Texas Tall (The Tylers of Texas 3)

He was turning around to go back to the house when the spotlight caught a movement along the fence. Driving closer, Will saw that one of the spring calves, probably panicked by the storm, had run headlong into the fence and become caught in the wire. Unless it was cut loose, the young animal wouldn’t last till morning. Turning up his collar, Will climbed out in the icy downpour and hauled his toolbox out of the back of the truck. He got a rope as well. If the six-hundred-pound calf tried to fight him, he’d need a way to control it. Maybe he ought to call the bunkhouse for some help. But he remembered then that he’d left his cell phone on the nightstand by the bed. He was on his own.

Fortunately for him, the calf had worn itself out struggling and didn’t put up much resistance. Still, it took Will a good twenty minutes, working in the glare of the headlights, to cut through the tangle of wire and free the calf, which loped off bawling for its mother. By then, his hands were numb inside his soaked, half-frozen leather gloves. His teeth were chattering, his clothes clammy against his chilled skin.

He took time to close the hole in the fence and put away his tools. Then he piled into the truck, turned up the heater, and headed back to the house.

At least he wouldn’t have to worry about Tori tonight. She’d phoned Erin that afternoon, saying she had a date that night and planned to drive out to the ranch in the morning. She was probably snuggled in a warm bed with that fancy new man of hers right now. Well, why the hell not? Tori was a free woman. She could damn well sleep with anybody she wanted. What was it to him? Right now, all he wanted was a hot shower and a few hours of decent rest before first light.

He’d made it to his bedroom and was peeling his wet clothes off his shivering body when he remembered his cell phone. Reflexively, he reached for it. He’d been out of the house for more than an hour. Tired as he was, on a night like this, he needed to check for messages.

There was only one. Will’s throat jerked tight as he heard Tori’s frightened voice, cutting off before she could tell him where she was, if she even knew. The fool woman must’ve decided to come tonight, after all. And she’d been caught in the storm, driving blind in that old truck with its worn tires. Lord, she could be anywhere. He checked the time on the message. She must’ve called soon after he’d left the house. Wherever she was, she’d been there for at least an hour.

Will grabbed for dry clothes and pulled them on in urgent haste. Somewhere out there, in the storm, lost and cold and scared, Tori was waiting for him to find her.

* * *

The cab of the rusty pickup was frigid inside. Shivering beneath her midweight coat, Tori searched the backseat for some kind of blanket or even an old spare jacket. But the truck had been left clean. She found nothing.

She was tempted to start the engine and turn on the heater, but the gas tank was almost empty—and in this old vehicle, there was the worry of an exhaust leak filling the cab with deadly carbon monoxide. Likewise, if she left the lights on, the truck might be easier to spot. But if no one came by, she could run the battery so low that the truck wouldn’t start.

She checked the luminous dial on her watch. It was after midnight. She’d been stuck here more than an hour. There was no way to know if Will had gotten her message, or if anybody was out looking for her.

Maybe she should have called Drew instead. Sensible fellow that he was, he would probably have called the highway patrol. The troopers would have found her by now. She’d be safe and warm somewhere.

But Will? If she’d reached him at all, the man would be out driving the roads in the storm, growing more frustrated and annoyed by the minute. If he found her, she could expect an angry chewing-out all the way back to the ranch for putting herself in danger. She imagined his Bull Tyler voice, as she’d always called it, dressing her down as if she were a misbehaving child.

But even that would be better than not being found.

Teeth chattering, she pulled her coat tighter. If she’d accepted Drew’s polite proposition, the evening would have ended very differently. Maybe she’d been wrong to refuse. She liked Drew a lot, and he was great husband material—good-looking, kind, stable, and great with children. She knew several attractive women in town who’d likely jump at the chance to sleep with him. Was she a fool to risk losing a man who could give her a happy life because she wasn’t ready to do the same?

A layer of ice had formed on the outside of the truck. Tori could no longer see through the windows. If Will had missed her phone call, nobody would be looking for her. She could be here all night.

How much cold could a body stand before hypothermia set in? she wondered. Was it possible to freeze inside a closed vehicle like this one?

Drained by cold and fatigue, she yawned. What she wouldn’t give right now for a warm bed—with or without Drew Middleton in it. Drew wouldn’t have had much luck tonight. All she’d want to do was sleep.

Tori’s eyelids were drooping. Her head sagged, then jerked up again. She mustn’t sleep. She needed to stay alert, to move, to stay warm. But she was so tired, too tired to keep herself from drifting. She slumped over the steering wheel.

Find me . . . Please find me, Will . . .

She jerked awake with a startled gasp. Something—or someone—was banging hard on the outside of the truck. Ice shattered as the heavy hammer broke through, splintering the safety glass on the side window. Through the fog in her mind, a voice, hoarse with strain, shouted her name. Will’s voice.

Seconds later, he’d freed the door and yanked it open. In the glare of headlights, he looked like a wil

d man, red-eyed and unshaven, his woolen cap askew on his head, his coat crusted with ice. As she stirred and sat up, he lowered his arms and, for a moment, simply stared at her.

“What the hell, Tori?” he said.

Tori didn’t even try to respond. She tried to climb down from the driver’s seat, but her cramped legs buckled beneath her. She fell out of the truck into his arms. He was cold, his bare hands icy, his stubbled chin rough against her forehead. His arms held her painfully tight, their strength almost crushing her.

“Fool woman!” he muttered. “Come on!”

Scooping her up, he carried her to his pickup, which was parked on the asphalt road with its lights on. The engine was idling. She could feel the heater’s blessed warmth as he shoved her onto the seat. “Erin’s suitcase . . .” she muttered. “My purse. Get them.”

Slamming the door, he vanished down the slope, into the dark. In a moment he was back, climbing into the driver’s seat and tossing her things, along with the hammer, into the space behind. From somewhere, he pulled out a moth-eaten blanket and thrust it toward her. It was dusty and smelled like the dog, but it was warm. Tori laid it over her legs as he geared down. The truck roared up the road. Within a quarter mile was a farm gate with a wide, level area to turn around. Only when they were headed back toward the ranch did he speak again.

“Damn it, Tori, you could’ve died out there! You missed the turnoff to the ranch lane by a couple of miles. What were you thinking?”

“I couldn’t see. I was lost.”