beneath the scooped neckline of her red sweater.
Was she dead? The grim thought sent a curl of dread through him. He jerked off his gloves and leaned in to check for a pulse. He found one, strong and steady beneath his fingers. Relieved, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Her eyes fluttered opened, and she blinked in the light.
“Lady, are you okay?” he asked, trying to sound calm.
She lifted a shaky hand to her head. “I don’t think so.”
Bitter-cold air swept around Sam and into the car as he held the door open. Her trembling was probably due to shock and not the freezing temperature, but he wasn’t helping. Easing onto the slanting front seat, he closed the door. The interior light shut off, and the only illumination came from the headlights reflecting off the snow outside. He began to unknot the bandanna at his throat. “Where are you hurt?”
“I’m going to be so late,” she muttered and closed her eyes.
Fright and cold made his fingers clumsy. With a jerk, the bandanna finally came loose. He pressed it to her bleeding temple. “Late for your own funeral, maybe. You’re crazy to be driving so fast in this weather.”
She pushed his hand away and turned a fierce scowl in his direction. “I’m not the crazy one here! You were riding a horse in the middle of a highway—at night—in a snowstorm! Do you have a death wish?” she shouted, then winced.
“Lady, I wasn’t in the middle of the highway. I was on the shoulder when you came barreling at me. The road curves here, but I guess you didn’t notice. You were over the center line and speeding toward the ditch. I just happened to be in your way.”
She stared at him a long moment. “Oh.”
“Yeah, oh!”
“Well, I missed you, didn’t I?”
The last of his tension evaporated. “You did. You and the good Lord have my sincere thanks for that.”
“I don’t think He did me any favors.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that. If you’d gone off the other side of this curve at the speed you were traveling you might be dead now. There’s a steep drop and a stone wall on that side.”
He offered the bandanna again. “Are you hurt anywhere besides that cut on your forehead?”
“I’m not sure.” Taking the cloth from him, she held it to her head and gave a hiss of pain. After a second, she focused on him again. Sudden tears welled up in her eyes. “I’m so sorry. Are you sure you’re okay? Is your horse all right?”
“Dusty and I are fine, honest.”
“It all happened so fast. I almost killed you.” A sob escaped as a tear slipped down her pale cheek.
“Almost doesn’t count except in horseshoes and hand grenades. Hey, yelling I can take, but tears—don’t even go there,” he warned.
She managed a trembling half smile. “I’ll try.”
Sam shot a quick look at the windshield. The wipers had stopped with the engine, and snow already covered the glass.
“We need to get out of this weather, and this car isn’t going anywhere. My ranch isn’t far, but we should get going before this storm gets any worse. Can you move?”
“I think so.” She shifted in the seat, then gave a sharp cry as she grabbed her left thigh with both hands.
“What’s wrong?”
“My foot is caught,” she answered through clenched teeth.
He saw a tremor race through her body. The temperature inside the car was dropping rapidly. He needed to get her someplace warm and soon.
“Here, take my coat while I have a look.” He shrugged out of his sheepskin jacket and tucked it around her shoulders. They felt slender and fragile under his large, work-hardened hands. Her hair swept across the back of his wrist in a soft whisper stirring an unexpected awareness of her as a woman. He forced the thought to the back of his mind. He needed to concentrate on getting her out of here.
She bit her lip as she tried again to move. “My foot’s wedged under something. I can’t move it, and it hurts when I try.”
Reaching over the steering column, he turned on the interior light. “Hold still while I check it out.” Leaning down, he peered under the dash. “I’m Sam Hardin, by the way.”
Cheryl’s breath caught in a sharp gasp of surprise. He was one of the high-and-mighty Hardins. Her pulse began to pound. Feelings of shame and guilt rose like bile in the back of her throat. This couldn’t be happening. Not now, not after all this time.
She glanced fearfully at the man beside her. Did he know who she was? Had he seen her family’s pictures plastered across the local papers? Had he been at the trial that had sent her father and brother to prison? Did he know she had been her father’s accomplice and that she’d done time for her crime?
Chapter Two
Cheryl drew a shaky breath and forced herself to calm down. Of course Sam Hardin didn’t know who she was. How could he? It had all happened nearly fifteen years ago. She wasn’t a child anymore; she was an adult now. Driving by the old ranch had dredged up painful feelings and the accident had unnerved her, that was all.
“I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Hardin. My name is Cheryl Steele,” she said at last, watching his reaction. She’d changed her name when she was old enough, wanting to be rid of even that reminder of her childhood. Only a handful of people knew she had once been Cheryl Thatcher.
“Pleased to meet you, Cheryl Steele, and you can call me Sam. So where are you from? That’s an east-coast accent I hear, isn’t it?”
“Manhattan,” she confirmed, relaxing even more. It was true. The city had been her home for the past six years.
“You’re from Manhattan, Kansas?” he asked from under the dash.
“No, Manhattan, New York,” she said quickly. Something was wrong, seriously wrong. She tried but still couldn’t budge her foot. Fiery agony shot up her leg. “The pain’s getting worse.”
