The Baby Blizzard. Caroline Cross
her. He must have seen what had happened. More than likely, he was on his way to help her at this very moment.
Unless his heart turned out to be as black as his expression and he simply drove on.
Tess gave herself a shake. Knock it off. This is Wyoming, remember? Not LA. or New York. Around here, people look out for each other. He’ll stop. So he looks a tad forbidding. He’ll probably turn out to be reserved or shy, a real cupcake of a guy—
“Ma’am?” came a forceful baritone shout.
A light flashed through the window. Momentarily blinded, Tess brought up her hand as the car door was unceremoniously wrenched open.
“Are you okay?” Her rescuer had to holler to be heard over a sudden roar of wind. Even so, his voice was distinct—dark and demanding. A perfect match for his face, Tess decided, as she stared at him in the faint illumination of the dome light.
Forget shy. Forget reserved. Forget cupcake.
Think intense. Think guarded. Think formidable. From what she could see beneath his hat—shadowed eyes, a straight blade of a nose, a slash of cheekbones, an imperious mouth—he was even more forbidding up close than he’d been from a distance.
“Are you hurt? Answer me.”
Intimidating or not, she’d never been so glad to see anyone in her life. Relief slammed into her, making moisture sting her eyes and her voice catch in her throat. She swallowed hard, suspecting as she looked up at that uncompromising face that he’d hate it if she burst into tears. She knew for a fact she would. She swallowed again and tried gamely for a lightness she didn’t feel. “It’s about time you got here.”
He froze in the act of hunkering down. His eyes, pale green in the murky light, narrowed. “What?”
Forget a sense of humor, too. Tess raised her voice. “I’m fine.”
He continued to stare, as if he didn’t believe her. “Are you sure?”
She considered the dull ache in her lower back, concluded the pain scored no more than a two on a scale of one to ten, and opted to ignore it. “Yes.”
“All right, then.” Relief lightened his face, but did nothing to soften its angular planes. “Give me your hand and let’s get you out of there. This storm’s getting worse by the minute.”
She shook her head. “The seat belt is jammed. I can’t get it unfastened.”
His eyes flickered over her jacket-covered body. Inexplicably, his jaw bunched for an instant before his expression smoothed out. He hooked the flashlight to his belt, twisted sideways so that he faced her, leaned close and reached around her. His forearm, hard and warm even through the padding of his heavy coat, brushed against the mound of her belly. “What the—?” He went very still. “What is that?”
Tess stiffened. “What’s what?”
“That... lump.”
She stared at him in disbelief, oddly aware of the weight of his arm against her. “That’s not a lump,” she informed him. “That’s me. I’m pregnant.”
He gave her a long, blank look, then snatched away his hand and rocked back on his heels. “Well, hell,” he muttered, looking away. “It figures.”
The words, clearly not meant for her ears, carried with crystal clarity during a momentary lull in the wind. She raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
For one long second, he remained silent, the hard line of his mouth even harder now. Then he shook his head and gave the slightest shrug. “Forget it,” he murmured. He leaned forward and once more reached around her, and an instant later the belt gave way. He ducked back as if he couldn’t get away fast enough. “Come on.” His voice gruff, he stood.
She stayed where she was. “But the car—”
“Isn’t going anywhere. Not now. Probably not for a while. Even if I could see to winch you out, the road’s too icy to get any traction. In case you haven’t noticed, it’s dark—and getting darker.”
Tess looked around in surprise. He was right. As incredible as it seemed, with the snow falling and the wind roaring, she’d been so intent on him, so totally taken with their exchange, she’d actually forgotten about the weather.
Which appeared to be getting worse. And still she hesitated. “I don’t even know your name.”
“Oh, for—” Annoyance flashed in those leaf-green eyes before he quickly got himself under control. “Jack,” he said flatly. “My name is Jack Sheridan, okay?”
“And I’m Tess—”
“Terrific. So listen, Tess. We need to get to my truck. Now. While we still can.”
He was right, of course. Annoyed at herself for behaving so foolishly, Tess swung her feet to the ground, trying to figure out why she felt compelled to challenge him.
The answer came a moment later, as she began the awkward process of extricating the rest of herself from the car. Without warning, Jack leaned in, grasped her firmly above each elbow and lifted her out. Then. in a few brusque, capable movements, he bundled her into her parka, zipped it, reached into the car and retrieved her car keys, pocketbook and overnight bag. “Here.” He handed her the first two items. “Put your keys away and sling the shoulder strap of your purse around your neck so your hands are free, okay?”
That’s when Tess knew. She’d never done very well with authority figures, and this guy was more than a little bossy. He was autocratic.
Which was a pretty petty concern, she chided herself a second later, when the wind nearly knocked her off her feet and he immediately leaped forward to steady her. Holding her firmly against his broad, hard chest, he turned to block her from the wind. “You okay?”
She lifted her chin and nodded, surprised to find that his face was several inches above hers. She was tall herself, and it wasn’t often she had to look up at anyone. For a heartbeat, they stared at each other. His eyes really were the most extraordinary color—
“Shoot.” He uttered the sibilant word with such disgust it sounded like an expletive. “What the hell is your husband thinking, letting you run around like this in your condition?”
It wasn’t a question, and Tess knew it. For some reason, she wanted to answer him, however. “I’m not married.” She had just enough presence of mind not to add that if she was, it wouldn’t be to anyone who thought in terms of “letting her” do anything.
“Forget it,” he replied, in what she was starting to recognize as his stock answer in awkward moments. “I’ve got a line running to the truck,” he went on, all business again. “All you need to do is stay close to me and we shouldn’t have any problems. When I turn around, I want you to put your hands under my coat and grab on to the back of my belt. Whatever you do, don’t let go. Understand?”
Tess didn’t need to be told twice. The driving snow stung her face and brought tears to her eyes, while the cold was so bitter it hurt to breathe. “Got it.”
He searched her face. Satisfied with whatever he saw there, he finally gave a curt nod. “Good.”
He turned and picked up her overnight bag as if it weighed nothing, then held his ground as she ran her hands up the backs of his denim-clad thighs and over the hard curve of his small masculine behind. Beneath the heavy coat, his cotton-clad back felt firm and solid. Heat rolled off him like a furnace. She took a half step closer and curled her fingers around his belt:
He set off, adjusting his step to her shorter stride. She held on tight, her universe condensed to the broad back in front of her, and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. It was no mean feat, given the sloping, uneven ground and the clumps of frozen bunchgrass that kept trying to trip her up.
Although the entire trip probably didn’t last much more than a few minutes, to Tess it seemed