Love Thine Enemy

He retrieved it for her. After returning his coat, Cheryl slipped into her own, then located her purse on the floor. She gritted her teeth as she prepared to leave the relative safety of the car.

Sam stepped out and pulled on his coat, glad of its retained warmth. Thick snow swirled past his face. Glancing up, he saw Dusty standing at the edge of the road with his head down and his rump to the wind. A whistle brought the horse to him, and Sam turned to Cheryl. He grinned at the expression on her face as she stared at Dusty. “Don’t worry, New York, I won’t let you fall off.”

“I’m not worried about falling off, cowboy. I’m worried about freezing solid up there,” she shot back.

“Freeze on the horse, be home in thirty minutes and thaw out in a hot bath, or freeze in the car and wait for the next taxi to come by. It’s your choice.”

“When you put it that way…” She sent him a suspicious look. “A hot bath—you promise?”

“Yup. Cross my heart.”

He swung up into the saddle and offered her his hand. She jumped as he lifted her and swung her up behind him. To his surprise, she made the move with ease and grace. He glanced back at her face and saw her lips pressed into a hard, tight line, but she didn’t complain. Miss New York had guts, all right. She settled her hands at his hips, but he pulled her arms tight around his waist.

It felt good. It felt right. It had been a long time since a woman had held him.

He turned the horse toward home, glad he had two long snow-covered miles to remind himself she was an injured woman who needed his care, nothing more. She was only passing through.

The elegant dancer behind him might stir his senses, but he wasn’t foolish enough to act on that attraction. He certainly wasn’t looking to get involved with any woman again. Not after Natalie. He would never give another woman the power to hurt him or his children the way his ex-wife had.

Cheryl clung to Sam and kept her face pressed to his back, but soon, even his large, powerful frame offered little comfort. Her head and her leg throbbed with every step the horse took. The wind chilled her to the bone, and there was nothing she could do except endure it. That was how she remembered this country. As something to be endured.

“How much farther?” she yelled over the wind. Her purse strap slipped off her shoulder and slid down her arm to bump against the horse’s side, but she didn’t loosen her grip to pull it up as she huddled behind Sam.

“Not much. Less than half a mile,” he shouted back.

In spite of his encouragement, it seemed like hours before the horse finally stopped. Lifting her aching head, Cheryl saw they stood in front of a small porch surrounded by a wooden railing already piled high with snow. Snow-laden cedars stood on either side of the porch hiding most of the pale, native limestone house from her view, but the warm glow of the porch light was as welcome as all the bright lights of Broadway.

She released her frozen grip on Sam. He swung his leg forward over the horse’s neck and slid down. Turning, he lifted her off the horse and lowered her gently to the ground. Balancing on one foot, she clung to his shoulders. Then, without a word, he swept her up into his arms.

She wrapped her hands around his neck, and her gaze moved to his face. She became aware of the strength in the arms that held her and the intensity of his gaze as he studied her in return. Suddenly, she felt warm and breathless.

An echo of that awareness flared in his eyes. Then, just as quickly, his gaze cooled. “Let’s get you inside.”

Sam forced his attention away from the sweet, soft curve of her lips. He quickly climbed the steps, wrestled one-handed with the door, then stepped inside. After setting his guest gently on the high-backed bench in the entry, he took in her battered appearance.

She was as pale as the snow outside. Streaks of dried blood ran from a bruised cut on her temple down the left side of her face and neck. Blond hair, slightly longer than shoulder length, framed her face in soft waves. Her eyes were a startling sapphire-blue surrounded by thick, dark blond lashes. But when she looked up at him, he saw pain and exhaustion filling them. The total sum of her fragile beauty stunned him like the kick of a horse.

“Are you okay?” he managed to ask.

She nodded. “I just need to warm up.”

“Rest here. I have to put Dusty away. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He started out the door, then turned. “Oh, watch out for the cat. He’s Bonkers.”

She glanced around, then closed her eyes with a grimace as she leaned her head back. “Crazy cowboy owns an insane cat. Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

Chuckling, Sam left the house and quickly led Dusty to the barn. He unsaddled the horse, fed him a measure of grain and gave him a fast rubdown.

