In a small town where everyone remembers your mistakes, Daniel Walker returns to face his biggest one: leaving Markie Oldham behind.
When he finds her engaged and her family ranch on the brink of auction, he steps in to rescue a woman who can’t see forever with him.
When his secret rescue of her ranch explodes into the fight of their lives, Daniel must finally prove he’s strong enough not just to love her—but to stay.
Because his ‘forever’ future depends on it.
Escape the snow and enjoy Chapter 1 of this holiday novella.
Chapter 1
Honks Oldham stared at his old friend, his bushy gray eyebrows standing as high as they could get to the barroom rafters. Any higher and they would be dusting the low-hanging bar lights. “You think Daniel has heard that Markie’s engaged?”
Pops Anderson stared back with an eyeroll and a shake of his grizzled gray head. “I didn’t ask him that; he just said he was coming over the mountain on Wheeler. His truck’s in the shop. But the boy has been in love with that girl since middle school, so I’m guessing he knows. Why else would he come over from the Carson ranch on horseback? I offered to come get him, but he said no. Told him not to leave last year, too, but you know these younger generations—think they know everything.”
Honks grinned, his eyes dancing. “Well, I reckon they do, what with computers and all. Jeb’s done got everything about the ranch on the computer now. All the accounting and whatnot. I’m trying to learn it, but I’m better in the saddle than riding that office butt buster.”
Pops grunted and took a swig of his on-tap, low-fat, low-cholesterol, sugar-free, nothing-good-tasting-in-it beer that his grandson Daniel insisted he drink when he went to join his friend on Friday nights at the Rusty Spud.
Around him, the jukebox was belting out a Luke Ryan song called Country Girl. On the dance floor, several young girls were shaking it for their dates, just like the song lyrics asked. Back in his day, it was Willie Nelson, George Jones, and boot scootin’ boogies. But time changes everything, even the drink in his hand.
“I wonder if this stuff even has hops in it?” he grumbled, setting it back on the counter. “By the time they take everything out of it, they might as well run a tap from the toilet straight to the bar.” He wiped the suds off his mustache with a backward swipe of his work-roughened hand. “Gimme a refill, Mick.”
“Okay, mate. I take it Daniel is coming home?” Mick asked, taking the mug and holding it under the frothing tap.
Pops glared at the knowing, perpetually sun-tanned face across the bar. “What makes you think that, Mick?”
“Because you only drink this stuff when he’s around, I reckon.”
“Don’t you worry about what I drink,” Pops replied testily. “Your job is to serve me, whatever I decide to do to myself, not judge me.”
Mick laughed, his blue eyes twinkling. “I get it—and I agree with you. A man’s got a right to commit suicide if he wants to.”
Pops rolled his eyes. “When you’ve lived as long as I have, you begin to understand a few things, son. Such as the fact that everything the younger generations think they know changes when they get some real years in.”
Mick leaned down and rested his arms against the bar. The lights caught some of the silver streaks in his black hair. “Oh? Name one thing that’s changed, Pops.”
Pops leaned forward, warming up to his subject. “Take eggs, for instance. Back in my day, the powers that be were declaring egg yolks to be full of that cholesterol crap, and you needed to limit them to three a week, and now they’ve changed their tune. Eggs are essential brain food, and you need to eat them every day for breakfast protein. Eggs have been maligned and now reassigned as a food hero. I wonder how many brain cells I’ve lost just because my wife bought into that one,” he complained.
“A lot,” Honks teased.
Pops shot him a sarcastic side eye. “Look who’s talking. I ain’t the one that decided to catch a goose for Christmas dinner forty-five years ago and almost drowned in the lake. You earned the name Honks that year.”
“That was one mean old goose,” Honks agreed, “but in the end, he cooked up real nice.”
Pops chuckled. “I’m just glad they weren’t able to get people off beef, though they tried. A good steak is a staple of American food.”
“And high in fat,” Mick cut in. “Chicken is better.”
