A Home of Her Own. Brenda NovakЧитать онлайн книгу.
stalls, each covered with a thick blanket, but he was letting a woman stay alone in a house that had no heat?
Not just any woman, he reminded himself. Lucky Caldwell. Lucky didn’t count. Besides, if she was cold, she’d build a fire. She’d built one last night, hadn’t she? A fire would keep her warm. He wasn’t going to lose any more sleep over the little brat who’d replaced him in his own grandfather’s eyes. Lucky wasn’t his responsibility, and he didn’t want anything more to do with her.
Work…he needed to think about work. With Josh gone he’d have plenty to do come morning. He had clients to call, payroll to sign—
The image of Lucky pressed between him and the wall, her eyes wide with alarm, flashed through his mind.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered and kicked off the covers. Evidently, it didn’t matter who she was. His conscience wouldn’t let him rest until he made sure she was okay.
MIKE HAD a four-wheel-drive, and one of his men had shoveled his driveway as late as five o’clock, but in this storm, the risk of getting stuck was still high. He decided it’d be better to take one of the snowmobiles he kept out back.
Grabbing the heavy-duty flashlight he used to check the horses, he bundled up in a heavy sheepskin coat and lined leather gloves, pulled on his cowboy boots and shoved his hat low on his head. Then he stalked outside and toward the shed. He’d be soaked and miserable by the time he got home….
The high whine of the snowmobile’s engine sounded oddly subdued in the storm’s bluster. The headlight barely cut the dark, but Mike knew the lay of the land. He’d been riding snowmobiles out here since he was five years old—back when both his grandparents were still alive and together and he came to stay with them so often.
As he shot over the snow, icy flakes clicked against his windshield, stung his unprotected face and threatened to rid him of his hat. But it wasn’t long before he was climbing the hill to his grandfather’s house—Lucky’s house now—feeling quite confident he’d find her gone. No one would stay around in a storm like this, he thought. Until he saw her car stuck halfway between the house and the road and knew she’d tried to go somewhere. She just hadn’t made it.
The tone of the snowmobile’s engine lowered by at least an octave as the hill grew steeper. He compensated by giving it more gas. He couldn’t see any lights inside the Victorian, which concerned him. He hadn’t really expected the utilities to be restored yet, not in a storm like this, but he assumed Lucky would light some candles or start a fire.
Maybe she’d fallen asleep, and the fire and candles had gone out.
Worry seeped through him, along with the cold, as he came to a stop next to an area that had obviously been shoveled fairly recently. He should’ve helped her. If she was in any kind of trouble, he knew he’d feel responsible.
The snow came above his knees as he climbed off, grabbed his flashlight and made his way toward the porch. Only this time when he reached the door, he found it locked.
“Lucky?” He banged on the thick wood, but received no answer. “Lucky, are you in there?”
Where else could she be? She seemed stubborn, but she wasn’t stubborn enough to try walking the fifteen miles to town, was she? God, he hoped not. If she’d done that, he was pretty certain he’d find her lying frozen in the snow.
His flashlight made a bright circle in the swirling flakes as he waded through the side yard. When he got to the back, he found that door locked, too, but easily slipped his hand through one of the broken windows to undo the safety latch.
The kitchen was barely warmer than the outdoors. She’d been wet when he saw her just after noon. Did she know enough to get out of those clothes? Did she have others? He had no idea what she’d brought with her or how well prepared she was for weather like this, but if what he’d seen so far was any indication, she sure as hell didn’t have much of a plan.
He trained his flashlight on the room around him. Lucky had cleaned in this part of the house, but he didn’t see her sleeping here.
“Lucky?”
No answer.
His heart pounded as he jogged into the living room, library, office. Empty. Damn!
Taking the stairs two at a time, he headed directly to the master bedroom. “Lucky? It’s Mike.”
Nothing.
His heart started to pound harder. “Lucky?”
“G-go away.”
The sound of her shaky voice brought both relief and more concern. He stopped abruptly and swung around, searching for her. She wasn’t in the master bedroom, but she was close, definitely upstairs.
“Are you okay?” he called, hoping she’d answer him again.
“I s-said, g-go away!”
She was in the second bedroom. He strode purposefully down the hall and opened the door to find a round lump in the bottom of a sleeping bag on the dirty old mattress he’d noticed on previous visits to the house.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, worry putting an edge on his words.
“Wh-what do you mean?”
Her teeth were chattering so badly he could hardly understand her, especially through the sleeping bag. “You don’t have any heat in here.”
“Not l-late-breaking news.”
“You should’ve come back to the ranch.”
“Because I’d b-be so w-welcome?” She finally poked her head out and, unless he imagined it, she looked blue around the mouth. In any case, her eyes seemed too large for the rest of her face, reminding him how young she was. Twenty-four. He’d barely graduated from college at twenty-four.
“Because you could freeze to death over here,” he said. “And my place is your only real alternative.”
“Too ironic, d-don’t you think? M-me asking you to p-put me up?”
“I would’ve done it,” he said.
“Not h-happily. D-don’t think your m-mother would approve of that much ch-charity where I’m concerned.”
He didn’t want to talk about charity right now, not when he’d ignored her needs the way he had. “That’s another matter. Come on.”
“What are you t-talking about?”
“You’re going home with me.”
“N-no, I’m not.” She ducked back inside the sleeping bag. “It’ll b-be morning soon. I’ll d-dig my car out and—”
“Like you did today?” he said.
“D-didn’t get an early enough st-start,” she grumbled. “It’s hard w-work.”
“Something you’re not accustomed to, I’m sure.” With all the money he sent her from Morris’s trust, she didn’t need a job and he doubted she’d ever had one.
“P-pardon me?”
“You can’t keep a job when you move every few weeks.”
“Who are you t-to sit in j-judgment of me? You and your family th-think you’re so much b-better.”
“That’s bullshit,” he said. “You don’t know me or my family. I passed you on the road a few times when you were a kid. That’s it.”
“Not quite.”
“There’s more?”
“Only s-something I’ve been t-trying to forget.”
“What could that be?”
She didn’t answer, and it was too darn cold to coax her. “Are you coming or not?”
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