Читать книгу Love Thine Enemy - Patricia Davids - Страница 9

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.”

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.

“You were expecting a dilapidated log cabin?” An engaging sparkle glinted in the depths of his eyes.

“Oh, not in Kansas,” her reply was quick and flippant. “Everyone knows there aren’t any trees out here. I was expecting a soddy.”

“A soddy?” His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I’m impressed you know the term. Sorry to disappoint you, New York. We don’t live in sod houses anymore.”

“Don’t tell me you have electricity and indoor plumbing, too?” she asked in mock amazement.

He stood and grinned at her. “Smart aleck. Make your phone calls. I’ll let Granddad know we have a guest for the night.”

Cheryl worried briefly that his grandfather might be someone who would recognize her, but her other concerns pushed the worry aside. She had more pressing problems. She picked up the phone and punched in Damon’s cell phone number. When he finally answered, he had little sympathy for her dilemma.

“This tour is a showcase of my work. A second-rate dancer can make it look second rate. How can you do this to me?”

“I’m sorry, Damon. It was an accident. I’ll catch up with you as soon as I can get another rental car.”

“How bad is your foot?” he asked with grudging concern.

“Only a sprain. It’ll be fine in a few days.”

“I hope so. I don’t need to remind you that good reviews mean good attendance, and good attendance means better funding for the company. If this tour doesn’t go well, we’ll all be looking for work.”

“I know. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Two days! We open in Kansas City in two days. Don’t let me down, Cheryl. Work is hard to find when word gets out that a dancer is unreliable.”

It was a threat—one she didn’t dare ignore. She was on her way up in her career, but Damon Sands could make things hard for her if he chose.

“I’ll be there,” she promised. Nothing was going to keep her from finishing this tour.

“You’d better be,” he snapped and hung up.

The last call she placed went to the rental car company. They weren’t happy with her either. She’d just finished that conversation when Sam walked back into the room.

“You’re looking kind of glum, New York. Is your boyfriend mad at you for standing him up?”

She pressed her fingers to her throbbing temples. “My boss, not my boyfriend, and, yes, he’s angry. This tour is important to him, and to me.”

“Tour?” he asked, clearly puzzled.

“I dance, remember? My ballet company is on an eight-city tour for the spring. We’ve been performing in Tulsa for the past two weeks. We were scheduled to give a one-night-only performance at the University Theater in Manhattan tonight. From there, we go on to Kansas City for a week, then two weeks in Denver, two weeks in Salt Lake City, then Reno, Fresno and San Francisco.”

“How’d you get separated from your company?”

“That is a long story.”

“I’m not going anywhere and neither are you,” he said, sitting beside her.

He was right. She tried to keep the bitterness out of her voice as she recounted the tale that had landed her almost in his lap. Literally.

“My sister called a few months ago to tell me she was getting married. She knew I’d be on this tour, so we planned her wedding to coincide with a break in my itinerary. The wedding was today.”

“Your sister lives near here?”

“In Wichita. We had it all planned,” Cheryl said with a shake of her head. “I flew from Tulsa to Wichita for the wedding. I couldn’t get a flight into Manhattan today so I rented a car. The rest you know.”

She pushed back a strand of hair and sighed. “My company will travel to Kansas City tomorrow with or without me.”

She wouldn’t think about what would happen if she couldn’t join them—if her foot was broken, not just sprained, and she couldn’t work for weeks.

“We can’t do anything about it tonight,” Sam said.

He was right. She would simply have to make the best of it.

“I doubt the road to Manhattan is even open now,” Sam continued. “Soon as the weather clears, I’ll get you to Kansas City even if we have to ride Dusty all the way.”

The twinkle in his eyes proved he was trying to cheer her. She held up her hands clasped together and begged, “Not that! Please! Not another ride on Dusty.”

“Now, that will hurt his feelings.”

“Not as much as he hurt my behind.”

Cheryl gazed at Sam’s amused face feeling oddly happy in spite of her predicament. It was easy to trade banter with him. Why was that? He was everything that she had loathed, once upon a time.

Still smiling, he stood and held out his hand. “Come on. I’ve got the perfect answer for your saddle sores. I ran a bath for you while you were on the phone.”

She brightened. “That’s right. You did promise me a hot bath to get me to come home with you.”

“And you accepted, cheap date that you are.” He picked her up, and she circled his neck with her arms.

Her pulse began to race once more, and she didn’t try to delude herself—it wasn’t due to the pain in her foot. She tried for a nonchalant tone. “Obviously, I need to raise my standards. Next time you’ll have to promise me chocolate and roses.”

His gaze met hers for a long instant. “It’s a deal,” he said softly. She looked away first.

He carried her through a doorway beyond the kitchen and through a huge bedroom to the bath. The room, tiled in stark black and white, held a large, black whirlpool tub in one corner, while a separate shower area took up the opposite wall. Inviting steam rose from the tub.

She stared in amazement. “Wow! This is awesome.”

“Compliments can go to my ex-wife. It’s her design.”

“She has great taste.”

“So she told me. In everything except husbands.”

“Your bathroom is bigger than the living room of my apartment in Manhattan. Your wife let you keep a house like this after a divorce? What’d she get?”

When he didn’t answer, Cheryl glanced at his face. The smiling, teasing cowboy had vanished. It was as if his face had turned to stone.

“She got her freedom,” he said at last.