“So, what do you think of her?” he asked. Dusty kept his nose buried in his oats. Sam paused in his brushing. “What, no comment? It’s not every day an ugly old cow pony gets to give a real ballerina a ride. Me—I think she’s drop-dead gorgeous.”

Dusty snorted once. Sam grinned and resumed the quick, short strokes of his brush. “You’re right, looks aren’t everything. For whatever reason, the good Lord has placed her in my care. I’ll put her up for the night, then get her out of here first thing tomorrow.” He gave the horse a final pat and left.

Pausing outside the barn door, Sam turned up the collar of his coat. The blowing snow piled in growing drifts around the barn. If this storm didn’t let up soon, he could be stuck with his unexpected guest for more than one night. The idea didn’t annoy him the way it should have. Instead, a strange feeling of anticipation grew as he started toward the house.

The sound of the door opening and a gust of frigid air announced Sam’s return. Cheryl eyed her rescuer closely as he paused inside the entry to hang up his coat and hat. As he raked a hand though his dark brown hair, curls flattened by his hat sprang back to life, and she noticed a touch of gray at his temples. He was older than she’d first thought. Perhaps somewhere in his early thirties.

As he turned toward her, she guessed he had to be six feet two at least. He towered over her, but he wasn’t intimidating. His eyes were warm and friendly. A rich hazel color, they were framed with thick, dark lashes any woman would envy. He didn’t have a classically handsome face, she thought, yet there was something appealing about it.

She gave herself a swift mental shake. What on earth was wrong with her? She had more sense than to be moonstruck by a handsome man with a pair of smiling eyes. Plus, he was a rancher. And a Hardin. She’d seen enough of that judgmental and unforgiving lot in her youth to last her two lifetimes. The chiming of a clock sent her thoughts back to her real problem.

“Thanks for the rescue, cowboy, but I can’t stay.”

“My granddad lives with me if you’re worried about your reputation.”

“It’s not that. I have to get to Manhattan.”

“You aren’t going anywhere tonight.”

“It’s important.”

“Unless you can change the weather or sprout wings and fly, you’re stuck.”

She sighed in defeat. “May I use a telephone? I lost my cell phone in the car. I have to let someone know what’s happened to me.”

“There’s a phone in the living room,” he said, stooping to gather her in his arms again.

“I can make it on my own,” she protested.

“Not till I see how bad that leg is.” He swept her up effortlessly, carried her into the living room, and set her gently on the sofa. Bending over her leg, he eased off her shoe and sock.

A hiss of pain escaped Cheryl’s clenched lips, and her hands grew white-knuckled as she gripped the sofa cushions.

He let out a slow whistle. “Lady, you aren’t going be dancing on this any time soon. You need X-rays, maybe even a cast. I’ll get some ice for it. That may keep some of the swelling down.”

Cheryl opened her eyes when the pain receded and stole a quick peek at her throbbing foot. Her ankle, discolored and swollen, looked as bad as it felt, but she’d danced on worse. Her art demanded it.

With her career in mind, she glanced around for the phone, then paused as she caught sight of her surroundings. For a moment, she felt as Alice might have when she stepped through the looking glass. The small porch flanked by cedars had given her the wrong impression. Instead of an old farmhouse, she found herself in a home that looked like a color layout for Better Homes and Gardens. A series of floor-to-ceiling windows made up one entire wall of the huge room. To her right, a wide staircase led down to a lower level, and to her left was an open, airy country kitchen.

A bold Indian-blanket pattern covered the sofa she rested on. Its brickred, hunter-green and royal-blue tones were reflected in the room’s brightly colored accents. Matching love seats flanked the sofa and formed a cozy seating area arranged at the edge of a large, patterned rug. Polished wooden floors and a rough beam ceiling lent added warmth to the room.

Looking over the open counter into the kitchen, she watched Sam move deftly, getting ice, a plastic bag and a towel. He seemed at home in the kitchen. That didn’t exactly fit the rugged cowboy images she remembered.

He returned and handed her a small ice bag. “For that bump on your head.”

“Thank you.” Cheryl took the bag and held it to her temple. He placed a second pack carefully around her ankle.

For such a big man, he had gentle hands. She shivered when he touched her bare skin. Abruptly, she pulled her foot away. “I can manage.”

Her rapid heart rate had to be from the pain and nothing else. “You have a fabulous home,” she said to distract him when he shot her a puzzled look.