Pops and Honks both glared at the younger man. “You’re lucky to be alive in cattle country with that attitude, Mick. We don’t live on kangaroo meat here. You’d best keep that one close to your vest, you might get hung,” Pops growled. Teasing Mick was one of his favorite pastimes on Friday night.
Mick threw his head back and laughed. “Hate to break it to you, mate, but Australians don’t live on Kangaroo meat either.”
“You think Daniel knows Markie’s engaged?” Honks cut in, dragging the subject back to the one he was interested in—his granddaughter.
“Well, of course, he knows she’s engaged by now. It’s a small world, Honks, smaller than when we didn’t have cell phones and all that electronic gadgetry. Someone will have told him as soon as word got around.”
“Just not you, right?”
“Well…did you?”
Honks shook his head. “Hell no, I wouldn’t call him. But Jeb probably has. Your grandson and mine have been friends since the cradle. I’m just surprised Daniel left after him, and Markie had that little spat over Sheila Dansing.”
Mick chuckled. “I’ll leave you two to solve your grandkids’ love problems. I’m sure they’ll be forever grateful.” He moved down the bar to a young lady who had walked in.
“Smart arse,” Pops grumbled. Then he called after him, “Do you deny the eggs?”
Mick glanced back over his shoulder with a grin. “Nope—cannot deny that one.”
Pops grunted, satisfied that he’d made his point, and turned back to his old friend. “Daniel has always been a wanderer. Every time I think he’s going to settle down and take ranching seriously, he decides to take off. Says he’s learning about life, but that excuse is getting old. I thought it was just women who had to go find themselves. Never understood that one either.”
“He should be staying put and helping you, Pops,” Honks agreed. “You aren’t getting any younger.”
“You’re a year older than I am.”
“I ain’t getting any younger either, but at least I have my Ebbs and Jeb taking the reins. All you have is Daniel.”
Pops nodded, knowing Daniel was nearby. He could feel it in his old bones. He was worried about the freak snowstorm that had blown up this afternoon, though. Daniel would get caught in it, no doubt about that, but he could take care of himself. He was just happy the boy was on his way. He also hoped he’d stay this time. Honks was right, he wasn’t getting any younger, and he didn’t want to leave Timber Mesa to anyone but his grandson. His own son didn’t want it, and he could sell it, but he didn’t want it to leave the Anderson family.
Daniel was a private boy, intense and driven—he didn’t share personal feelings very much. Whatever was going on between him and Markie Oldam, he hoped the boy would get it figured out before the little filly slipped away from him. Someone else had branded her with a ring, but he was sure Daniel and Markie were meant to be together. This might be his last chance. Markie wouldn’t wait forever for Daniel to shake the wanderlust off his feet.
Even now, it might be too late.
The snow had moved in early in the day, and it was snowing much harder in the high country than here in town. He wouldn’t rest easy tonight until Daniel was home. But from the looks of the clouds over Mount Tipps, he probably wouldn’t be in until tomorrow. Hopefully, he was holed up in the line shack on the border of Timber Mesa and Willow Ranch. Daniel could take care of himself, but knowing that wouldn’t let him rest any easier.
“Honks, I believe I’ll turn in early tonight.” He stood up and drank the rest of his beer with a wry grimace. “That storm may turn this way, and I don’t want to get caught out in it.”
Honks grunted and slipped his cell phone into his pocket with a frown. “Jeb just called. He said Markie went out looking for cattle this afternoon after we both told her not to, and she hasn’t come back yet. There’s no cell service up there, so she wouldn’t be able to call. Stubborn girl, don’t listen to a word anyone says,” he fumed, his lips tight with worry. “I’m calling it a night, too. I need to get home.”
The two men walked towards the door. “Don’t get any ideas about going after her,” Pops warned.
“I’m too old for stupid.”
Pops held the door open for his friend and clapped him on the shoulder. “Markie knows where the line shack is, and Majestic does too; he’s one smart palomino. If she isn’t back to Willow by the time you get there, that’s where she’ll be.”
“From your lips to God’s ears,” Honks grumbled.
