Stranded with the Rancher

He extended his arm and helped her balance beside him. Bracing themselves, they shoved in tandem against the unforgiving wood. Beth’s foot slipped, and she nearly tumbled backward. “Sorry,” she muttered.

Drew beat his fist against the doors. “Damn it, this is pointless. It won’t budge. Whatever is up there has us pinned down for good. I’m sorry, Beth.”

She could do one of two things—indulge in a full-blown panic attack...or convince Drew that she was a calm, rational, capable woman. “No apologies necessary. I’m sure someone will find us. Eventually.” When the roads are cleared and when at least one person remembers that Drew came to Green Acres this afternoon. She cleared her throat. “Did you happen to mention to anyone at the ranch that you were coming over here to read me the riot act?” Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes.

“No.” He helped her down to the floor and began to pace. It wasn’t much of an exercise since his long legs ate up the space in two strides. “Will your family check up on you?”

“We’re not close,” she said, choosing not to go into detail. No need for him to see the seedy underbelly of her upbringing. Despite Drew’s cell phone experience, she pulled hers out of the pocket of her shorts and tried to make a call. No bars...not even one.

Drew saw what she was doing. “Try a text,” he said. “Sometimes those will go through even with no signal.”

She stared at the screen glumly, holding up the phone so he could see. “It says not delivered.”

“Well, hell.”

Her sentiments exactly. “I wish I had eaten lunch.”

“Concentrate on something else,” he urged. “We don’t want to dig into the food supply unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

What he wasn’t saying was that they could be trapped for days.

Beth refused to contemplate the implications. The storm cellar was equipped with a small, portable hospital commode tucked in the far corner. Things would have to get pretty bad before she could imagine using the john in front of Drew Farrell. Oh, Lordy.

Now all she could think about was waterfalls and babbling brooks and the state of her bladder.

Drew sat down beside her. They had both extinguished their flashlights to save the batteries. She gazed at her phone, feeling its solid weight in her hand as a lifeline. “I suppose we should turn these off.”

“Yeah. We need to preserve as much charge as we can. We’ll check one or the other on the hour in case service is restored.”

“But you don’t think it’s likely.”

“No.”

In the semidarkness, soon to get even more inky black when the sun went down, she couldn’t see much of him at all. But their chairs were close. She was certain she could feel the heat radiating from his body. “I feel so helpless,” she said, unable to mask the quiver in her voice.

“So do I.” The tone in his voice was weary, but resigned. It must be unusual for a man who was the undisputed boss of his domain to be bested by an act of nature.

“At least we know someone at the ranch will realize you’re missing,” she said. “You’re an important man.”

“I don’t know about that, but my brother, Jed, is visiting from Dallas. He’ll be looking for me.”

She wanted to touch him, to feel that tangible reassurance that she was not alone. But she and Drew did not have that kind of relationship. Even without the filter of social convention, they were simply two people trapped in an untenable situation.

His voice rumbled in her ear. “Why don’t we call a truce? Until we get rescued. I’ve lost the urge to yell at you for the moment.”

“Please don’t be nice to me now,” she begged, her anxiety level rising.

“Why not?”

“Because it means you think we’re going to die entombed in the ground.”

He shifted on his chair, making the metal creak. “Of course we’re not going to die. At the very worst we might have to spend a week or more in here. In which case we’d run out of food and water. We’d be miserable, but we wouldn’t die.”

“Don’t sugarcoat it, Farrell.” His analytical summation of their predicament was in no way reassuring.

The dark began to close in on her. Even with Drew at her side, her stomach jumped and pitched with nerves. “I need a distraction,” she blurted out. “Tell me an embarrassing story about your past that no one knows.”

“That sounds dangerous.”

“Not at all. What happens in the storm cellar stays in the storm cellar. You can trust me.”

His muffled snort of laughter comforted her in some odd way. She enjoyed this softer side of him. When he stood to pace again, she missed his closeness. His scent clung to the shirt he had given her, so she pulled it more tightly around her in the absence of its owner and waited for him to speak.

* * *

Drew was worried. Really worried. Not about his and Beth’s situation. He’d leveled with her on that score. But what had his stomach in knots was the bigger picture. He should be out there helping with recovery efforts. To sit idly by—while who knows what tragedy unfolded in Royal and the surrounding environs—made him antsy. He was not a man accustomed to waiting.

He made things happen. He controlled his destiny. It was humbling to realize that one random roll of the dice, weather-wise, had completely upended his natural behavior. All he could do at the moment was to reassure Beth and to make sure she was okay. Not that he regarded such responsibility as insignificant. He felt a visceral need to protect her. But he also realized that Beth was a strong woman. If they ever got out of here, she would be right by his side helping where she could. He knew her at least that well.

Her random request was not a bad way to pass the time. He cast back through his memories, knowing there was at least one painful spot worth sharing. The anonymity of the dark made it seem easier.

“I was engaged once,” he said.

“Good grief, Drew. I know that. Everyone knows that.”

“Okay. Then how about the time I took my dad’s car out for a joyride when I was ten years old, smoked a cigar and got sick all over his cream leather upholstery?”

“And you lived to tell the tale?”

“Nobody ever knew. My brother helped me clean up the mess, and I put the car back in its spot before Mom and Dad woke up.”

“Are your parents still living?”

“Yes. Why?” he asked, suddenly suspicious. “Are you going to complain to them about their hard-assed son?”

“Don’t tempt me. And for the record, my secret is not nearly as colorful. One day when I was nine years old I took money out of my mother’s billfold and bought a loaf of bread so I could fix lunch to take to school.”

“Seriously?” he asked, wondering if she was deliberately trying to tug at his heartstrings.

Without answering, she stood and went to the ladder, peering up at their prison door. “I don’t hear anything at all,” she said. “What if we have to spend the night here? I don’t want to sleep on the concrete floor. And I’m hungry, dammit.”

He heard the moment she cracked. Her quiet sobs raked him with guilt. He’d upset her with his snide comment, and now he had to fix things. Jumping to his feet, he took her in his arms and shushed her. “I’m sorry. I was being a jerk. Tell me the rest.”

“No. I don’t want to. All I want is to get out of this stupid hole in the ground.” Residual fear and tension made her implode.

He let her cry it out, surmising that the tears were healthy. This afternoon had been scary as hell, and to make things worse, they had no clue if help was on the way and no means of communication.

Beth felt good in his arms. Though he usually had the urge to argue with her, this was better. Her hair was still wet, the natural curls alive and thick with vitality. Though he had felt the pull of sexual attraction between them before, he had never acted on it. Now, trapped in the dark with nothing to do, he wondered what would happen if he kissed her.