“Ha!” she said derisively. “He shook his head and glowered at me through the windshield.”
“Just Buster’s way of welcoming you to the Flying K ranch. If you’d waited a few minutes, he’d have moved aside.”
The stranger pulled the door open and gave Norah a strong hand to hold as she unsteadily climbed out of the car and up the steep, slippery bank.
“Then I have arrived at the Flying K ranch?”
He leaned forward and peered at Norah’s face. “You headin’ for the Flying K? I supposed you’d taken a wrong turn. What’d you say your name was?”
“I didn’t say, but it’s Norah Williamson.”
The man shoved back his hat, revealing a broad forehead. A bewildered grin spread across his face, and he reached out his hand. “Well! Welcome to the Flying K ranch, Norah. I’m Mason King. Somehow I was expecting an older woman.”
With those black whiskers covering three-fourths of his face, it was hard to tell how old Mason was, but the part of his face she could see was unwrinkled, his body was firm and agile and he walked with a youthful tread. She hadn’t thought much about Mason’s age, but it was obvious he was in his prime.
“I guess we didn’t get around to exchanging ages in our e-mails,” Norah said. “I’m forty-two.”
“Then I’m three years ahead of you.” He turned toward the ditch. “I’ll soon have your car out of there. You’re sure you’re not hurt?”
“I don’t seem to be. The car slid slowly down the hill.”
“It’s been raining off and on for a week, and the ground is soaked. Most times you wouldn’t have had any trouble.”
From his truck bed littered with a conglomeration of ranch equipment, including rope, nail kegs, wire and shovels, Mason pulled out a long chain. He attached it to her car, then fastened the chain to a hook on the back of his truck.
“Stand aside now, and I’ll get your car out on the road again. There doesn’t seem to be much damage.”
While the pickup slowly lifted the car from the ditch, Norah kept a wary eye on Buster, now grazing contentedly in the knee-high grass beside the road. Buster glanced in her direction occasionally and let out a throaty bellow. The noise irritated her. After all, he was the reason for her misfortune, and he needn’t gloat over it.
Mason circled the car, kicking at the tires and peering underneath. She couldn’t tell if the car was damaged, because the whole right side was covered with mud where it had landed against the bank.
Agitated, Norah looked out into the darkness settling around them. She’d wrecked her car and was at the mercy of this stranger. Why had she made the decision to come to this remote place?
“There’s a dent in one fender, but it’ll run all right,” Mason said. “It’s too late to settle you at the Bar 8 ranch tonight, so I reckon you’ll have to bunk at the Flying K. Are you okay to drive to the ranch? It’s only another mile.”
Still preoccupied with her awkward situation, Norah mumbled, “I’ll be all right if I don’t encounter another bull.”
Mason answered with a pleasant laugh, and he opened the door for her. “You’ll get used to cattle after you’ve been here a few weeks.” He closed her door and got into his truck, motioning for her to follow him.
Fearing the darkness around her, Norah’s hands gripped the steering wheel. The only light she could see came from the truck in front of her, and the blackness of the night in these unfamiliar surroundings intimidated her. After a short drive, Mason turned toward several buildings illuminated by security lights. He jumped from the truck and waved Norah to a parking space beside him.
“I’m not fixed for company,” he explained as he opened the car door, “but we can manage tonight. Wait until I get a light turned on in the house, and then I’ll help you carry in what you need for overnight.”
“Do you live here alone?” Norah asked, hoping the agitation she felt didn’t register in her voice.
“Yes.”
The low, rambling house had a wide veranda running the length of the building. When Mason turned on a light, despite Norah’s concern, the old, one-story weathered home seemed to welcome her.
Mason was at her side again by the time she stepped out of the car. “I won’t need anything except that small case,” she said, indicating a piece of luggage on the floor.
He peered inside the loaded car. “Looks like you came to stay, all right,” he said with approval.
“I hardly knew what I’d need, so I prepared for every possibility.”
Norah entered a room that spread across the front of the house—kitchen, dining and living area were combined into one open space. It was definitely a man’s home. Hunting trophies were displayed over the stone mantel that topped a cavernous fireplace. A wide-screen television was placed where it could be seen from the kitchen table or from a large lounge chair arranged between the television and the fireplace. The walls were lined with plaques attesting to the Flying K’s superiority in cattle raising.
Cereal and cracker boxes, and peanut butter and jelly jars were on the table. Stacks of newspapers and magazines covered a large library table. The room was a combination of antique and new items, including a modern refrigerator, stove, microwave and an extensive computer center.
“Have you had your supper?” Mason asked.
“I stopped in Broken Bow for a late-afternoon lunch,” Norah said. “I’m not really hungry.”
“Well, I am,” Mason said. “I’ve been out on the range all day, and I didn’t take time to eat. I’ll rustle up something and you can eat with me. Let me show you to a bedroom.”
Carrying her bag, he went down the hall ahead of her and opened a door into a small room that was sparsely furnished with a bed, dresser, two chairs and a table.
“I don’t have company often,” he apologized, “so the bed isn’t ready for sleeping. There are sheets and pillowcases in the dresser. A neighbor comes in once a month to clean the house, and she was here last week, so the room should be all right.”
“I’ll be fine,” Norah assured him. “If I’d realized how far it was to the ranch, I’d have stayed in Broken Bow. I’m sorry to impose on you.”
“No bother!” he assured her. “If you can manage tonight, we’ll make better arrangements tomorrow. The bathroom’s across the hall. Come into the kitchen when you’re ready.”
He went out and closed the door and Norah stood in the middle of the room, not knowing what to do. She’d be spending the night unchaperoned in the house with Mason King. Norah wasn’t a prude, but Mason was a stranger to her—a man she’d contacted a month ago on the Internet. Norah had counted on finding a motel where she could spend the night. She hadn’t realized how sparsely settled Nebraska’s Sand Hills were, and she’d arrived at the Flying K ranch before she found a motel. There wasn’t anything else to do but to make the best of an awkward situation.
After living all of her life surrounded by family, what had prompted her to strike out on her own to cook for a rehabilitation organization experimenting in equine therapy for children with special needs? Sam might have been right—maybe she was a foolish old maid.
She hung her jacket on a clothing rack in the corner of the room and took a set of sheets, pillowcases and a blanket from the dresser. The linens felt cold and she laid them on the bed. She’d make the bed later.
A tantalizing scent of cooking beef welcomed her return