High Lonesome

HIGH LONESOME

by

Stacey Coverstone

Copyright © 2008 by Stacey Coverstone

http://www.staceycoverstone.com

Cover Art © Sheri L. McGathy

Digital Layout by
www.formatting4U.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

DEDICATION

To my brother, Brian Marvin,

to my supportive parents, Don and Bev Marvin,

and to my husband, Paul, for his love and encouragement in all things I do.

Chapter One

Scott Landry rolled to a stop and threw his pickup into park. He switched off the radio, which had been blaring country music, and leaned across the seat to crank the passenger window all the way down.

The woman shuffling down the dirt road stopped and turned her head. Peering at her, the thing he noticed first was her emerald-colored eyes. Second, he noted her disheveled appearance. He was thirty-two and at a quick glance, he guessed her to be close to his age. Her face was pretty, but smudged with dirt, and her long ebony hair was tangled and unkempt. She wore sweatpants and a fitted tee shirt, but the shirt was ripped along the shoulder. She didn’t carry a purse or a backpack. Not even a bottle of water. Scott’s gut quickened.

“Hello,” he called. “Can I help you? You look lost.”

The woman stared at him with a blank expression.

It was apparent she was out of her element and needed assistance. He pushed open the squeaky door and stepped out of the truck. As he sauntered around to the front, the woman’s eyes grew wide and she took off in a sprint down the road.

“Wait!” Scott hollered, running after her. He punched down his cowboy hat to keep it from flying off.

She hadn’t gotten a hundred feet when she collapsed to the ground like a rag doll. He rushed to her, knelt down, and found her unconscious. Gently, he lifted her head and patted her cheek.

“Wake up, ma’am.” Lacing his fingers around her neck, he raised her into his lap. As she lay limp, he saw an angry purple bruise splotching the inside of her arm. When he brushed the waterfall of hair out of her eyes, he spied a lump on her forehead as big as a goose egg.

His gaze raked over the woman. She was built small—no heavier than a feather in his arms—and her skin was flawless. A smattering of freckles dotted her upturned nose. Her long eyelashes and heart-shaped lips were those of an angel. A heart string vibrated in his chest. He couldn’t begin to imagine how she’d found herself wandering the desert in the shape she was in. He placed his hand on her uninjured arm and jiggled until she stirred.

When she came to and their gazes met, her eyes grew enormous. Uttering a soft cry, she struggled to break free from his hold.

“Hang on, ma’am. I’m not gonna hurt you.” Scott released her and she attempted to stand, but her knees buckled once more. “Take it easy,” he drawled. “Let me help. You just fainted. You might pass out again.” He slowly offered his hand.

She searched his face for a long moment. With a wary look still in her eye, she placed her hand in his and let him pull her off the ground. Wobbling, she backed away and stared.

When she didn’t speak, he said, “My name’s Scott Landry. I think you oughtta go over there and sit in my truck. You need to get out of the hot sun. I’ve got a bottle of water inside.”

The woman gave her head a vigorous shake. Her eyes darted up and down the long, meandering road.

His gaze followed. “Don’t
even
think about making a run for it again,” he warned in a good-natured tone. Though he could see she was as scared and jittery as a caged animal, he wasn’t interested in another jog. “I’m not wearing running shoes, as you can see.” He pointed to his well-worn cowboy boots. Then he sidestepped past her and opened the passenger door of his truck. After reaching inside for the water bottle, which sat on the console, he took one easy step forward and offered it to her. Tentatively, she accepted.

“You go ahead and have a seat in the truck and I’ll stand way over there.” Scott nodded toward a clump of sagebrush at the side of the road. “I understand you wanting to be cautious. I won’t even go near the driver’s side. In fact, you can hold my keys if it makes you feel better.” When he tossed his truck keys to her, the woman caught them, but she didn’t make a move toward the truck.

The spurs on Scott’s boots jingled as he sauntered to the bush. He shoved his hands into the back pockets of his Wranglers. “You don’t need to be afraid of me. I was just coming home from picking up grain for my horses.” To assure her he was telling the truth, he jerked his head in the direction of the truck bed where bags of grain were stacked. “I have a ranch right down this road. You’re lucky I came along when I did. You don’t look well. Now go ahead and drink all that water. I think you’re dehydrated.”

Still on guard, the woman watched him from beneath dark lashes as she raised the bottle to her lips and gulped the entire contents. Some water dribbled down her chin. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and tossed him the empty bottle. After taking a couple of steps, she began to sway. Her eyes suddenly rolled back in her head.

“Whoa.” Scott rushed forward and grabbed her, just in time to break her fall. She slid into his arms like a stick of melting butter. He swept her into his arms, carried her to the truck and deposited her in the front seat. Again, he patted her cheek in order to wake her. Her eyes opened.

“What happened?” she asked, speaking for the first time. “I feel lightheaded.”

“You fainted, for the second time.”

“Oh.” She rested her head on the back of the seat. Sighing, she raised her hand to her forehead and winced when she felt the bump.

“You have a pretty big knot there,” Scott told her.

Her voice was soft. There was no sign of a country accent when she asked, “How did that happen?”

“I was hoping you might be able to tell me.”

She stared at him like she was trying to place him. “Do I know you?”

“I don’t think so. I’d remember you if we’d met.” He squinted. “If you don’t mind my asking, what are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere? Where’s your car?”

The woman rotated her head. Scott wondered what she was thinking as her curious gaze scanned the miles of desert land, flowering cactus, turquoise skies, and red mountains in the near distance. She wore a confused expression when she turned back to him.

