Stranger in Paradise (13 page)

A small laugh escaped his lips. He sauntered back to the coffee table, thinking about the strange encounter and the fact that he’d probably need to reheat his stew. To his surprise, he found the dish empty—clean as a whistle. Sadie wagged her tail as though to say thanks for the treat, then realizing his displeasure, ducked her head and slunk back to her bed, where she curled up and looked up at him with a woeful expression. Her soft brown gaze shot to his, silently pleading for absolution. Isn’t that just like a female? With the face of an angel, they sucker you in and the next thing you know you’re in a world of hurt. His thoughts sprang back to his recent encounter with eyes the color of a summer sky. Wyatt released an uneasy sigh. Sure as the north wind blowing fiercely outside, he felt the swirl of the impending storm stirring inside of him.

***

Aimee gripped the steering wheel and tried to convince herself her body’s uncontrolled trembling had more to do with the cold than her unplanned meeting of the dark-eyed cowboy. She fumbled with the heat, one eye on the view in front of her, and tried to see where the snow had drifted across the road. Abandoning her efforts to stay warm, she leaned forward to stay focused, watching the snow-matted signs so she wouldn’t miss her turn. Her mind drifted back to the handsome stranger’s dark hair and how it curled slightly at the ends. Those gravy stains on his white T-shirt were hard to miss, and she realized she’d interrupted his dinner. Probably just in from his chores, he had that comfortable in-for-the-evening look about him in his worn jeans and unbuttoned shirt that flashed ideas of snuggling on a couch on such a cold night. She hadn’t seen any photos indicating a wife or kids as she waited for him to retrieve the map, but given his bristly attitude, she wondered if he’d recently come out of a difficult relationship. He seemed to be a man of integrity, appeared successful, and Lord in heaven, from a pure physical standpoint, he was her idea of a cowboy, from his honed muscles, and the perfect fit of his worn jeans to the glint in his espresso-colored eyes. And he was doing well. Any doubt of that ended the moment she walked into the spacious great room. With a cathedral ceiling, it was a gorgeous blend of a rustic lodge and modern comfort. Honey-colored pine rafters formed the open framework, running the entire length of the ceiling. Two leather couches faced one another in front of a massive, handcrafted stone fireplace and a set of wingbacks upholstered in a rich black-and-red plaid rounded out the warm and inviting seating arrangement. Massive woven area rugs, in reds, golds, browns, most probably handcrafted by local American Indian artisans, accentuated the gleam of the warm, polished dark wood floors. It was as grand as anything Aimee had ever seen. Her head was on a swivel as she took in the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and the wall of windows across the back of the room. A large-screen television hung over the grand fireplace and what looked like an open office area overlooked the back of the house. She felt as though she’d walked into a layout of American Cowboy magazine. How in the world had she missed seeing such a tall, cool drink of fine in town?

The sight of a large buck standing at the edge of the road snapped her back to the present. No match for him in her Subaru, she slowed and waited, her eyes darting back and forth to the rearview mirror, hoping no one would come around the bend and reared her. The animal’s ebony eyes sparkled in the glare of her headlights and she swore he looked right through the front window, defiantly challenging which of them would move first. He turned his head majestically over his shoulder and a female deer with two fawns appeared, inching cautiously to his side and then past him. His head came up and his gaze met Aimee’s as his family crossed the road, blending into the darkness on the other side. She stared in rapt fascination at the protective way he watched them. Then, when he was certain of their safety, he followed, ignoring Aimee’s presence entirely. Her heart beat in wild exhilaration at the sight. Aside from her recent encounter, it was the first exciting thing that had happened to her since moving to this remote area. She had to admit, there was a stirring in her blood as she noted the remarkable likeness of the stag’s intense gaze to the cowboy she’d just met. Aimee eased the car forward and realized suddenly she’d been so flustered by the circumstances that she’d forgotten to ask his name. Perhaps more disappointing, however, was he hadn’t bothered to ask hers. Still, the overprotection of a complete stranger was endearing, in an old-fashioned way. Surely, someone in town could tell her about him.

