Rich Rancher For Christmas. Sarah M. Anderson
down the faster the storm moved. Then, suddenly, she was in the wall of snow and wind. She tried to scream, but the wind tore her cries out of her throat and threw them away. Her first instinct was to curl into a ball and shield her nearly bare legs, but dimly, in the back of her mind, she knew she needed to move. Standing still meant death. Not the slow death of a ratings slide. A real, irreversible, not-coming-back-from-it death.
She stumbled to one side, but the wind pushed her back. Her car! She looked around but couldn’t even see the Mustang. There was nothing but gray and stinging snowflakes and blisteringly cold wind.
Then, unexpectedly, she felt something warm and solid at her back. Arms closed around her waist and physically lifted her into the air. Wesley. Her first instinct was to struggle—but the fact that he was warm overrode everything else. She let him carry her, trusting that he knew where he was and where he was going. After what seemed like an hour but was probably only a minute or two, a dark shape loomed out of the snow—the house. He carried her up steps and thrust her through the door, where she promptly tripped over the groceries. She landed with a thud on her bottom, dazed and freezing and wet.
She looked up and saw Wesley struggling to get the door shut. He put his shoulder into it and slammed it against the wind, and instantly, she felt at least ten degrees warmer.
“Thank you,” she said. Well, she tried to say it. Her teeth were chattering so hard what came out sounded more like a keyboard clicking.
Wesley loomed over her, his hands on his hips. At some point, he’d lost his hat, which meant that for the first time, she had a really good look at his face. His hair was a deep brown and his face was tanned. He had snowflakes stuck to his two-week beard. She couldn’t stop shivering, but he just stood there like an immovable boulder.
An angry immovable boulder.
She didn’t like the way he was looking at her, as if he could see exactly how worthless she felt. So, still shaking so hard that she could barely get her feet under her, she stood. It was then she realized she’d lost one of her shoes. Dammit, those had been Dolce & Gabbana.
“Thank you,” she said again. It came out less clicky this time. “I’ll just warm up and then I’ll go.” She swallowed. “I’d like my phone back, please, but I promise I won’t take any pictures of you.” It hurt to make that promise because her producer was expecting results and without them...
CJ Wesley had just saved her life. He obviously didn’t like her, but he’d still dragged her into his house. And for that, she was grateful.
“You don’t get it, do you?”
She could be grateful and still be irritated at the tone in his voice, right? “Get what?”
“The convertible of yours? It’s not four-wheel drive, is it?”
“No...”
He sighed heavily and looked toward the ceiling. “I send you back out in this, assuming you can even get to your car before you freeze to death in that getup,” he said, waving a dismissive hand at her outfit, “you won’t make it off the property. You’ll drive off the road, get stuck in a ditch and freeze to death before nightfall.” He leveled a hard gaze at her and all of her self-defense mechanisms failed her. She shrank back. “You’re stuck here, Ms. Baker. You’re stuck here with me for the duration.”
“What?”
CJ had to stop himself from stepping forward and brushing the snowflakes from her eyelashes. She was an ice princess right now, the White Witch of Winter. If he wasn’t careful, she just might bewitch him. “You’re not going anywhere.”
She shuddered again and this time, he didn’t think it was entirely from the cold. Now what? Maybe he should have just left her out there, since he couldn’t seem to get rid of her any other way.
But even as he thought it, he felt guilty. That was not the Wesley way and he knew it. So now, it appeared he would be spending the next several days—possibly even Christmas—with Natalie Baker. The one woman who had not only figured out he was related to Hardwick Beaumont, but also wanted to use that knowledge for...for what? Ratings?
“I could...” She looked out the front window. CJ looked with her. It was a solid mass of gray. It could’ve been fog, except for the small particles of snow and ice pinging off the window.
“No, you can’t. I’m not going to let you freeze to death out there.” He gritted his teeth. How was he going to keep her out of his business if she were physically stuck in his house?
How was he going to keep his hands off of her if she were stuck in his house?
Hell, he’d already failed at that. He’d picked her up and all but slung her over his shoulder like he was a caveman, dragging her back to his cave. Her body had been cold, yes—but also soft and light and...
“You’re probably freezing,” he went on, trying to stay in the present.
Because the present was a wet woman who was criminally underdressed. He needed to get her warmed up before she caught her death. And given the way the wind was howling out there, he didn’t have a lot of time. “You better take a hot shower while we still have power. And if there’s anyone you need to call to let them know you’re all right, you should do that now.” She opened her mouth but he cut her off. “You can use my house phone.”
He wanted her to move, or at least do something—but she didn’t. Instead she looked at him with a mixture of confusion and anxiety. “Are you being nice to me?”
“No,” he answered quickly, even though it was a lie and they both knew it. “But I don’t want your death on my hands.”
That statement sobered her up. “Oh.”
She sounded small and vulnerable and dammit, that pulled at something inside of him. But he wasn’t going to listen to that something because he liked to think he wasn’t an idiot. And only an idiot would fall for whatever Natalie Baker was trying to pull over him. She’d spent weeks hunting for him and she’d already tried to use her fabulous body as an enticement on more than one occasion. For all he knew, she had decided raw sexuality wouldn’t work and instead was making a play for his heartstrings.
It wasn’t going to work. He was immune to all the vulnerability she was projecting right now. “Who do you need to call?”
He wouldn’t have thought it possible, but she seemed to get even smaller. “Well, I guess...” There was a long pause. “Well...” she said again, blinking furiously. “No one.”
He stared at her. “You’re probably going to be here for Christmas, you realize that, right?” Surely, there had to be someone who would miss her. She was a famous TV personality. He’d recognized her the moment she set foot in the feed store. Someone as beautiful and talented as Natalie Baker... Even if she didn’t have close family, she had to have friends.
She shook her head. Then she tried to smile. “I’m not going to lie, the shower sounds great. I don’t think I’ve ever been this cold.”
He eyed her clothes again. She kicked out of her other shoe, and suddenly, she barely came up to his shoulder. She had nothing on her legs but a tight, short skirt underneath a peacoat in a wild fuchsia color. He couldn’t decide if she was oblivious or just stupid about the weather. Or if she’d planned it this way—planned on getting herself trapped out here with him.
Either way, he was willing to get her some dry clothes. That skirt wasn’t going to keep her warm even if he got his fireplace cranked up. “All right. But,” he said before she could make a move deeper into his house, “these are the rules. I hold on to your phone for as long as you’re here and you stay out of my life. Otherwise, it’s a hell of a long walk to town in this weather.”
He wouldn’t really kick her out—but she didn’t need