“Okay, hold still while I see if I can move this metal.”
“Hurry, please.”
“You’re a long way from home, New York. What are you doing way out here?”
“I thought I was taking a shortcut to Manhattan.”
“You were taking a shortcut to New York City on this road?” he asked, his amusement evident.
“Very funny,” she muttered in annoyance. “No, not a shortcut to the Manhattan. I’m trying to get your Manhattan. I need to be at the University Theater by seven at the latest. It’s very important.”
Her whole foot throbbed painfully now. She had to perform in less than an hour. She couldn’t be trapped out here.
He grunted with effort as he tried to move the crumpled metal. “It gave a little. Try now.”
Her foot wouldn’t budge. Panic swelled in her and she struggled against the confining metal. “Please, get me out of here!”
“I will. Take it easy.”
“I’m a ballet dancer,” she whispered. What if her injury was serious? What if she couldn’t dance? Didn’t he understand how frightened she was?
He sat up beside her. Softly, he cupped her cheek with one hand and wiped a tear away with his thumb. “You’ll be dancing again in no time, New York. Right now we have to keep our heads. Your foot is caught between the floor and the side wall where it’s caved in. I’ll get you out, but it may take a bit.”
She managed a nod. “Okay. I understand.”
“Thatta girl.”
Cheryl worked to regain control of her emotions. He was right. She had to keep her head. She needed to focus on something besides the fear and the pain. She had learned that trick early in life and used it often in her grueling career. She chose his face.
His rugged features softened when he smiled. It made the creases in his lean cheeks deepen and small crinkles appear at the corner of his eyes. His mouth lifted a little higher on one side, giving his smile a roguish charm.
Suddenly, she was grateful to have him in the dimness beside her. His hand was gentle when he’d touched her face. His voice was calm and steady. He inspired trust, and that thought surprised her. For most of her life she had considered ranchers to be the enemy—something else she had learned early on.
He said, “I need to find a way to pry this metal apart.”
“There should be a jack in the trunk,” she volunteered.
“Good thinking.” He flashed her a big, heart-stopping, crooked grin. “Kinda smart for a city girl, aren’t you?”
His teasing comment amused her even though she suspected he was simply trying to distract her from the seriousness of the situation. Well, she could play city-girl versus country-boy, too. After all, she was a rising star with the New York Theater Ballet. She had performed far more difficult roles.
“I don’t imagine you keep a jack in your saddlebags, cowboy. Or do you?” she quipped.
“No, ma’am, I don’t.” He slipped into an exaggerated drawl that would have done a Texan proud. “My ol’ hoss has gone lame, but he ain’t never gone flat.”
Cheryl tried not to smile at his poor joke.
Pulling the keys from the ignition, he grinned as he opened the car door. “I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
She nodded, but she had to fight another wave of panic as the door closed behind him, leaving her alone. She took several deep breaths until she felt in control of her emotions. A glance out the windshield told her what she already knew. She was going to miss tonight’s performance.
Her understudy would be able to dance the part, but Damon Sands, their director, was going to be furious. He’d already been unhappy about Cheryl’s plans to leave the company during their short break to travel to her sister’s wedding. Only her repeated assurances that she’d be back in plenty of time for the production had mollified him. Now, she’d be lucky if she didn’t lose her position after this fiasco. Damon had an unforgiving nature, especially when it came to his work.
She searched around for her cell phone but couldn’t find it. Moments before the wreck she had tried to use her phone only to see that it displayed No Signal. Chances were it wouldn’t work even if she had it in her hand. She was stuck with no way of letting Damon know where she was.
Stuck in the middle of nowhere, that’s where she was. No, worse. She was stuck in the middle of the Flint Hills. Until two months ago, nothing could have induced her to return here. Nothing, that was, until the call from Angie. Even as she’d listened to her sister’s deliriously happy voice begging her to come for the wedding, Cheryl had hesitated. She’d given in to her sister’s pleading only because the wedding would be in Wichita. A hundred miles seemed far enough away from their old home to let her feel safe about a brief visit.
Yet, even with this catastrophe, Cheryl was glad she had come. She smiled as she remembered the beautiful ceremony in the tiny church decorated with ivy and deep yellow roses. The strains of a classical guitar floating down from the choir loft had filled the air with the sounds of love transformed into music.
A blast of cold air jerked her back to the present as Sam opened the car door and slipped in beside her. Working quickly, he positioned the jack and after several turns, the metal pinning her began to spread. He eased her foot loose and she bit her lip to keep from crying out at the pain.
“I’m sorry if I hurt you,” he said.
Unable to speak, she nodded. Her foot throbbed wildly.
“At least you’re free.” His bright tone made her want to hit him.
“Can you ride a horse, New York?”
Her gaze flew to his. “You’re kidding, right?” One look told her he wasn’t. She nearly groaned at the idea of hanging her leg over a horse.
“Of course I can ride,” she answered with more confidence than she felt. She hadn’t been near a horse in fifteen years.
“Good, I’d hate for this to be your first lesson. Do you have a coat or something to keep you warm? The wind is bitter outside.”
“It’s on the backseat.”
