Stranded with the Rancher

“And I have two sisters.”

“That’s nice, but I’m an only child. So turn your head, please.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He laughed and the sound—rich, deep and warm—caught her off guard.

Beth smiled as she grabbed her flannel pajamas and a change of clothes. With a quick peek to be sure he really wasn’t looking, she shoved in a few more things.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

“We should hurry. The storm is getting worse.”

“How can you tell?”

Dan looked up at the dark gray sky. “See how the wind is kicking up again?”

She tilted her head back. The clouds were moving quickly and the aspens had begun to wave, whipping snow that looked like white dust into the air.

“We won’t be able to go anywhere in whiteout conditions.”

He was besting her worst-case scenario list without even trying.

“And I’m guessing pitching a tent in the middle of a blizzard isn’t on your list of fun and adventurous things to do,” Dan added.

“You’re not serious.”

“Oh, yeah. I am. The snowmobile has an emergency survival kit in the extra storage bin.” Dan moved closer and Beth stepped back, nearly slipping again.

“Whoa.” He grabbed her by the shoulders, keeping her upright.

“Oh!” A cry of pain ripped from her lips.

“You did hurt yourself.” His words were a warm whisper against her hair.

“I’m fine. Possibly a sprain, if anything.”

“We’ll check it out at the ranch.”

Beth frowned. Not likely.

“Okay. Bundle up. It’ll be cold. And wrap that scarf so it covers your mouth.”

Ben lifted the backseat of the snowmobile and pulled out another pair of goggles from a storage space before he put the small portable defibrillator and her tote bag inside the compartment.

He breathed onto the goggle lenses before handing them to her.

“I want you to pay close attention to how I move on the machine. If I lean forward, you lean forward. If I stand, you stand.”

Beth nodded.

“Just follow my lead. It’s a lot like a motorcycle for the passenger,” he said with a shrug.

“I’ve never ridden a motorcycle,” Beth admitted as she adjusted the goggles.

Dan raised a brow, but didn’t utter a word of surprise, and was kind enough not to mention her previous claims of seeking adventure.

“One last thing,” he said. “If there are any problems and it looks like I’m going to have to roll the machine and then jump off, I want you to jump away and uphill, as far from the snowmobile as you can.”

Beth gulped. Her gaze met his.

“Stay alert and keep your hands on me at all times. Understand?”

Again she gave a nod of understanding, this time accompanied by a smile of false bravado.

Reaching into the flatbed, he pulled out a black helmet identical to his.

When he handed it to her, Beth slipped it on her head.

Dan yanked off his gloves. “I’m going to adjust the strap. Don’t be in a rush to step away from me again or you might fall.”

Beth stood still, her cheeks tingling with embarrassment as she stared straight ahead at the dark stubble on his jaw and the patch of skin visible where his jacket met his neck. She feigned composure as his warm fingers brushed against her chin.

Finally, she dared to meet his eyes.

They reflected only compassion. “It really is going to be all right,” he said softly.

The man was intuitive.

As a physician, Beth was accustomed to being the one doing the reassuring, but somehow things had gotten turned around. Dan had told her everything was going to be all right, and she believed him. Believed him, though she’d missed her flight, her shoulder was probably sprained and she was headed to a destination unknown. Yet an unlikely peace had settled over her. How could that be?

Possibly the altitude.

“Okay,” Dan said as he pulled his gloves back on. “I’m going to get on first.” He inclined his head toward the snowmobile before smoothly sliding onto the machine.

On her second awkward attempt, Beth finally landed in the seat. She sat stiffly behind him.

“Put your arms around me,” he called over his shoulder. “And don’t let go.”

Don’t let go. Beth loosely wrapped her arms around his waist. Her helmet was inches from his back.

The engine revved and then the machine moved forward, propelling her backward with force.

Beth tightened her hold on Dan, gripping his jacket fiercely. She tucked her face behind his broad back, hiding from the stinging moisture of the rapidly falling snow.

Hypervigilant, Beth monitored the nuances of the engine and the man, adjusting herself to his movements. When he stood slightly and leaned forward as the snowmobile moved up an incline in the road, she did the same. They moved over the terrain, occasionally bouncing. Tension kept her rigid and silently praying that the machine wouldn’t capsize, and that the weather wouldn’t become severe enough to force them to stop.