Stranded Ranch : A Sweet Cowboy Romance (A Pride and Pranks Romance)

Chapter 2

Pop quiz: What happens when, what appears to be a very attractive cowboy shows up on your grandpa’s front porch during a huge snowstorm?

“Lucy?”

What happens when he seems to know me? I opened the door a bit wider but was grateful he didn’t make any move to step forward just yet. Who was he? He looked familiar yet I couldn’t place him. The scarf wrapped around half of his face was not helping.

“Yeah?”

As if realizing he was probably hard to recognize, he unwound the scarf covering his mouth and half of his neck. He had scruff on his face. Not a beard, but more than a five o’clock shadow. It looked as though he had had a long couple of days and hadn’t had time to shave. There was something about those deep brown eyes with the long lashes that suggested a memory somewhere I couldn’t quite place.

“Dusty Bennett,” he said, his deep voice sending rumbles up my spine. “I’m a little upset that you made more of an impression on me than I did you all those years ago.”

Dusty. DUSTY BENNETT. My hands flew to my face. No wonder why I didn’t recognize him. Fifteen-year-old Dusty Bennett looked much different than the Dusty Bennett standing before me. The Dusty here and now had filled out well.

“Dusty? Oh my gosh. Why are you here?” My manners in gracious hospitality could write novels.

He chuckled, giving me a flash of white teeth. Looks like the braces had worked out just fine. “I didn’t mean to be here. They closed the road. The last time this happened to me, your grandpa let me crash in the motel. Is he here? Can I talk to him?” He glanced behind my shoulder as if he expected Grandpa to suddenly appear somewhere behind me.

I studied him once again, hesitating. To be clear, my girl body was saying yes to inviting him into the house and out of the cold. Of course I wanted to welcome this cowboy man, who looked like what I assume Josh Duhamel would look like in a cowboy hat—into my living space. The fact that I had known him as a kid did help calm my nerves a tiny bit, but the truth was, he was definitely no longer a kid and I didn’t know this guy from Adam. And my girl brain—the one who listens to crime podcasts and watches Law and Order SVU—was giving my girl body a run for her cowboy fantasies. Other than being acquainted with him for a few summers working on my grandpa’s farm when we were kids, I didn’t know anything about this Dusty Bennett. And I’m sure most serial killers start out as nice kids. My younger sister, Julia, always had a crush on Dusty and used to moon over him like a newborn calf. The last I had heard of Dusty was from eight years ago, when his family had moved to Idaho. My grandparents had never mentioned he was back in Wyoming. Though I knew I was probably over-reacting, my red flags were raised and I couldn’t physically lower them until I found out a few things first.

“I just…um. Can you wait out here for a minute? I’ll be right back.” Then I closed the door on his pretty Josh Duhamel face. I turned the deadbolt as quietly as I could, making a face when the sound of it clicking into place rivaled a shotgun loading.

I leaned the rifle against the door and took the stairs two at a time until I reached my grandparents’ room, across the small hallway from mine. Thunderous snoring greeted me as I entered.

I crept into the darkness. “Grandma,” I whispered.

Nothing.

I inched a few steps closer, not wanting to startle the lump I could make out on the mattress. “Grandma.”

She snorted before she sat up, clutching her chest. “Oh, Lucy. I saw your shadow and thought I was done for.”

Biting my lip, I kept my laughter in check. “Sorry.” Neuroticism fell hard from the family tree. I stalked toward the window and peered out, still seeing a man in a cowboy hat below me. I had left him out in a blizzard. Guilt crept up the back of my neck, but I was determined to do everything in my power to avoid ending up a statistic on the news.

“Did Dusty Bennett move back here?” I whispered, moving to Grandma’s bedside.

“Dusty? That medium-built drink of water? Yes, he works for his uncle in Cody now. He stops by on occasion. Always requests my chocolate pie. Why? Is he here now?”

“Yeah. The roads are closed. I don’t know what to do.”

“He’s in the house now?” Her voice raised a few excited octaves.

“Not yet, he’s outside. I wanted to check with you first.”

“You left him standing on the porch in a snowstorm, darlin?”

“Yeah.”

“LUCY DAVIS. You let that boy inside now. Goodness. Have I taught you nothing? And keep in mind, I know for a fact that he’s single. And handsome to boot.”

I loved my Grandma, but she had never been one to focus. I was very much aware of his attractiveness, but I did not want to be murdered. “Grandma, I’m all alone down there and I hardly recognized him. Are you sure he’s okay to let inside?”

“Yes! For heaven”s sake, let the man in. Cook him some dinner. There are enough ingredients to make another chocolate pie. He loves that.”

Okay, I definitely was not going to make him a pie.

“Should I open up a room in the motel?”

