Coming Home (19 page)

Flouncing out of the kitchen, she spent the rest of the day hanging a couple of pictures and trying out different arrangements of furniture. She'd sold most of her furniture before leaving New York and since arriving in Oak Valley, she hadn't done much about replacing it, but she'd gotten the basics, with a few treats she just couldn't resist like the large screen television for the living room and the huge, ornate cherry-wood armoire that matched her equally large canopied bed and nightstands. Eventually, she planned on a small table and chairs to place near the windows, maybe a desk and another chair for her bedroom, but for now, she was satisfied. And of course, the guest bedrooms, the dining room, and the great room would require more furniture, but she wasn't in a rush. She was too busy savoring the quiet pleasure of owning and living in her own home. No place she had ever lived, no matter how elegant and costly, had filled her with the same possessive joy. She loved her house!

She frowned. And she resented anything that took her away from it … such as Sloan and Shelly's impetuously planned New Year's Eve gathering tomorrow night. She sighed. She'd been looking forward to spending New Year's Eve in solitary splendor—she'd already selected the crimson silk lounging pajamas she'd wear, even the perfume—Red to match the pajamas. She'd planned to put on the latest Gipsy Kings CD, open a bottle of really good wine, red naturally, bake an artichoke frittata and sitting on the floor before the fire in the great room, revel in her privacy. And if she spied the lights from her neighbor across the way, she'd drink a toast to him or her. She'd be alone, but not lonely. Big difference, she thought. She'd dreamed of waking up on New Year's Day in her own bedroom, of later pouring herself a cup of coffee, and then if it wasn't raining or snowing as predicted, walking out on the half-completed terrace at the back and looking down at the valley. She wanted to savor the moment as she stood there on her own terrace and stared down at the valley, St. Galen's spread out below her like a child's toy village. She pictured standing there enjoying the simple pleasure of a hot cup of coffee as she reflected on all that had been accomplished these past months and all she hoped to accomplish in the coming year.

Her lips twisted. But that wasn't going to happen.

Not this year anyway. No, just as the bonds that bound families together had changed her plans for her first night in the house, so had her plans for the New Year's holiday been changed. Shelly and Sloan would have been hurt if she had refused to attend
their
first New Year's gathering. Since that had been something she had been loath to do, she had cheerfully pushed aside her own plans, besides baking the frittata to take to the party, and reminded herself that this was one of the reasons she had come back to the valley—family. She shook her head. Living in New York, for years all she'd had to consider was whether or not
she
really wanted to do something—not the feelings of others. It was weird the way that affection impacted your life. Not, she told herself hastily, that she was going to be at the beck and call of the family at a drop of a hat—she wasn't that selfless. She grinned. Hardly. Honesty made her admit that she was going to have a good time at Shelly and Sloan's and it would probably be more fun. Besides, there would be other New Year holidays to celebrate … Who knew, maybe this time next year, there would even be someone special to share the day with … Her nose wrinkled. Nah. Never happen. She'd been her own woman too long.

She wasn't due at the party until six o'clock, but Roxanne gave herself plenty of time and left the house for the drive out to Sloan and Shelly's place just after five o'clock. Shadows were beginning to creep around the buildings and trees and she enjoyed the almost spooky drive to the valley floor, watching as her headlights turned ordinary objects like crooked snags and manzanita bushes into goblins—at least to someone with an active imagination, she thought with a giggle.

Sloan and Shelly only lived about fifteen, sixteen miles away, but taking in the rugged terrain between here and there it wasn't just a simple drive. They lived about ten miles out the Tilda Road, up in the mountains at the north end of the valley. The Tilda Road itself was a good five or six miles from her place and once she reached the valley floor, she was able to make good time … until she reached the Tilda Road and the pavement stopped. In a series of hairpin curves, the road rose steeply in front of her, and leaving the valley behind, she grimaced as the Jeep hit a hole that shook the entire vehicle. From here on out it would be slow, careful going. The rough, graveled Tilda Road was littered with potholes, some Sloan swore were the size of Delaware, and twisted like an angry snake—it made the road to Oak Valley seem like a four-lane freeway. All part of its charm, she told herself as the Jeep rattled and protested when she hit one of those Delaware-sized potholes.

