Saving the Sheriff: A Three River Ranch Novella (Entangled Bliss) (7 page)

“You’d be one also, but you haven’t faced your own loneliness yet.” She opened a couple of cans and dumped the contents into a pot. “Hence the Scrooge-ness.”

Red sat at the table and stared into the flickering candlelight. There it was again. Against all logic, he felt a pang of envy. He imagined his loneliness as a yawning void inside, one he kept carefully contained, lest he fall in and be destroyed.

He imagined Frankie opening hers and laughing into the depths, just to hear the echo.

“You may have a point,” he said, as if it were no big deal, as if facing the hurt could actually ease the ache.

“So.” She stirred the pot without looking at him, then flicked the starter on the propane stove. “Remember that scene in
Lethal Weapon
, where Rene Russo and Mel Gibson are comparing scars?”

The scene flashed into his mind, the teasing and flirting, clothing lifted or discarded, skin revealed by turns, the competition heightening the tension between them.

“It’s a good scene. You have something in mind?”

She continued stirring and he watched, spellbound. He could still feel her lips against his, taste the sweetness of her mouth. If it ended for him like it had for Mel, he wasn’t about to complain.

Then she looked up, catching him. She arched one eyebrow. “I’ve shown you mine.”

“No, you haven’t.” He got up and stood near her. “I’ll be happy to look though.”

She rolled her eyes. “Emotional scars. Not physical.”

He blinked. “I don’t have any emotional scars.”

“The Scrooge-ness would indicate otherwise,” she said with a wry smile. “Spill.”

“Oh. Well.” It was only fair. She’d revealed her soft underbelly. He forced out the next words. “First Christmas after my divorce, that’s all.”

Frankie lifted her gaze. “I’m sorry.” Oddly, the syrupy words that usually made him grit his teeth were different from her lips. He’d heard them so often—usually by people who claimed to be friends but ended up siding with Kayla—he’d learned to tune them out.

But from Frankie they sounded honest.

Her face grew soft and as their eyes locked, he felt something soothing wash over him, something healing, something he’d been desperate for.

“Thanks.” He cleared his throat. “It’s for the best. She’s a singer, got her chance to make it big in Nashville. I was going to go with her. Turned out, she wanted to go alone.”

He gave a little laugh and was gratified to see Frankie return it. He’d never admitted this to anyone. It felt surprisingly good.

“What about parents? Siblings?”

She didn’t let up.

“No way. Your turn.”

“I stripped down to nothing in the barn,” she said, focusing her attention on the pot again. “Metaphorically speaking. So it’s still your turn.”

Visions of Frankie, slowly turning to reveal every lovely aspect of her unclothed body, lifting her arms, running her hands over her ribs, cupping her breasts while he watched—

“Red?” She looked up from the pot. “Come on. Don’t be chicken.”

He cleared his throat. “I’m not. I just don’t have any scars to speak of. I mean, half the world’s divorced.”

“I asked about your family.”

He shrugged. “Nothing much there either.”

“Quit stalling. If you weren’t scarred, you’d be with them right now, instead of here, freezing your butt off with me.”

The teasing had returned to her voice.

Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound.

“Fine.” He got bowls out of the cupboard. Despite the topic of conversation, the domesticity was comforting. “My dad was military. We moved around a lot, never really put down roots. I’ve got twin sisters, eight years older than me. They’re married with kids—busy, you know?” He took a breath. “Mom died when I was nineteen. Dad remarried five years later, an army nurse. They’re both retired now but the wanderlust stuck. They’re in Indonesia now, I think. He’s happy. I’m happy for him.”

But wouldn’t it be great if someone cared about
his
happiness?

Frankie nodded. “I guess you’re sort of an only child, too.”

“More or less.” It was freeing, speaking with a perfect stranger, without judgment or preconceived notions. They’d go their separate ways once this was over, no need to be embarrassed about revealing your true self. No need to fear the repercussions.

“Everyone needs family, though. If not the blood then of the heart. That’s what Christmas is about, don’t you think?”

He shrugged. “I guess I don’t think about it much.”

“Oh, Red,” said Frankie. “That’s so sad.”