“Yes, that would be fine. He’s done it before. He’ll be grateful to you. Let him use the empty corral by the house if he’s got cattle. The keys to the rooms are in your grandpa’s office. But you know all that, dear.”

“Wait. Aren’t you coming down?”

She jolted backward as if I had just shot her. “Heavens no. I already took my face off for the night.”

“Grandma, I’m sure he’d love to see you.” Please come down. Please come down. Please come down.

Though the lighting was dim, I swear the old woman grinned and leaned back against her pillow. “Nope. I’m done for the night, but I trust you’ll take good care of him, dear. If you know what I mean.”

“Alright, Grandma, take it down a notch. I’ll take care of it.”

“Him, dear. Take care of him.”

I didn’t appreciate her sing-song voice or her deep chuckle when I closed her door and raced back down the stairs, fully aware of how long I had made Dusty wait.

Heart thumping, I opened the door and peered outside. I found him leaning against the side of the house, to the right of the door, his hat down, blocking most of the snow from his face.

He glanced up at me when he heard the door open, amusement in his eyes. “Call your grandpa?”

I refused to be sorry. Sorry people wound up dead. “They’re in bed. He’s asleep, but I checked in with my grandma.”

“Did she give her approval?”

“Yes. She gave the impression you’re kind of like a cat who stops in for scraps every now and then.”

He grinned. “She feeds me chocolate pie. Can’t hardly blame a man.”

A small smile broke free on my face. There was something about his easy manner that spoke peace to my nerves. I gestured him toward the house. “Come on in. Sorry for making you wait.”

“I respect it. Your grandpa taught you well.”

I held the door open while he passed the threshold, closing it behind him. He stomped on the rug and shrugged out of his coat, placing it on the coat rack next to the entry. His hat and boots came off next. Then his socks. It was at that moment when I decided I should do something else besides stare at the man slowly stripping off his clothes.

“Come on in, when you’re ready.” I forced my limbs to move to the kitchen and put on more milk for hot chocolate. “Are you still a hot chocolate guy? If you’re a coffee guy, you’ll have to fix it yourself. I’m useless.”

“Hot chocolate’s good.”

His voice had moved closer. My skin prickled with awareness as he entered the kitchen. I switched on a burner and poured milk into the pot, trying not to bumble around like an idiot. It was jarring to suddenly have a man in the house. Five minutes earlier, there had been no man. At least, not any man awake and unrelated to me, and now—there was a man. A man who was familiar to me but at the same time very much a stranger.

I knew for a fact I hadn’t done my hair or makeup. The giant hot chocolate spill down my shirt came into full remembrance. Though I had arrived yesterday afternoon, I hadn’t bothered to shower or even check myself out in a mirror the past two days. My hair felt feral. I couldn’t recall the last time I shaved my legs. Not that that was going to matter. Let’s just say it had been a while since I had been in such close proximity to a man. A real, live, breathing man. Alone. I turned toward him and smiled tightly, trying to act like I was perfectly in control.

Sure, come on in—cowboy man I knew for a few years when he was a pimply, squeak-voiced awkward pre-teen. Have a seat and I’ll fix you a cup of cocoa. Happens all the time.

“So, what brings you out this way?” I leaned against the fridge, all ease and nonchalance—all lies—while he took a seat at the bar. “I thought your family moved to Idaho?”

He sat on a barstool, absently fingering the stack of mail sitting on the counter as he spoke. “I’ve lived in Eugene, Idaho since junior high. A year ago, the guy I was working for decided to sell out his dairy cows and didn’t have enough work for me, so I moved back up to Cody and have been helping my uncle run his ranch full time. His cattle supplier is out in Spearfish, South Dakota and he had a herd of cows he wanted to buy that couldn’t wait, so here I am. I’m 0 for 2 on making this trip home in one shot in January. I had to stop and stay a few days with Bob and Susan last winter too.”

“A few days?”

“Yeah.” He eyed me curiously. “Where are you living? You don’t sound like someone used to the Wyoming winters anymore.”

I breathed a laugh. “I’m in Billings.”

“Ahh…their winters are much more civilized up there.”

“Hardly. Though I do live in town so it feels that way.”

He leaned forward, his arms crossed and resting comfortably on the bar. “What do you do in Billings?”

“I teach third grade. Have you liked being back in Wyoming?”

He smiled. “I love it. I love Idaho too, but it takes a special kind of cowboy to handle a Wyoming winter.”

I met his eyes only to turn away quickly to stir the milk on the stove. “I miss being on a ranch. Does it keep you busy?”

He nodded. “It’s not for the lazy. My uncle’s been wanting to slow down some but can’t seem to say no to buying more cattle. I’m having a hard time keeping up with the demand. We hired a few guys to help run tractors for us in the summer.”

We were silent for a few long moments, facing each other. I was painfully unsure of what to say or do. I used to fix fences and swim in the creek with this man. No. Not man. Boy. A tween-age boy my sister had been crazy for. I was at a loss of what to say to him as an adult. Small talk could only last so long.