She hadn't driven more than three miles up in the mountains when huge, wet snowflakes began to splat against the windshield and float in the air. Gee, for once, she thought, smiling, the weathermen actually got it right. Then she sighed. Oh, how she would have loved being all snug and warm in her own house watching the snow fall, instead of driving out to her brother's place. What we do for love, she thought ruefully.

She had barely completed that thought when the Jeep gave a cough, a lurch, and stopped. Just stopped. The lights still shone brightly, the dash was lit up, but there was no go.

Puzzled, she turned off the ignition, then on again, trying to restart the vehicle. Nothing. She stared at the gauges, her heart sinking when she noticed the gasoline gauge; the needle rested firmly on empty.

Biting back a curse that would have made an ironworker blush, she frowned at the gauge. How could that be? Why, she'd filled the gas tank only. … She grimaced. When had she last filled the Jeep? She couldn't remember.

Staring accusingly at the gas gauge, she considered the situation. Not good. She glanced outside. In the glare from her headlights only encroaching blackness and swirling snow met her gaze and mindful of the drain on the battery, she turned off the lights. Darkness closed down on her.

Nibbling at her bottom lip she considered the situation. The Tilda Road was
not a
busy thoroughfare. It wasn't a heavily populated area either, not even sparsely populated. A few people lived out here, but well off the road, like in
miles
off the road, with miles between neighbors. It wasn't as if good neighbor Sam was suddenly going to appear with a gas canor that she could just scamper down a handy driveway and find shelter and a phone with an obliging homeowner. She groaned. And brilliant woman that she was, she'd left her cell phone back at the house. It was just a short drive out to her brother's … why would she need a phone? Ha! She was stuck. In the middle of nowhere, in the dark, in the snow, and the only creatures she was likely to meet except
maybe
someone else on their way to the party, were cougars, bears, foxes, and skunks. On New Year's Eve.

She looked down at her snug-fitting black suede jeans, matching vest, and leopard print silk shirt she'd chosen to wear tonight. Large gold hoops swung from her ears, a delicate multifaceted gold chain hung around her neck, and a snappy pair of leopard-printed microsuede boots with gold heels completed the outfit. Not what she would have selected to wear while tramping through the snow and the wilderness that lay outside the Jeep's windows. But help was at hand. Since it was planned for everyone to stay the night, she'd packed a couple of changes of clothes—heavy socks, boots, jeans, blouses, and sweaters—and a jacket. She didn't look forward to adding clothes, but with no gas, there wasn't any heat in the Jeep and she sure wasn't dressed for the weather.

OK, she could bundle up and put on every piece of clothing she'd brought with her. Maybe she wouldn't freeze. She flicked on the lights for a moment, trying to get her bearings, wondering if she was really considering trekking for help.

The Tilda Road wasn't a full two lanes wide; it was wide enough to pass, barely, in most places, provided the meeting vehicles dove instantly to their side of the road. Because of the narrowness of the road, it was customary to drive pretty much down the center—until and if you met an oncoming vehicle. Following normal practice, Roxanne's Jeep was stopped almost in the middle of the road. The only good thing she could see in the situation was that it was on one of the few fairly straight stretches; anyone coming up on her would have warning and not just come barreling around a curve to smash into the back of the Jeep. Remembering the flares in the back, she scrabbled around and found one. Heedless of the icy weather, she jumped out of the Jeep, got the flare lit, and threw it on the ground in back of the Jeep.

Shivering, she hurried back into the relative warmth of the Jeep. Inside, she grabbed her suitcase and dragged it to the front seat. Getting and keeping warm was imperative. Ten minutes later, a pair of denim jeans pulled over the suede ones, another blouse and two sweaters added to what she was already wearing, two pairs of socks and her hiking boots on her feet, she figured she was as prepared as she was going to get. Her heavy leather jacket lay on the seat beside her—she was saving it for when it got
really
cold—like around two o'clock in the morning.

Arms wrapped around herself, she stared out at theblackness, wondering if she shouldn't try to find help before it got later … and colder and the snow deeper. She bit her lip. Leaving the safety and confines of the Jeep was not appealing and she was conscious of her lack of knowledge of the area. Sure, she'd grown up around here, but that was twenty years ago and those intervening years had been spent where takeout was only a phone call away, neon lights came on at sundown, and there were people
everywhere.