She drove carefully down the narrow road, flanked either side by pine trees, grateful that someone with a large truck had driven through the pass recently, leaving a clear path for her to follow. “Finally,” she said with a sigh when she saw the outline of Fred’s Garage at the edge of town. Not much farther, should be this place called Dusty’s. She’d known about it, but as the new second-grade teacher, debated whether it was wise to frequent the only bar in town. However, in End of the Line, it seemed to be the only place to socialize besides Betsy’s Café. She hoped it wouldn’t be too busy on a night like this. A quiet drink sounded good.

She slowed and searched the array of pickup trucks parked in the gravel lot. The pink neon light flashing Dusty’s was an enticing welcome to her frazzled nerves. She passed the first drive, battling the wisdom of turning in, and saw her last chance looming beyond a short snowdrift, a few feet ahead. With a sigh, she yanked on the wheel and pulled her car into a spot between two massive pickup trucks. She sat for a moment, still debating the social consequences, but her need for a peaceful drink outweighed the potential for scandal. She locked the door, hooked her purse over her shoulder, and headed for the front door, almost dissuaded by the catcalls of two older men who were leaving. She ignored them, pulled open the door, and hoped at least one of them was sober enough to drive. The music of the jukebox blared in the near-empty room and she felt the stiffness in her shoulders relax. Raucous male laughter filtered in from the back room, where she surmised a pool table must be. Cautiously, she unzipped her jacket and looked for a quiet spot where she could be alone. She spotted a seat at the end of the bar. A couple sat in one of the corner booths, so wrapped up in each other that Aimee decided the place could be on fire and they wouldn’t notice. Yet other than the couple, those involved in a pool game, and the bartender, the bar was virtually empty.

“Welcome to Dusty’s.” The man behind the polished counter greeted her with a friendly smile and went on with stacking clean glasses on the shelves. “I’m Dusty. What can I get you?”

Aimee slipped off her coat and placed it on the back of the stool. She looked up and caught the man studying her.

“Stinger, on the rocks,” she answered. “You know how to make one?”

His brows rose and he nodded. “Sure thing. Comin’ right up.” He began to put the drink together.

“Is there a problem?” she asked, sliding into her seat, beginning to regret her impulsive decision.

He shrugged. “Not at all. Forgive me. I make it a point of knowing my customers. This is your first time here, am I right?”

She nodded.

“You’re that second-grade teacher up to school? Saw your picture in the paper after you came to town.” He tossed her a smile.

Aimee propped her forearms on the rolled leather rest of the bar and gave the man a pointed look. “That’s me, and at the risk of starting all kinds of rumors, my nerves are a bit frazzled by what I’ve just driven through. I’m sort of celebrating getting back here unscathed, before I head on home. You okay with that?” She pushed a hand through her hair. “Sorry, I don’t mean to sound like a—” She stopped herself. It was enough she was here; she probably shouldn’t add cussing to the rumor mill.

“Sounds like the lady could use a drink, Dusty.” She looked to her left and found a handsome face with an equally charming smile. His eyes were a startling blue and he wore his thick, wavy hair combed back over his ears. Broad shoulders filled out his too-small black T-shirt with a faded Metallica logo on the front. He perched his boot on the foot rail and leaned on his elbow, his gaze focused on her. He looked perfectly at home.

The barkeep scooted her drink across on a napkin. “Five-fifty,” he stated, picking up his towel. Aimee fished through her purse in search of her pocketbook.

“Let me get this, darlin’.” Mr. Metallica slapped a ten on the bar and gave her a cocky grin.

The predatory glint in his eye made it obvious where he hoped his gesture would go.

“That isn’t necessary.” She started to pull her money out.

He smacked a hand to his heart. “I realize, sweetheart, but there are so few times when I’ve had the good fortune to meet an angel in the flesh.”

Dusty chuckled and Aimee offered the stranger a congenial smile. Clearly, he was well practiced in the art of pick-up lines.

“Steve? You gonna play or what?” One of the guys came in from the back room, a pool cue resting on his shoulder. He passed Aimee a glance.

“Don’t suppose you play pool, do you, angel?” Mr. Metallica asked. He looked her over as his lip curved in a come-hither smile.

