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At the Rancher's Request
Sara Orwig
She’s pregnant and snowbound with a hot Texan in this tale from USA TODAY bestseller Sara Orwig!Pregnant, abandoned and stranded in a Texas blizzard, nurse Savannah Grayson is grateful when billionaire rancher Mike Calhoun rescues her. The widowed father offers shelter—and only shelter—at his vast ranch.Determined to never love another woman again, Mike tries to do the right thing and resist his attraction to his vulnerable guest. As they spend cold days building snowmen with his son and long nights talking and kissing by the fire, Mike fights the thaw of his heart . . . a battle he just might lose.
“Savannah, we’re going to kiss,” Mike said.
“It might as well be now,” he added in a whispered Texas drawl. He slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her to him.
Savannah placed her hands on his chest, ready to voice her protest when his lips brushed hers lightly and her heart thudded.
At that moment she wanted his kiss with all her being. She couldn’t think about what was best or if she shouldn’t or that he really didn’t want this either. The stubble on his jaw scraped her skin slightly while his warmth, his strength and his lean, hard body heightened her pleasure.
Finally, as she paused, he released her slightly.
“A kiss isn’t a binding commitment,” he said. “A long, warm kiss on a cold winter’s night even beats hot chocolate.”
She suspected he attempted to make light of the moment, but that was impossible. They both had kissed away wise decisions.
“Savannah, we won’t fall in love—I promise you.” So said him.
* * *
At the Rancher’s Request is part of Sara Orwig’s Texas-set series, Lone Star Legends.
At the Rancher’s Request
Sara Orwig
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
SARA ORWIG lives in Oklahoma. She has a patient husband who will take her on research trips anywhere, from big cities to old forts. She is an avid collector of Western history books. With a master’s degree in English, Sara has written historical romance, mainstream fiction and contemporary romance. Books are beloved treasures that take Sara to magical worlds, and she loves both reading and writing them.
To David and my family with love.
Also, with many thanks to Stacy Boyd and Maureen Walters.
Contents
Cover (#u432b4a1a-db64-5791-b085-29d2b854fa5c)
Introduction (#u61070229-8e2f-5e36-8480-e526e6d7c42d)
Title Page (#u2f140a76-b6c0-51c8-9cba-32bd1c01fc41)
About the Author (#ude9619af-0ccf-5234-bb91-818a80e4c146)
Dedication (#ue599f8ff-ff78-5aaf-8690-46d9ed836d11)
One (#ulink_01dcf315-e621-533c-a17c-7c4821457436)
Two (#ulink_1885d098-dead-57c5-9d84-2a2b8e03eae1)
Three (#ulink_d5d120f2-4c0e-52ab-aba1-8112b14fd1ce)
Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Five (#litres_trial_promo)
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Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
One (#ulink_09220598-c46f-5c7d-b52a-75427a93b425)
Mike Calhoun frowned, glancing briefly at the small mirror that allowed him to see Scotty in the backseat. Assured his almost-three-year-old son was okay, Mike peered ahead as sheets of gray rain swept against his truck. With the truck wipers maxed, he guessed visibility was less than fifty yards. He hadn’t passed a car or seen any sign of life for the past half hour. To his relief he spotted a small light shining on a sign and he turned, thankful to have reached the shelter of the only gas station between the closest town and his West Texas ranch.
He slowed to stop beneath the extended roof covering eight pumps. Ed had locked up and gone home and Mike didn’t blame him. On a stormy Saturday night in the last week of January, Ed wouldn’t have had much business anyway.
“We’re stopping, Scotty,” he said, turning to his son while he left the motor running and the car lights switched on so they would not be in complete darkness. “If we wait, the rain will let up and driving conditions will be better,” he said as he unfastened his son’s seat belt.
Solemnly, Scotty looked at him. “Can we cross the bridge?”
Smiling, Mike tousled Scotty’s black curls. “My little worrier,” Mike said. “I think so, Scotty. If we can’t cross the north bridge in the front, I’ll drive around to the west. It’ll take longer, but we can get home. Don’t worry. This downpour will slack off soon. It can’t rain this hard all night.”