The fact that she'd be missed gave her some comfort and there was the distinct possibility that help would arrive in the form of another partygoer. She brightened. Of course. She couldn't have been the last person on the way to Sloan and Shelly's. Ilka or Ross or Nick or someone else invited to the party was bound to drive up any minute now.

That thought had just crossed her mind when the sweep of lights behind her caught her attention and the soft growl of another vehicle seeped inside the Jeep. Elation swept through her. Help had arrived—and before she really became worried or really cold. Was she born under a lucky star or what?

The other vehicle stopped and there was the slamming of a door. A big bulky male form appeared at her window and tapped impatiently on the glass.

Rolling down the window, she smiled brilliantly up at Jeb Delaney. She was even happy to see him. Any refuge in the storm, she reminded herself.

Jeb did not appear happy to see her. “What in hell,” he demanded, “are you doing stopped in the middle of the road?” He glanced back at the shimmering flare. “At least you had the brains to put out a warning.”

She kept her smile in place, although it took an effort—a big effort—and said politely, “No gas.”

His black brows snapped together and he glared down at her. “Are you telling me,” he snarled, “that you've run out of gas?”

Roxanne smiled even more brilliantly. “You got it, big guy. Flat out empty. Bone dry. Not a drop in the tank.”
“I suppose it would do me little good to remind you that this isn't New York—that gas stations do not abound, nor is there help ready on every corner?”

She opened her eyes very wide, her smile even brighter. “Gee, you know, I never noticed.” She fluffed her hair. “Silly little ole me.”
“Knock it off,” he growled. “You could have been in trouble. Real trouble if I hadn't come along.”

Her jaw hardened. “I would have been uncomfortable and probably not happy with the situation, but I was not in any danger—except of spending a cold, miserable night in the Jeep.” Her eyes burned like amber fire. “Why don't you just buzz off? I'll wait for a more congenial rescuer.”

“And that's another thing,” he began, the snow dusting his black hat and broad shoulders under the black leather jacket he wore, “you shouldn't have opened your window to just anyone. We may nothave the sickos that frequent the big cities, but there
are
guys around here that you really don't want to meet alone on a night like this. You were a damned fool to have opened your window like that.”

“I know,” she snapped, and promptly rolled it back up.

Hands on his hips, growing colder by the moment, Jeb glared at her. She glared back, her chin set at that stubborn angle that drove him nuts.

It was a standoff. Muttering under his breath, Jeb knocked on the window. “Open it,” he mouthed when she just stared at him. Her chin went up a notch higher.

He closed his eyes, counting to ten. He'd probably strangle her one of these days. He took a deep breath. OK, maybe he'd come on a little strong. But Jesus! The fright she'd given him when he'd rounded that last bend and spied the jaunty little black Jeep sitting forlornly in the middle of the road. Of course, he recognized it immediately and the shot of pure fear that had gone through him wasn't something he wanted to experience again anytime soon. His imagination working overtime, terrified that she'd been hurt, or worse, wasn't in the vehicle, had him flying out of his truck before he'd had time to think. The relief that had gone through him when he realized she was safe had left him, he'd admit, a mite testy.

He opened his eyes and stared at her stony profile. He took another breath and, tapping the window, shouted, “I'm sorry. Can we start again?”

She eyed him. Sniffed. And slowly rolled down the window.

He bent down, his hands firmly on the door of the Jeep … and the window. “Ran out of gas, did you? Bad luck,” he said. “Were you on your way to Sloan and Shelly's?”

She nodded, not giving an inch.

He smiled and she blinked, her heart behaving erratically as he leaned there, the snow falling gently around him, giving her the full benefit of that mesmerizing smile. His teeth gleamed whitely beneath the heavy black mustache, faint attractive lines crinkling near his long-lashed eyes, and she looked at him, really looked at him for the first time. Why, he's handsome, she thought stupidly as her gaze roved over his craggy face. Very, very handsome. Her gaze dropped to his mouth and she suddenly remembered what those lips had felt like on hers. Breathing became difficult. She swallowed. Uh oh. She was in trouble. Bad,
bad
trouble.