He dumped the second measure of oats into the trough and released a lusty sigh. Those lips. Full, almost puffy looking and stained a natural rose. Beestung lips, his mother would’ve called them. Kissable was what he would call them.
He heaved another sigh, this one full of resignation, and strode to the next stall. Whether Lauren’s lips were kissable or not, he’d never know. Even before the fire, a lady like her would’ve been out of his reach. She was a Tanner and he was…well, he was Luke Jordan, second son of a rodeo bum and short-order cook. He didn’t have a pedigree, or any kind of degree, for that matter. He’d dropped out of high school in the eleventh grade and started cowboying full-time for any rancher who was willing to offer him a decent wage and a bunkhouse to sleep in.
No, he’d never know if Lauren’s lips were kissable. Not firsthand, at any rate. Hell, she was so far out of his reach, he’d need a ladder to touch her toes.
A whine had him angling his head toward the feed room door.
With a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth, he set the bucket down and moved to unlatch the door.
“Hey, buddy,” he said and dropped to a knee to give the dog’s ears an affectionate rub. “How’re you feelin’ today?”
In response, the dog licked his hand.
His smile widening, Luke pushed to his feet. “Bet you’d like to stretch your legs a bit, after being cooped up so long, wouldn’t you?” He patted a hand against his thigh, signaling the dog to follow him. “Come on, then. You can help me feed the horses.”
The dog limped along behind him, pausing each time he stopped to measure oats into a trough before moving on to the next stall. When they reached the last one, Luke hooked the feed bucket over a nail, then returned to the feed room. “Come on, buddy,” he said, holding the door open. “It’s time for me to head for the bunkhouse.”
The dog sank down on his haunches and whined pitifully, not wanting to go back inside. Luke closed the door, then walked back to the dog and reached down to scratch its ears. “Don’t blame you,” he murmured softly. “I get pretty damn lonesome myself.”
Rising, he slapped his hand against his thigh again. “Come on,” he said, letting the dog know it was okay to follow him outside. “You can bunk with me tonight.”
Once outside, Luke paused to look up at the sky. “Looks like we might get us some rain tonight,” he said, then glanced over to see if the dog was listening and grinned when he saw that its ears were perked up. “Good sleepin’ weather, right?”
In response, the dog let out a yip and darted for the bunkhouse. Laughing, Luke watched the dog run. Though he still favored his right rear leg, he was clearly on the mend. Pleased with the animal’s progress, Luke stuck his hands in his pockets and continued to follow, wondering what Monty would say when he learned that Luke had invited the dog to spend the night with them.
As he neared the bunkhouse, a clap of thunder sounded in the distance and the wind picked up, scattering dead leaves across the path. He lifted his head to look at the sky again, and saw that dark clouds were roiling in from the north.
“Not just some rain,” he amended, frowning at the boiling sky. “Looks like we’re in for a real frog strangler.”
He’d no sooner made the comment, than his thoughts segued to Lauren and the tin yet to be replaced on the roof of the lodge. A blowing rain would test the soundness of a good roof. No telling what kind of damage it would do to one as old as the one on the lodge. And if it hailed…well, she might as well kiss that roof goodbye, ’cause he seriously doubted that old tin could withstand the beating hail would give it.
What was worse, she was bound to lose her electrical power. Rural service usually went down in a bad storm and was slow to return after the weather passed over. He doubted there was a generator at the lodge or that Lauren would know how to run it if there was one.
He started toward his truck, intending to drive to the lodge and make sure she and the old woman were all right, but stopped just shy of reaching it. He couldn’t go chasing over there to check on her, he told himself. She was a grown woman and capable of taking care of herself. She didn’t need him fussin’ over her, and doubted she’d appreciate him droppin’ by uninvited.
But if something were to happen to her, then what? The woman was a greenhorn when it came to country life. She wouldn’t know how to prepare for a storm and probably didn’t have the supplies on hand to ride one out.
Firming his mouth, he strode to his truck. As he started to climb in, a bark stopped him. He looked over his shoulder and saw that the dog had followed. He glanced at the barn, weighing the time it would take to return the dog to the feed room. Sighing, he scooped up the dog and plunked him down on the passenger seat. The dog sat up, tongue lolling, and looked out the windshield.
Halfway to Lauren’s, it started sprinkling. By the time Luke pulled up in front of the lodge, the rain was coming down so hard, he couldn’t see two feet in front of the truck. He pulled a slicker from the back seat, shrugged it on, then yanked his hat down farther over his brow and opened his door. Before he could react, the dog leaped out of the truck. Within seconds his coat was plastered to his hide, making him look like an overgrown drowned rat.
As Luke clomped his way around back through the puddles already forming on the ground, he noticed that Lauren’s car was gone. She’d probably hightailed it for town the minute she’d seen the storm clouds building, he thought. A good thing, in his estimation. Her absence also proved that she was a greenhorn. A person who couldn’t handle a little rain had no business living in this neck of the woods and so far from civilization.
Among the building supplies stacked on the back porch, he found several rolls of plastic. Tucking one under his arm, he grabbed the ladder, carried it out into the rain and braced it against the edge of the roof.
“Stay,” he instructed the dog, then climbed up the ladder, keeping his head down to protect his face from the stinging bullets of rain. He made quick work of rolling out the plastic and securing it with logs he borrowed from the firewood rack. By the time he reached the ground for the last time, he was soaked to the skin and winded.
Confident that the plastic would protect the lodge’s interior from water damage, he glanced toward the cabin where he knew Lauren stayed. Set five hundred or more feet from the rear of the lodge, it, too, was surrounded by trees. He could hear the screech of metal as the wind pushed the limbs across the cabin’s tin roof. He wavered, wondering if he should put plastic on that roof, as well. With a sigh of resignation, he gathered up another roll of plastic and the ladder.
“Stay,” he said to the dog again, who was standing under the lodge’s back porch, watching him expectantly. The dog looked from him to the rain and sank down on its haunches.
Smart dog, Luke thought, as he made his way to the cabin.
He was halfway across the cabin’s roof, when he heard a commotion below. Wondering what was going on, he slid to the edge of the roof and peered down. Lauren stood in front of the cabin, wearing a yellow raincoat and looking up at him from beneath its hood.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she shouted, to be heard over the pounding rain.
“Puttin’ plastic over the roof,” he yelled back. “Almost done.”
“You might have asked first.”
“Didn’t know you were here. Car’s gone.”
“Rhena went to town for groceries.”
Damn fool woman, he thought, and shifted to start down the ladder. “I better go and look for her,” he said. “Roads flood when we get this much rain in such a short time.”