Even conversations with strangers, it seemed, could go too far.

Chapter Seven

A woof and the sound of engines roused Red out of a deep sleep. That and Frankie shaking his shou
lder.

“Red! Wake up.” A strand of hair slipped out of her ponytail and licked his cheek. “We’ve got company. What should I do?”

He sat up. Something was different. He rubbed his eyes against the brightness in the room.

“Is the power back on?” he asked.

“Would I still be wearing this lovely outfit if it was?”

She had a woolen blanket wrapped around her shoulders, beneath which the thermals of yesterday still poked. She looked warm and cuddly, like that present still waiting to be unwrapped.

The sun was out, that was it. And the howling wind was gone, leaving a dense silence in its place. Except for—

Voices. They were approaching the house, by the sound of them. Zach Gamble, coming to check in on him, no doubt.

Red scrambled to his feet, immediately freezing. Definitely no power. As soon as he moved away from the fire, he could see his breath.

The voices sounded louder. Mistral was leaping and scratching at the door.

“You survivin’ in here?” yelled a woman. “Sheriff LeClair? I’ve got a key but you’ve got a gun.”

“For God’s sake, Bliss,” yelled a man, “he’s not going to shoot you.”

Definitely Zach. The door opened, letting in a blast of even colder air.

“
¡Hola
?” A head of dark curls topped by a scarlet hat appeared. Desiree, Zach’s wife or fiancée. Or whatever.

“Hey, Sheriff!”

The dog whined and squirmed against her legs until the woman dropped to her knees and greeted her, black curls and chocolate shag colliding in a blur.

“Don’t you push past me, missy. And perhaps you and Mistral can move away from the doorway for your love-in. I swear, Rory’ll have your head for spoiling that dog.”

Carson’s housekeeper elbowed Desiree out of the way. Bliss was round and wrinkled like a raisin, and Des backed away like she was lit dynamite. Red had met Bliss a few times, but only briefly. His knowledge of her formidable authority was mostly secondhand but his sources had been adamant. You didn’t argue with Bliss.

“I brought a hamper.” The housekeeper glanced over her shoulder and pushed the door fully open. “No man lives on canned stew over Christmas. Not in my house.”

Zach appeared behind them backlit by the brilliant outdoor light, an enormous box in his arms.

Red straightened to his own full height but still wished he had his boots on. Or at least proper pants. He glanced at his clothes hanging in front of the fire. Then down at his wrinkled sweat pants and double-layered socks.

His visitors followed his glance and beyond, to where Frankie huddled in her blanket, hair mussed up on the side she’d been lying on.

The three at the door all saw her at the same time. Des stood up. Zach tilted his cowboy hat for a better look. Bliss paused in the act of pulling off a glove.

Red opened his mouth to explain—how, exactly, he wasn’t sure—but the housekeeper got there first.

“Well, it appears our lonely lawman had company, after all.” She turned around and made shooing motions to the others. “We’re gonna step back onto the porch for a minute while you two get decent. I’d say introductions are in order.”

She said introductions. But Red recognized an upcoming interrogation when he saw it.

…

“Who are they? You said no one would be here for days!” Frankie pulled on Rory’s now-crispy jeans and sweatshirt with shaking hands.

“I don’t live here, remember? I live in town. I never even thought about using snowmobiles to get around.” Red yanked off his sweat pants and leaped into his jeans, as if she wasn’t even there. “Zach and Des are the neighbors down the road. Bliss is the housekeeper here.”

“Now what are we going to do? Are you going to tell them what I did? Oh God, oh God, I was supposed to be gone by now! So were the elk!”

Red was zipping his parka already. “Don’t worry, I’ll go outside and talk to them. I’ll explain that you were stranded. That’s all they need to know.”

“What should I tell them? Red?”

“Whatever you want, Frankie. They’re good people,” he said, rubbing his chin. The bristles were darker and longer now, giving his face a ruddy shadow that emphasized his chiseled bone structure.

“You oughta be decent by now.” Thumping on the door accompanied Bliss’s words. “And we’re freezing our patooties off out here.”