Aimee shook her head and swirled the ice cubes in her drink. She wished he’d take his friend’s invitation to return to the game.

He leaned closer, his grin blossoming into a full-blown, sexy smile. Maybe it was the drink, the storm, or the after effect of the handsome cowboy lingering still in her mind, but damn, to a woman wanting some company Mr. Metallica was seriously tempting.

“Well, if my luck holds out, maybe you’ll be here when I get through?”

She offered him a smile. “I don’t think so.” He slid his fingers over hers, letting them linger on her skin. Charming was one thing, pushy another.

“You’re sure?” He lowered his voice.

“Steve, come on man! We’ve got money riding on this one.”

“Quite.” She slid her hand from his.

He stood, towering over her, giving her one last look at his powerfully sexy physique. “Maybe another time. My friends and I come up here a lot. The food… is excellent.” He tossed the bartender a look.

“You best get on in there, Steve.” Dusty nodded toward the friend who waited impatiently at the back-room door. “They’ll be starting without you.”

He swaggered toward the door, then glanced over his shoulder with a parting, impish grin.

“Good Lord,” she muttered and finished her drink.

“Mind if I offer a piece of friendly advice?” Dusty spoke, his focus intent on the pilsner he polished.

Aimee hopped off the stool and slid into her jacket. “You mean about Steve? Yeah, I know a player when I see one, no worries.” She tugged her purse over her shoulder. “But thank you for keeping an eye on a girl.”

A slow smile crept over the bartender’s face. “He and his buddies live a few miles down the road. They come in a couple of times a week to play pool. You okay to drive home?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Thanks, Dusty.”

“Come on back anytime.”

Aimee smiled. Unless she was with someone, the chances were slim. She stopped at the end of the bar and turned to him. “Say, listen. Maybe you can help me out with something. You said you know a lot of folks around here?”

He shrugged. “Seems, eventually, they all come through here. I’ve got the only jukebox and bar for miles around.”

She chewed her lip and wondered whether it was wise to inquire openly about the stranger on the ranch. What could it hurt? The worst thing she’d possibly find out was that he was married, recently divorced, or engaged in some bitter custody battle over his kids. She took a breath and charged ahead. “I was wondering about something… someone, actually.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Well, I stopped to get directions at this place up the road. Looks like a giant ski lodge down in the valley… south a little ways, just off eighty-nine.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I’m guessing you mean the Last Hope Ranch. Fine looking place. Jed Kinnison, God rest his soul, and those three boys created quite a cattle business down there. Hard workers, all of them.”

Aimee swallowed. “There’s more than one?” She tried not to sound giddy. “I only met one of them. He’s got dark hair, intense, kind of bossy.” She gave him a half smile. “Very bossy.”

“Yeah, that’d be the oldest of Jed’s boys—Wyatt. I heard Dalton and Rein had left on their annual sales trip.”

“Sales?” she asked, her mind, simmering still on the old-fashioned name of Wyatt.

“Yep, Last Hope is one of the last working cattle ranches in these parts. Has been for as long as I’ve been around. Every winter they sell off some of the herd to feedlots down in Iowa and Missouri.”

“But Wyatt isn’t involved in… the sales?” Bartenders were a lot like beauticians, Aimee discovered. Get them started and they could dish on about anybody.

He chuckled. “Not Wyatt. No, he prefers to stay home, keep an eye on things at the ranch. Kind of a loner, but a nice enough guy. Quiet. Now you take his younger brother, Dalton. There’s a social guy. You’d like him. Flirts like hell, loves to dance and kid around, but he has a good heart. The boy would give you the shirt off his back. They all would. Jed raised some real fine men.”

“Sounds like you have a lot of respect for them.” Aimee adjusted her purse and started to leave, her attention drawn to the loud ruckus going on in the back room.

Dusty glanced toward the sound, sighed, and waited for the noise to settle before he spoke. “Jed, rest his soul, did lots for this community. Rein is the third of Jed’s brood and his only nephew. Poor kid came to live with them after his parents were killed. Now Rein has a head for business. He helped me get this place back on track after I hit a rough patch. Jed raised the three as brothers. He left himself quite a legacy in these parts.”