“Where am I?”

“Where are you supposed to be?”

“I asked you first.”

A grin tugged at his lips. “Do you want to know which road you’re on?”

“No. Yes. Oh…I don’t know. What town are we in? What state? None of this looks familiar.” She glanced around again.

“You’re on the outskirts of Ghost Rock, New Mexico. Did your car break down somewhere?”

She ignored the question and trouble settled on her professional groomed brows. “New Mexico? Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. I was born and raised close by. I don’t recall seeing you before. I take it you’re not from around here.”

She thought a minute. “I don’t know.” As she studied her dirty and torn clothes, the realization of the situation must have sunk in. Her voice lifted an octave. “What’s going on? Did you do this to me? Did you hurt me?” Her face petrified into a terrified expression.

“No,” Scott replied quickly. He purposefully spoke with a calm demeanor. “I was driving by and saw you stumbling down this road. I stopped to help.”

She touched her bruised arm and cringed. “My arm hurts. Who did this to me?”

“Don’t you remember how that happened?”

She shook her head.

Unease snuck along Scott’s chest wall. He crouched, placed his knee on the running board, and looked her square in the eye. “What’s your name?”

Her narrow shoulders hitched and her green eyes welled. “I have no idea.”

Scott lifted his cowboy hat and raked his fingers through his hair. “You’re not carrying a purse, and those sweats don’t have pockets, so I’m guessing you have no ID on you.”

She shrugged.

“I don’t suppose you recall how you got that knot on your head either?”

“No.” The woman touched the lump again and grimaced. “I have a bad headache.”

“I bet you do.” He pushed the passenger door closed, walked around to the driver’s side of the truck, hopped in and slammed the door. Their gazes locked. “You’re gonna have to trust me, ma’am. My ranch is just a couple of miles on down this way. If you give me my keys, I’ll drive you there, and I’ll get you something to eat and drink. I have a friend who’s a doctor. I’ll call her and she can take a look at your injuries. Will that be all right with you?”

She nodded. “I guess I don’t have much choice.”

“No, I don’t think you do,” Scott said in agreement.

“I’m sorry to put you out like this,” she said.

“Don’t be sorry. Just promise you’re not going to jump out of my truck and run away again.” He winked.

Offering him a weak smile, she said, “I promise.”

He stretched out his palm and she placed the keys in it. “Buckle your seat belt, ma’am. This pile of rust jerks when I start ‘er up.”

Ten minutes later, they passed under a wooden arch with a sign reading
High Lonesome Guest Ranch
. Scott noticed her staring as they drove by the large barn and corral, where a half dozen people saddled horses that were tied to posts. Her gaze shifted to the rustic cabins in the distance nestled at the foot of red sandstone mountains. Up a short but steep hill, situated on a green lawn, was Scott’s home, a two-story pine log dwelling with a metal roof and a covered porch stretching the entire length of the house. On the porch sat eight white wooden rockers, as well as huge terracotta pots bursting with pink and purple petunias. Another sign, posted above the front door, read
Headquarters.

The woman glanced at Scott for an explanation. He pulled into a gravel lot next to the house and parked in front of a hitching post.

Shutting off the motor, he told her, “This is a dude ranch. I own seven thousand acres, and guests come here to ride horses, take in the scenery, and enjoy the climate. We call this place the High Lonesome. You probably saw the sign.”

She nodded. “It’s beautiful.”

“Thanks. We have miles of trails leading up into the mountains, a lake, and caves which were inhabited by ancient Indians.” He exited the truck, slammed the door and walked around to open her door. Extending his hand to help her out, her palm trembled when it slid into his.

“I feel so weak,” she said. “I think I might faint again.”

“Hang on. I’ll help you into the house.”

She linked her arm through his, and he led her into the log home by way of the back door, which opened to the kitchen. Her gaze latched onto the older Mexican woman standing behind the counter mixing batter in a large stainless steel bowl.

Scott spoke but didn’t bother with introductions. “Carmen, could you please get me a glass of ice water and grab a bottle of aspirin and bring them to my bedroom?”

His cook plunked the bowl down on the counter. She ran her inquisitive gaze up and down the woman.

“
Si
,” she replied. “I’ll be right up.” She wiped her hands on her apron and then shuffled to the refrigerator to pour cold water from a big glass pitcher into a tall glass.

“Did you say your bedroom?” the woman asked.

Scott kept a firm hand at the small of her back and guided her up the rear stairway. “Yeah, but don’t get any funny ideas. I don’t even kiss on the first date,” he teased, hoping to make her feel more at ease.

“Oh, my head.” She lost her balance and slumped against Scott’s shoulder. “I don’t feel so good.” Once again, he hefted her into his arms, and her head sunk onto his chest as he carried her up the stairs. He kicked open the bedroom door with his boot and carted her to his iron bed. Carmen rushed in behind them and turned back the covers.

As Scott eased the woman onto the mattress, she moaned. Carmen handed him the glass of water and pill bottle and then stood at the footboard.

Scott perched on the edge of the bed and offered the water. “Drink this, ma’am. Here are some aspirin for your headache, too.” He opened his palm, which held two little white pills. She scooped them up, popped them into her mouth and sipped from the glass, then let her eyes drift shut.

“Mr. Scott, who is she?” Carmen asked.

“I don’t know. I found her a couple of miles down the road. It looks like she’s been in an accident. Could you please call Doctor Coleman’s office and see if she has time to run out here and take a look at her? I’m going to get a wet wash cloth to clean her face with.”