Her rescuer climbed in after her, his big body bumping solidly against her bruised side, but Fay was too rattled and disoriented to move even an inch away from it. Besides, the heat of the shoulder to knee contact felt good, though the warmth set off another wave of the icy shivers that racked her.
A volley of hail hit the pickup roof, and the truck door banged shut. The engine revved as the pickup lurched backward, swinging around and nearly pitching her off the seat. The driver’s hard arm kept her from falling.
Fay reflexively reached for it, but the arm jerked down to shift gears as the pickup abruptly stopped then shot forward into a bumpy, fishtailing ride. Her nausea came back in direct proportion and she grabbed urgently for the driver’s arm.
“Slow down!” she panted, too weak to do more than hang on to him with her good right hand. She was so dizzy she had to close her eyes again.
The low voice that shot back was blunt and offensively descriptive.
“We gotta funnel cloud about to blow up the tailpipe.”
Fay felt a fresh surge of nausea as she recognized the voice. She made herself let go of his arm as he went on.
“Not that you’d care if a tornado dropped down on your head, but some of us would rather die of old age.”
The sarcasm cleared her brain and she managed to focus briefly on Chase Rafferty’s grim profile before she faced forward, her insides twisting with shame. And resentment.
Rafferty. Chase Rafferty, the biggest bull in the pasture, who regularly charged in where she didn’t want him to be. Good fences and closed doors meant nothing to him. In all these months he’d been the one person she hadn’t been able to keep away, the one person who hadn’t allowed her to come to grips with the loss of her brothers in solitude.
Everyone else had gotten the message that she needed time alone and didn’t feel like seeing anyone she didn’t have to, but Chase always found a reason to butt in. The worst had been during those first weeks after the double funeral, when he’d come over at 7:00 a.m. four mornings in a row, pounding on her bedroom door to inform her that it was a workday and she had men standing around waiting for her say-so.
And of course he’d hung around in her kitchen long enough to see her after she’d got dressed and come down for a quick breakfast. He’d been able to tell she had a hangover, but he’d waited until she’d finished eating to lecture her about the dangers of crawling into a bottle to numb her grief.
On the third morning, she’d come down to the kitchen after another loud awakening and threatened to do him bodily harm if he said anything more to her than “Good morning.” That was the last hangover she’d had though, because she’d stopped drinking herself to sleep. When he’d come by at 7:00 a.m. on the fourth morning, she’d already gone out, working away from the headquarters so she wouldn’t have to see him.
A few weeks later, he’d taken to phoning at the noon meal, wanting to know if she was going to show up for a cattlemen’s meeting that night or if she had plans to go to some local event or social gathering that weekend. His message was clear: Get back to living. Her message to him, after she got a caller ID and stopped answering his calls or returning them, was: Leave me alone.
After that, he’d gone back to stopping by from time to time, only he’d started asking if she had thoughts about selling out. Short of that, he was looking for land to lease, and since she’d sold off part of her herd, would she want to work out a deal to let him run some of his cattle on her range?
Those were the times that had annoyed her the most. As if she was some wimpy female who’d never be able to hang on to her heritage by herself. His offer had stung her pride at the time, but later that sting had begun to undermine her confidence and make her feel like a failure. After all, Rafferty/Keenan was a huge operation, and the man who ran it had a knack for spotting problems.
And the fact that it had been Rafferty who’d seen her get thrown off her horse just now, Rafferty who’d picked her up and stuffed her into his truck, and Rafferty who was racing across the range to outrun a dangerous storm, was bitter comeuppance for her foolishness with the lightning.
Even more bitter was the idea that he’d seen her moments of self-destructive daring before her fall, and would no doubt soon let her know he had. That’s why she’d started to hate the sight of him, and heartily wished she could target his Achilles’ heel as mercilessly as he had hers this past year. She hated even more that men like him didn’t seem to have any.
It was hard to remember now that there’d been a time—years actually—when she’d had a huge crush on Chase Rafferty. Even the idea that she might see him somewhere had given her a thrill. She would have loved to have his attention back then, though he’d seemed to be only marginally aware of her.
He’d had too many girlfriends, and she’d been a neighbor kid seven years younger, and far too inexperienced for an earthy man of the world like him. She’d worried for years that he’d marry one of his glamorous girlfriends, and when he hadn’t, her hope that he’d finally notice her and ask her out had become acute.
Then the boys had been killed and she’d lost interest in Chase along with everything else. Though he was still as ruggedly handsome as ever and remained the most sought after bachelor in their part of Texas, Fay was immune to him now.
And she was still nauseous from the rough ride. The longer the trip went, the more aches and pains made themselves felt, but she’d bite her tongue off before she’d complain. She couldn’t let herself get sick, either; that would be the ultimate shame if it happened with Rafferty around. Surely they’d reach the main house at her place soon.
They finally drove out of the rain and were now ahead of it. Chase turned onto one of the better pasture roads and the ride smoothed out. Soon the big pecan trees at the Sheridan headquarters came into sight, then the corrals and ranch buildings. Chase drove past them all as if he did it every day, then steered the pickup onto the lawn behind her house and drove across the stone patio to the back door, turning sharply at the last moment to position the passenger door of the truck closer to the house before he stopped and switched off the engine.
The windshield wipers stopped with the engine, and Fay saw it was only sprinkling here. The wind was gusting hard as she got her door open and tried to get out of the pickup before Chase could come around and help her. She’d barely got her feet out before Chase surged close and plucked her off the seat to carry her to the door.
Good thing he didn’t need her to put her arms around his neck, because he’d trapped her right arm behind him and she couldn’t lift her injured left one high enough to reach his shoulder. As soon as they were in the mudroom, he kicked the door closed to tromp into the silent kitchen, bellowing as he did.
“Margie? You still here?”
The shout startled Fay and she jerked in his arms, setting off every ache in her body. She barely managed to stifle a moan and tried to cover it with a quick, “She’s gone. Put me down.”
Her order didn’t slow Chase in the least as he walked into the hall then into the living room to sit her on the sofa. He left her briefly to grab the TV remote, switch it on, then surf through the channels to find weather coverage.
While his back was turned, Fay fought her way to her feet despite the dizziness that swamped her. Her head was pounding and her legs felt alarmingly weak, but she managed a couple of unsteady steps before Chase found a local weather bulletin and turned back to her.
“Sit down and let me see what’s hurt,” he said gruffly as he eased her back toward the sofa. “As soon as we see how bad the storm is between here and Coulter City, we’ll go to the hospital.”
Fay managed to pull from his grip, thankful it was her good arm he’d caught. “I don’t need a hospital.”
“The