***
Markie bent her head against the howling wind and tried to shield her eyes from the pelting snow that had come up suddenly along the mountain ridge. It had been cold and sunny when she’d saddled Majestic and ridden out this morning, searching for the missing cattle, but now she was caught in a blinding, raging snowstorm. She was slowly working her way toward the old range shack along the ridge, but with the snow blowing in her face, she could barely make out Majestic’s head. The landmarks weren’t visible anymore in the swirling white whirlwind.
A series of short winter storms had delayed the moving of the ranch’s cattle until yesterday, but, finally unable to put it off any longer, she’d bitten the proverbial bullet and moved them alone, causing the loss of at least thirty head as they’d wandered away. With her brother Jeb laid up with a broken leg, and her dad out of commission for now, she hadn’t had a choice; someone had to move them. So, against her grandfather and her brothers’ orders, she’d done it alone. The Willow Ranch couldn’t afford to lose even one steer…not this year. They had to retrieve those cattle, even if it meant getting caught in one of the mountains’ capricious snowstorms.
Markie had taken a calculated risk that this would be just an average winter storm. She knew the chance of it turning into an Idaho blizzard was always a possibility, and she was probably foolish to come out knowing it was predicted, but against all odds, she’d hoped to beat it home.
She’d lost.
The cold was seeping inside her body through her toes, fingers, mouth, and nose. She could feel it moving up her limbs and down her throat, pushed by the howling winds like a macabre venous predator determined to turn her into a solid block of ice. She’d dressed for the weather, but even still, the wind managed to find any opening it could to send its frigid air against her shrinking skin, stealing her body heat far too quickly.
She stopped and glared at the impenetrable white walls surrounding her, her heart sinking as she fought her mounting fear. Majestic whinnied loudly and shook his head, rattling the snow and ice particles clinging to his massive mane. Regret invaded every cell in her body, making her feel mentally numb. She was getting exhausted, and she knew she could freeze to death in just a few minutes if she didn’t hand her reins over to her mount, metaphorically speaking. Praying for the best, she gave in.
“Go, Majestic,” she yelled to the big palomino as she released the reins and gave him his head. “Find the line shack, boy.”
She clung to his powerful neck with numb, gloved fingers. Majestic would find them shelter; he was an intelligent animal. All she had to do was stay awake.
Easier said than done.
She closed her eyes and buried her face beneath his bushy mane, loving the smell of horseflesh in her nostrils. Her hot breath against his neck formed a small pool of warm air as she breathed slowly in and out. If she didn’t pass out, hopefully it would keep her face from getting frostbite, even though the heavy neck scarf wasn’t heavy enough against the frozen, probing fingers of the wind.
Time passing had no meaning. Markie’s current world was nothing but bone-chilling cold, swirling white, and an air pocket on Majestic’s neck. Off somewhere in the white space, she heard him whinny, but she was too numb even to tell if he was still moving or not. She was so tired; her limbs were stiff and immobile. Sleep was pulling her into its warm clutches, and she tried to fight it—tried not to give in, but it was relentless. Her last regret would be never seeing Daniel again.
When a large gloved hand suddenly pulled her fingers from Majestic’s mane, Markie was barely aware of it. Her lips were unable to move, and she couldn’t open her eyes enough to see the owner. Only half conscious, she felt herself pulled down from Majestic and into a pair of strong arms that carried her to a door and kicked it open. The warmth of the room rushed over her as the big man lay her on a cot beside the massive fireplace. Slowly, she squinted up from beneath weighted eyelids and into a pair of blazing blue eyes that were heartbreakingly familiar, but she had to be hallucinating. There was no way he could be here. She must be dying and following him into the hell she’d wished him to.
“I’ve got to get that horse out of the storm, then I’ll be right back,” his deep, scratchy voice told her. Too tired to acknowledge the words, the warmth from the fireplace coddling her like a baby in a blanket, she drifted away into darkness. If she were dying, this was as nice a dream as she could get. A warm fire, Daniel’s deep, gruff voice washing over her, and those gorgeous blue eyes.
***
Once inside the lean-to and out of the worst of the wind, Daniel Anderson brushed the snow and ice from the poor horse that had caught his attention outside the line shack. It was a wonder he’d even heard it with the winds howling the way they were.