Twin specks of light emerged from the rain and grew bigger as a car approached. “Here comes someone else. It may be someone from our ranch.”
When the car pulled into the lane next to Mike, smoke poured from beneath the hood. The driver passed the pumps, stopping beyond them, still sheltered by the roof.
The driver’s door opened and someone in a parka stepped out and shook the hood away, revealing a woman with a long blond braid.
“This isn’t anyone we know. Scotty, stay in the car while I see if she needs help.” Mike lowered the front window so Scotty could hear him easily. He cut the car engine. “The lady has car trouble.”
Pocketing his car keys, Mike stepped out and closed his door. “Hi, I’m Mike Calhoun. Can I help you?” he asked, looking at a blonde with big blue eyes.
Frowning slightly, she walked around her car. “Thank you. I’m Savannah Grayson. I do need help. I don’t know what’s wrong with my car. I was so scared it would break down while I was on the highway. It’s been clattering and smoke was coming out from beneath the hood. Thank heavens I saw your car in this station. It was like getting tossed a lifeline in a stormy ocean.” She looked past him. “You have a little boy in your truck. I shouldn’t take your time.”
Mike looked at Scotty and waved even though only a few yards separated them. Smiling, Scotty waved back. “He’ll be fine for a bit.”
“I don’t know what the trouble is—”
“Whoa,” Mike said, seeing a flickering orange flame curl from beneath the hood. He stepped to his truck, retrieved his fire extinguisher and opened the hood of her car. As flames shot out, Savannah gasped. He held up the extinguisher and in seconds white foam doused the fire.
“I’m sorry, but this car isn’t going anywhere until a mechanic works on it,” Mike said, bending over the smoldering engine. “Are you visiting someone around here?” he asked when he straightened. He was certain she didn’t live in the area or he would know her.
“No, I’m just passing through. I’m on my way to California from Arkansas. I don’t know anyone here. I guess this place is locked up for the night.” She frowned again as she looked at the dark station.
“When the rain lets up, I can drive you back to Verity where there’s a good hotel. I’ll call Ed who owns this gas station and tell him you’re leaving your car here for the weekend. It’ll be Monday before anyone can look at your car. In the meantime, I’ll take you back to Verity and you can get a hotel room.”
“Thank you,” she said, giving him another faint smile.
“Let’s go sit with my son Scotty until this rain lets up. This is a whopper of a storm. We’ve had a long dry spell, so now we’re getting the rain all at once to make up for it. This is supposed to change to snow later tonight.”
As she nodded, Mike opened the truck door.
Sliding into the truck on the passenger side, she turned to smile at Scotty. “Hi.”
“Hi,” he replied, staring at her.
Mike turned to her. “Savannah, this is Scotty. Scotty, this is Ms. Grayson.”
“Hi, Ms. Grayson,” he said.
Mike closed her door. He walked around to sit behind the steering wheel while she shed her parka and smoothed the oversize navy sweatshirt she wore. The interior of his truck had cooled with the window lowered, so Mike turned on the engine, the heater and defrost. Lights from the dash gave a soft glow in the car.
“I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been here,” Savannah said. “Probably driven it out into the rain, opened the hood and then ran. I suppose the rain would have put out the fire.”
Mike laughed. “Guess it is a good thing I was here. Where in Arkansas are you from?” he asked, looking into big eyes that were the deep blue of a summer sky.
“Little Rock,” she replied.
The first hailstone caught their attention. In seconds another struck, then hail began hurtling at the car and ground.
“Thank goodness we’re sheltered and I’m not still out on the highway,” Savannah said.
“Those are big hailstones. I’m glad we’re both here.” He took a few minutes to call Ed about her car, then pocketed his phone. “All set for Monday morning,” he told Savannah. “Why don’t you take what you need from your car and then lock it. You can leave the key in the drop box on the station door.”