Frankie stood on the far side of the fireplace, watching as they entered. The older woman, Bliss, definitely had an in-charge air about her.
Sex and the City
next to her, wearing lipstick to match her red hat and scarf, had big, dark eyes that, underneath the curiosity, screamed don’t-mess-with-me. Zach was big and handsome, but in a kind of obvious way, thought Frankie, glancing at Red. She guessed by Desiree’s hand on the man’s hip that they were together.

How wonderful it would be, thought Frankie, to have someone to hang onto during life’s uncertainties.

Suddenly Red was next to her, standing slightly in front, as if shielding her. She took a step closer, until she felt Red’s leg against hers. As always, when he was near, a wall of warmth and safety enveloped her. Frankie imagined his mouth against hers, his hand cupping her neck, the slide of their tongues as they met. She swallowed and forced the sensation away. She and Red had helped each other during this storm, but that was all. Whatever they had, it wasn’t real. They weren’t partners like Zach and Desiree obviously were. As soon as they figured out what to do with the caribou, she and Red would part.

“I’m Bliss Henderson, housekeeper here at Three River Ranch.” The older woman pointed to her companions. “Zachary Gamble, of Twinridge. Desiree Burke, Zach’s fiancée, who mostly lives in sin with him, far as I can tell.”

Desiree stepped forward, slanting a dark look at Bliss, and stuck out her hand.

“Actually, I run a therapeutic riding center here at Three River’s arena,” she explained. Then she smiled, as if in approval. “I see Red from time to time, helping Carson with the mustangs. He’s a good man.”

Color rose in Red’s neck. “I don’t do much.”

“You’ve done enough to earn Carson’s trust,” said Zach, greeting them both in turn. “I know I promised him I’d look in on you, but the weather got too ugly.”

“And I told him I’d be fine,” said Red with a smile. “This is Francesca Sylva. I happened onto her on Christmas Eve, just before the storm hit. Probably won’t find her car until spring.”

Red rested a light hand on the small of her back and instinctively, she leaned toward him.

“Call me Frankie.” But before she could say more, Bliss took both her cold hands in hers and looked her up and down, her lined face full of concern.

“Thank the Lord the sheriff found you! Did you crash your car? Are you hurt?”

“No, no!” Frankie hastened to reassure her. But, again, the sense of being cared for swept through her. “I got…turned around. Red’s taken excellent care of me. Keeping the fire going and the wood stocked.”

“And it turns out Frankie’s quite a hand with a propane stove and a can opener,” added Red. “She’s been a godsend helping out with the livestock, too.”

Bliss’s eyes narrowed. She pursed her lips. “Well then. I’m glad to hear it.”

“Thought I’d give you a hand with the chores,” said Zach, looking out toward the barns.

Red immediately began pulling on his boots. “Have you got power at your place?”

“Backup generator,” said Zach. “You can’t run a commercial establishment without one these days. But Three River’s not set up that way.”

They stomped out, letting the door slam behind them. She and Red had only spent a couple of days together, but now Frankie felt oddly alone without him. Especially since the women seemed to think she and Red were…together. And she didn’t know how to explain that they weren’t, since that meant she’d have to tell them what had brought her to the ranch.

Plus there were two of them and only one of her. And despite the fact that she hadn’t wanted to be here in the first place, she didn’t exactly want to dwell on the fact that she was leaving soon.

“What Zach didn’t say is that our house is just as cold and dark as yours,” said Des, shaking snow off her jeans. “All the juice goes to keeping the barns humming but can we divert a little so I can take a bath?
¡Mierda!”

A mass of glossy black curls tumbled over Des’s collar. Frankie quickly pulled her own lank hair into a ponytail, trying to remember if she’d brushed her teeth.

“No one said you can’t take a bath,” said Bliss.

“Right.” Des shuddered. “In snowmelt. Isn’t that right up there with waterboarding?”

“So.” Bliss leaned toward Frankie as if sharing a secret. “How are you really, honey? My heart goes out to you. Spending Christmas away from your people, stranded with a perfect stranger.”

“He is pretty perfect, isn’t he?” Des waggled her eyebrows. “Consider yourself warned, Frankie. Something about these mountains convinces previously sane women to give up Starbucks for saddle sores. Or maybe you’re not single?”