“Who are you, boy?” he asked softly as he slapped the crusted snow and ice away and took the saddle off the horse’s back. It was a palomino; he could see that now. Its hair was so white with icicles and snow that it had been hard to tell at first. His heart rate sped up. He only knew one person in these parts who owned a palomino, but surely Markie Oldham wouldn’t be fool enough to get caught in an Idaho blizzard; she was too savvy for that.
This line shack was used by more than one rancher in the area, but was probably closest to the Willow Ranch—Markie’s ranch. The figure he’d taken inside had been small, but was so bundled up that he couldn’t tell if it was a smaller man or a young boy. But either way, whoever it was, they were a fool to be out in this weather. A lucky fool, though.
Jeb Oldham wasn’t a big man, but he also wasn’t the sort to get caught out in this kind of weather either. But if he had to choose who was most likely to do it, Markie would be his first choice over Jeb. The girl was impulsive and didn’t hesitate to take risks. She was also quick to judge—at least she judged him. The last time he’d seen her, she was clinging to her stubborn, hard-headed belief that he’d cheated on her.
Quickly, Daniel threw a heavy blanket over the palomino and gave him a nose bag of oats, trying to brush aside the bitter thoughts of Markie. Her vociferous refusal to trust him had finally driven him away. That was nearly a year ago.
Stepping out of the lean-to, Daniel shut the makeshift door to block as much of the wind as he could. He was thankful that he’d created a rope guide between the line shack and the front door of the shack. He held onto the rope and bent his head against the wind, a sense of urgency clawing at his gut. Once inside, he slipped off his boots and hung up his winter gear. His visitor was still on the cot where he’d left him, unmoving. He needed to get those frozen clothes off of him and check him for frostbite.
Gently peeling away the edge of the heavy woolen scarf from the front of the sheepskin coat, he carefully pulled it back until his face was finally free of the thawing material.
Except that it wasn’t a male.
His gut clenched, and pain shot through him like an arrow to the stomach. Just seeing the pale features brought back painful memories.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he cursed softly, “it is you, Markie Oldham. What the hell are you doing out here in the middle of a blizzard?”
He began to take off her boots as he kept scolding. He wasn’t sure she was hearing anything, but he still had to say it. “Lucky for you, I heard Majestic whinnying and looked out the window. You could have frozen to death right there on his back and never even known where you were. What in blue blazes were you thinking?”
He checked her face for frostbite, his fingers roaming every inch of cold skin, but didn’t see any evidence of it. She’d been buried in Majestic’s mane when he found her—at least she had that much savvy. Still, he was furious. The pale eyelids fluttered and slowly opened to squint up at him.
“As I live and breathe—Daniel Anderson,” she murmured drowsily. “Still as bossy and belligerent as ever, aren’t you?” Her words were slurred, as if her lips were too numb to speak clearly—they probably were.
“You haven’t changed either,” he bit out, reaching for the front of her coat. “Still taking risks and the devil take the consequences. You’ve always needed a good spanking, and this might be the day I give you the one I’ve always promised.”
The look Markie shot him was colder than the blizzard raging outside. “Go to hell, Daniel Anderson.”
“I’m already there, darlin,” he drawled bitterly, “I’m already there.”
Swiftly, he took off her thick woolen socks and rubbed her feet briskly, checking to see that there was still circulation in them and no frostbite. They were going to hurt like hell as they warmed up, but otherwise they seemed okay. He tucked them under a thick blanket and put bricks wrapped in rags beneath the checkered quilt for warmth.
He studied her pale face. Dark lashes lay like half crescent moons against the alabaster cheeks. Even her lips were pale. She was shivering and her teeth chattering, so he moved the cot closer to the fire. He took the heavy sheepskin hat off her hair, watching as the burnished black strands tumbled softly against the rough, creamy cotton of the white pillow case.
Lord, but she was gorgeous.