“This is nice of you. I hate for you to have to drive back to Verity.”
“I don’t mind,” he answered. Hailstones fell harder, faster, bouncing when they hit the pavement. Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled.
“Damn. We’re having a bad storm. Excuse me a minute. I want to check at the ranch.” He called his foreman, explaining he was waiting out the storm at Ed’s station. After a lengthy report from Ray on how things were faring, Mike said he’d check back in later.
He slipped his phone into his pocket. “I don’t live far from here. We’re not going to get back into Verity tonight because the river is flooding and we’d need to cross a bridge to get into town. Also, the temperature is dropping. If it keeps up, this will turn to sleet and roads can get slick in the blink of an eye.”
“Seems I’ve gone from bad to worse,” she said, gazing at the rain.
“Savannah, you’re welcome to come back to my ranch with me. You can get a character reference from the sheriff of Verity. I have his phone number—he’s my relative. Or if you want to check in with someone who’s not a relative of mine, I can give you my banker’s or lawyer’s number. I just don’t want you to worry about coming home with us.”
She laughed. “Mercy. That’s a lot of references.”
“I’m calling the sheriff now and you can talk to him.”
“Please, you don’t need to call. I think your best reference is sitting in the backseat.”
Startled, Mike looked up to see a twinkle in her blue eyes. “Scotty?”
She turned to Scotty. “Scotty, can I trust your daddy?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She smiled at Mike, an enticing smile that revealed even white teeth and made the evening seem suddenly better. “I think you’ve given me enough assurances that I’ll be safe to go with you. You don’t need to call the sheriff. Do you need to call your wife and tell her you’re bringing a guest home?”
Mike felt a clutch to his insides. No one had asked about Elise in a long time, but it still hurt when he was questioned. “I’m a widower.”
“I’m sorry,” she said instantly.
“Thanks. I think the hail has let up slightly. Let’s get things out of your car and get going while we can. Scotty, just sit tight. I’m going to help Ms. Grayson move some of her bags to our car.”
“Yes, sir,” Scotty replied.
In minutes they had moved suitcases, a laptop, two backpacks and a box. As soon as she locked her car and dropped the keys in the drop box, they climbed into his truck and he drove back onto the state highway. She glanced back at her car.
“Your car will be okay there.”
“I wasn’t worried. It’s an older car with a burned, damaged engine and I don’t think anyone would want it. And thanks so much for your help,” she added. “I hope I don’t crowd you. I can sleep anywhere—sofa, floor, anything works.”
He smiled. “You won’t have to sleep on the floor. I have plenty of room.”
They became quiet while Mike concentrated on his driving. The rain was still heavy, but not the downpour it had been, which improved visibility.
Almost an hour later as they neared the turn for the front gate, Mike called his foreman again on a hands-free phone in his truck. When he ended the brief call, he glanced in the mirror at his son. Big brown eyes gazed back at him.
“Scotty, we’ll need to go around the creek to get home. But don’t worry because I promise we’ll get home.”
Scotty smiled and nodded, and Mike glanced at Savannah. “My foreman drove to the creek that crosses the ranch. We can’t get there the usual way from this road. I have to take a longer route.”
“Whatever is necessary. Anything beats staying alone in my burned car in the rain all night,” she said, smiling. “I’m just thankful to have a roof over my head tonight and be where people are.”
The downpour suddenly thickened, sheets of rain sweeping over the vehicle again and then hailstones began bouncing off his truck.
“Dammit,” Mike said softly, glancing quickly in the mirror and seeing Scotty’s eyes wide and frightened.
“Daddy, I don’t like this.”
“It’ll quit in a minute, Scotty, and with every mile we’re getting closer to home.”
“Scotty,” Savannah said, rummaging in her purse and turning slightly to reach between the seats. “I keep a tiny flashlight in my purse. You take it. And look at this. It’s a compass—it shows you which direction you’re headed. See this letter. It’s a W. W means west. We’ll be much closer to your home when the needle points to—” She paused.