“Oh, I’m single,” answered Frankie. The flood of female conversation was comforting, if overwhelming. “And fine, really and truly.”

“Good!” said Bliss with a wink. “Happy to hear it.”

The women moved to the fire, Bliss and Des on either side of Frankie, peeling their outerwear to let the warmth inside.

“My, this feels good after that ride.” Bliss sighed. “I thought my hands might be frozen in the hang-on-for-dear-life position.”

She flexed her fingers, and Frankie had the sensation she was just gearing up. She was right.

“Thank the good Lord our handsome sheriff happened along when he did, Frankie.” Bliss cast a benign smile her way, and Frankie recognized the steel behind it.

“I know.” She rubbed her arms, then hugged them tight against her body. The night everything had gone wrong had turned into the beginning of a Christmas she’d never forget. Madame Universe had a pretty backhanded way of giving gifts, but Frankie wasn’t complaining. She could trust Red with her questionable actions and that wasn’t something a person found every day. Maybe he was on her side because the rescued caribou were his problem now too. Maybe it was because he cared about her.

She thought of his quiet movements in the night, stoking the fire, tucking warm blankets around her. The way he’d eased her panic in the barn. Surely that meant he cared.

Or at least, cared as much as a guy like him could.

Her arms grew prickly and chilled again. Why was she even thinking this way? It didn’t matter if he cared! She was leaving—the sooner, the better.

For now at least she and Red had become allies of sorts. But she still had to keep up her guard with these strangers.

“Where were you headed, Frankie, that you ended up here?”

“Um…Kalispell.” As soon as she said it, she kicked herself. Why hadn’t she devised a proper cover story? She scrambled for the names of any cities she’d passed on her way. “I mean, I’m from Kalispell. I was heading for Havre. But I was in Shelby. Visiting…friends.”

Both women looked at her skeptically. Frankie felt her cheeks flame, and not from the fire. She was definitely not cut out for a life of crime.

“Whichever it is,” drawled Bliss, “you must have the worst sense of direction since old Chris set out for India.”

“Not my proudest moment.” An understatement if she’d ever made one.

“Your people must be worried sick about you,” said Des. “Do they know you’re okay?”

“Of course,” lied Frankie. “I mean, they weren’t expecting me until next week. They’re away. We’re not close.”

Des and Bliss exchanged glances, not of suspicion, exactly, but as if they were gathering clues to a puzzle.

“She’s blushing,” said Des, as if Frankie wasn’t in the room. “And squirming!”

Bliss pursed her lips. “Des honey, if I were a betting woman, I’d bet she’s hiding something.”

“I’m—” Frankie attempted to interrupt.

“Oh no doubt about that.” Des tapped a finger against her lip. “Question is, what?”

“Murder?” The housekeeper winked at her. “With that face, she could get away with it.”

They were joking. They had to be joking.

“Our sheriff wouldn’t keep a killer around. Maybe she’s one of them white-collar criminals,” Bliss continued.

Des considered this. “Nah. She can’t lie to save her life. Look at her.”

Wow, thought Frankie. At least Red gave her a chance to answer.

Suddenly Bliss hooted. “Look at her, all twisted up with guilt! Relax, honey, we’re just having fun.”

“Fun.” Frankie reached behind her for the chair and lowered herself onto it shakily. “Sure.”

“That Sheriff LeClair though.” Bliss’s expression darkened. “He’s the one deserves a going over. He sure had us fooled, didn’t he, Des?”

Oh no, thought Frankie. Would they figure out that Red was covering for her?

Des elbowed Frankie lightly. “And here we all thought he was shy. How come he wanted to hide it?”

“Hide…what?”

“Here I was feeling sorry for him, all alone and brokenhearted at Christmas. The whole time, he’s snuggled up with his secret little sweetheart.” Bliss shook her head. “Nothing more romantic than being trapped together in a storm, with a nice fire to keep you cozy.”

They thought she and Red were…lovers? The idea sent a fresh wave of heat through her.

They weren’t lovers. They barely even knew each other.