He took another direct hit to his solar plexus region as instant desire landed one of its most potent blows. He gasped for air as longing hit him once again, hot and harrowing for this woman he’d left behind. What was she doing out here? He couldn’t help but bring one of the calloused fingertips to his warm lips when he took her glove off. She hadn’t had callouses when he’d left. Frowning, he felt the ridges in all her slim fingers. Then shock almost drove him to his knees when he discovered the ring on the third finger of her left hand.
So, it was true!
Markie Oldham, the woman who belonged to him body and soul, was engaged to another man. He’d heard the rumor but hadn’t been able to believe it. Finally, he’d decided to come and see for himself what the stubborn witch had been up to. With his truck on the fritz and Timber Mesa just over the mountain from Carson’s Thoroughbreds ranch, where he worked, he’d decided to take Wheeler for a ride instead. He could have called Jeb to know for sure, but pride forbade it. Jeb was her big brother, and although they had been friends forever, he was still protective of his little sister. He hadn’t been in the mood to defend his actions last year.
Agony clawed at his guts like a great wild cat. With trembling fingers, he carefully placed the small, work-roughened hand beneath the warm covers, but not before he removed the symbol of another man’s possession from its slender digit. He could have stayed gone when he’d heard the rumors, but there was no way he’d give her up that easily. No man would take what was his, not while he still breathed clean Idaho air.
***
Markie stirred restlessly, the warmth of the fire and the hot bricks beneath the quilts working their medicinal effect on her cold extremities until it became increasingly uncomfortable.
Wearily, she groaned and opened her eyes to look up at the ceiling, recognizing the line shack rafters from Jeb’s old plaid shirt hanging from a beam. She wondered if she had imagined the rawboned cowboy that haunted her dreams, or if she’d stumbled into the shack alone after Majestic had found it for them. She was exhausted, mentally and physically, but she’d refused to give in. Those missing steers had to be found, and she’d been determined to make it happen. Unfortunately, her stubbornness was now costing her as her body paid the exacting toll nature required.
She hoped her fingers and toes weren’t frostbitten, but it was hard to tell at this point. The burning, stinging sensations that were pulsing through them as they slowly came back to life were excruciating. That was supposed to be a good thing, though. It meant the flesh hadn’t died—thank God for small favors. But it was a painful reminder of her near miss in the bone-chilling winds.
“I see you’re finally starting to wake up.”
Markie stiffened, instant recognition coursing through her as the low, gravelly voice of Daniel stabbed through her being. So, she hadn’t imagined it—he was here in person, in all his bossy glory. He must have undressed her to her long-johns. Painfully, she sat up and turned towards the fire. He was sitting in the old, dumpy recliner Jeb had hauled up to the shack a year ago. He’d said a man needed a comfortable place to sit in at the little cabin.
Daniel’s eyes caught hers in a stony stare, and from the look in those harsh blue eyes and the set of that square jaw, he wasn’t pleased with her. But then, she wasn’t too happy with him either.
Bitterly, she stared back at him, trying to stay focused, trying to laser her displeasure directly at him with blue beams of resentment. What was he doing here? She closed her eyes. “Too bad there isn’t a better view to wake up to.”
“You shouldn’t be here.”
Daniel was impossible to ignore, as much as she might want to. His rugged face wore a year-round suntan with a sensuous mouth that knew how to give pleasure and punish at the same time. His thick, dark hair was tousled, giving him a rakish look that he totally deserved. Somewhere between her thighs, something melted. Controlling her body was almost impossible with him.
“Neither should you, yet here we are,” she mocked. “Trust me, you’re the last person I’d choose to be stranded with.”
He leaned forward, imprisoning her gaze, making her heart race. She cursed herself because she didn’t want him touching her, didn’t want the waves of pleasure that swam through her traitorous body like a tide seeking the beach when she was near him. And like the torturous ocean depths tuned into the moon’s control, her senses tuned into his every movement. Desire crashed like waves on the rocky shores of an undeniable passion.
Markie loved Daniel. She also hated him.
Which feeling was deepest was hard to tell, and she didn’t want to explore those feelings anymore. He was out of her life now, a choice he had made. He’d left her alone when she needed him most. She shrank back when he stood up.