“I can’t remember the last time I saw you,” I said. Again, lies. Why did I say that? My breaths came in faster now. Heart raced.

He leaned back in his chair, studying me with a glint in his eyes. “You don’t? I have a great memory of the last time.”

Oh my gosh, was he going to bring it up? Why was he looking at me like that? Certainly, we were both past it. He didn’t bring it up, but he did let me sit with the memory swirling between us. Was he trying not to laugh?

“I think the milk’s ready.”

His low voice gave me a start. The pinging electricity in the air wasn’t helping my jumpiness either. I glanced behind me. The milk was steaming in the pot so I pulled it off the burner and added the chocolate powder. My quaking fingers were my only giveaway as he watched me pour him a cup in silence. I brought the mug toward him and pushed it closer to him on the bar.

He made no move to reach for it but continued to watch me instead.

Self-consciously, I brought my hand up to my hair. Dark black strands spilling out every which way from my top bun. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting company. I usually brush my hair for guests.”

He smiled but said nothing. Another awkward pause grew between us and it was slowly killing me.

He took a sip. I watched his Adam”s apple do its thing and then I swallowed, though I had nothing but spit going down my gullet. Where was the track? All this restless energy had me feeling I could run a hundred miles.

Geez, Lucy. A date. Once in a while. Just to take the edge off.

Crickets. Silence. I had never been great at small talk, which was probably why I worked with children. I never had to use small talk. They were plenty full of big talk. I should be asking him a thousand questions, but nothing was coming to my brain. The airwaves had shut down.

His cup hit the bar with a loud clunk. “Alright, I gotta break the ice. This is torture.”

My eyes widened, begging him not to bring it up.

“The last time I remember seeing you I was fifteen and you had just attempted to kiss me. Then, like some tragic country love song, I never saw you again.”

He brought it up.

At that point, my face was hidden behind my hands, but he took that as an invitation to keep going.

“I never even got a chance to tell you that you did it wrong.”

My hands parted like the Red Sea. “What?”

“You did it wrong.” He took another sip. Self-assured.

“How did I do it wrong? I mean, I know it was quick.”

“Lightning fast.”

“But that doesn’t mean it was done wrong.”

“You missed.”

My mouth fell open. “No, I didn’t.” I distinctly remember hitting lips. Warm, surprised lips encased over braces-filled teeth. The stuff of romantic dreams.

“You were somewhere in between my lower lip and chin.”

I stepped forward indignantly, my hands falling onto the bar, fully aware of the laughter in his eyes. “I would never be that embarrassing.” (Absolutely not true.) “I hit you right on the lips.”

“You popped up out of nowhere and your eyes were closed. You were lucky to know it was me.” He watched me squirm under his gaze. “Why’d you do it anyway? That’s plagued me for years.”

“Really? Plagued you? How does your wife feel about that?”

His eyebrows raised. “No wife. No girlfriend either. I can be plagued by it as much as I want.”

I blinked.

He looked like he was one step away from laughing. My tiny shameless plug to verify his relationship status had definitely backfired. My grandma had mentioned he was single, not to mention a strong, medium-built drink of hot water, but she had been known to flirt with younger married men too, from time to time. The harmless kind of old lady flirting—not the Fatal Attraction kind. And I wasn’t sure how close he was to my grandma. He could have gotten into a relationship last week, for all she knew.

I cleared my throat. “I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree.”

“About the kiss or my marital status? Cause I’m pretty sure on both.”

At my deer in the headlights look, he chuckled, drained his cup, and stood up. “Well, if you’re not going to spill your secrets, I’ve gotta get my cattle into a corral.” He started toward the front door before he stopped and turned back toward me. “Sorry, I guess I’m so used to being here, it’s a little too easy to make myself comfortable. Is there a corral out there I can use? Did Susan say I was okay to stay in one of the motel rooms? If not, I can stay in my truck or something. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Too late. But to him, I said, “Grandma basically told me to roll out the red carpet for you.”

He looked interested. “Really?”

“Don’t let it go to your head. It means I won’t make you freeze in your truck. And yes, there’s an empty corral out back. How many in your herd?”

“Eight.”

“Let me get my coat and boots on, and I’ll meet you out there.”

In the past half-hour since Dusty’s arrival, the snow had settled at least three inches higher, though it was hard to tell because the drifting was so bad from the wind. I had to use all my weight to open the back door. How did my grandparents live out here like this? Growing up, summer on the ranch had been magical.

This…was not.

Right? A handsome cowboy showing up stranded on our ranch for a few days was certainly not magical. Not the stuff of dreams. I definitely did not have a handful of dog-eared romance novels full of the very same plot.

It was just…uncomfortable. That was all.