Nervously, her fingers sought the reassurance of David’s ring, hoping to summon strength from another man’s token of love. She didn’t love David Holms, but he was good to her and would take care of her. He was solid, reliable, not a drifter…not like Daniel. David was her rock.
With a sudden tremulous gasp, she pulled her shaking hands from beneath the quilt to stare in shock at her left ring finger.
David’s ring was gone!
She stared at the bare finger that was aching abominably and then back up to the vivid blue eyes that were gauging her reaction.
“Looking for this?” he asked sardonically, his sensual mouth twisting cruelly as he studied her. He held up the missing ring, and it sparkled in the firelight, twinkling mockingly at her just before he suddenly turned and threw it into the blazing fire. His muscled forearms bunched in his long arms as he thrust his hands furiously into his jean pockets as if it were the only way he could keep from grabbing her and shaking her senseless.
“What’s the matter? Couldn’t you stay out of another man’s bed long enough for me to get back? Is he as good a lover as I am? Do you beg him to satisfy you as you did me?” His voice was harsh with fury and pain.
“That’s none of your business,” Markie snarled. She felt at a distinct disadvantage with him towering over her, although he had kept his distance so far. It was almost as if he didn’t want to touch her any more than she wanted him to.
Dropping her feet on the wooden planks, she tried to stand and then fell to the floor in agony, curling into a moaning ball on her side. Her feet felt like a thousand needles were piercing her skin. Her hands weren’t much better, and she put them beneath her arms and groaned miserably, trying to ease the pressure of the blood that was pulsing into them.
“You little fool,” he snapped as he bent down to pick her up and put her back on the bed. “Where do you think you’re going? Or were you coming to slap me like you did the last time we met?”
Despite his scolding, he handled her gently, rubbing her feet first, then her hands, trying to ease the circulation. “For two cents, I’d just turn you over my knee and spank your little butt good and hard. Maybe that would take your mind off the pain in your hands and feet for a while. Lord knows you’ve had it coming for a long time.”
“Leave me alone, just leave me alone,” Markie moaned, hating his hands on her. His touch was bringing back all the longing she kept pent up inside her, buried down deep where only the night hours allowed it to come out. “Go away, Daniel, please,” she whispered finally, unable to restrain the deep emotion that was tearing her apart. “Just leave me alone.”
As usual, he ignored the tearful command and pulled her in close to his body. Then he groaned and slid his hand into her long, dark hair. He claimed her unwilling mouth, tasted her lips, and branded her once again with his passion. Then he laid his forehead against hers and whispered back, “I can’t. God help me…I can’t.”
Markie hated herself all over again. Hated the fact that she responded to his touch, his kiss, and the words that seemed wrenched from his very soul to touch a chord deep within her. The burning sensations in her hands and feet faded into insignificance beside the raging inferno that was flaring up inside her.
Hungry for him, she reached up and pulled his head down again, needing the raw pleasure that only he could provide. Despite herself, she thrilled to the touch of his hands as they made their way beneath her thick, long johns to find the rigid nipples that were playing hide and seek with his fingers. She groaned in defeat and pulled him down on top of her, her legs falling open to receive his body against the heaviness deep in the apex of her slender thighs. She was lost to everything but the incredible heat and incessant hunger building inside her, the need to have him buried deep within the recesses of her feminine counterpart to his throbbing male hardness.
“Say it, witch…tell me you need me, want me,” he demanded huskily against her soft throat. “Do you feel this way with him? Does he make you want him like this? Say it.“
The words were like a bucket of cold water thrown onto a hot, sun-heated body, and Markie rolled sideways with a tortured sob, throwing him off her and onto the floor. She stared down at him with huge, stricken eyes, and then, with a strangled cry, turned away from him on her side and curled into a ball once again.
“I hate you, Daniel Anderson, I hate you,” she cried fiercely, the tears trickling down her ashen cheeks. “Why did you have to come back?”
Stay warm, my friends! Enjoy the superbowl and Valentines all coming up very soon. And as always,
Brandy Golden Books 