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She smiled briefly, then jumped to her feet and rushed at him.
Cade eased back, holding up his hands. “Hey, hey.”
He didn’t get any more out. She grabbed his shirt and pulled herself closer. She was a decent height, maybe five-seven, and easily the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She put even his lost love Sheryl Dracon, who’d had the face of an angel, to shame. That was a huge compliment in his mind to this intense and probably unstable woman.
“She’s coming,” she said, her eyes gaining a wild edge. “She’s coming. We have to hide, or she’ll hurt you.”
“Look, ma’am.” He took her hands in his to pull them from his shirt, but the moment he wrapped his palms around her smaller hands, the ground shifted, he lost his train of thought, and warmth radiated up his arms and into his blood vessels, charging him with a heady mixture of yearning and purpose.
The blue-eyed beauty stared at him, then down at his hands around hers, then back up at him. She wobbled on her feet. From the head injury or the ground-shaking he was experiencing?
“Who are you?” she asked, her blue eyes filled with a confused sort of wonder, as if he was someone very special and she had to know his name.
“I’m Cade Miller.” His voice had gone weird, deep and gravelly.
He needed to release her and step away. Somehow retrieve his phone out of the lake and see if it still worked. Was that the first item of business, or should he insist she lie down until he knew if she had head or spinal injuries? He also needed to figure out who this beauty was and who she thought was coming to hurt him. Torture, murder? Not likely. He didn’t want to be cocky about it, but he was a tough rancher—six-five, two-fifty, and loads of functional muscle. He was recovered from the blown ACL that had prompted his early medical retirement from his Army unit, well-trained and accomplished at combat. He could shoot a target at a hundred feet with rifle or pistol. He would never be afraid of some lady who apparently was powerful and scary in this beauty’s mind.
“Cade.” She looked him over. “That is an exquisite cowboy name. Cowboys are my favorite type of male.”
“Uh … Excuse me?” He forced himself to release her hands, step back, and tip down his cowboy hat so she couldn’t see his eyes as well.
“I have an appreciation for handsome, strong male cowboys,” she restated, nodding to herself as if pleased to know that.
“All right then,” was all he could think to say. “Are you injured? You should probably lie down until help comes.”
“No help. No help.” She shook her head vigorously. Then she stepped in again, knocked his cowboy hat off his head with one hand, and wrapped both of her hands around his biceps.
He felt a little surge of pride that her hands didn’t come close to wrapping all the way around his bicep and triceps muscles, concern about her mental well-being, and annoyance that she’d dare knock a cowboy’s hat off. If she ‘appreciated’ cowboys, she’d know the hat was only removed as a sign of respect, in a public building, and usually in a home. He felt exposed with his hat off.
“Forgive me. It’s essential I have an unobstructed view of your green eyes. Mesmerizing. Truly.” She tilted her head to study him. She was close enough that her long, dark hair swept across his arm. Silk. He wanted to run that hair through his fingers. “What do the local girls call you? Cute Cowboy Cade? No, not strong enough. Charming? Handsome? Breathtaking?” She swayed and clung tighter to him.
“What girls?” He stared at her. She was obviously not in her right mind. A few bricks short of a stack, as his dad would say.
“Do you ride your horse into town, attend the weekend dances and cause all the young ladies to swoon? Do you distract them amidst a boring church sermon wearing your Wranglers and fancy boots and a big belt buckle? I imagine they’re all awestruck around you and this enthralling cowboy façade you’ve mastered.”
“Cowboy … façade?”
Where was her accent from? It was American, but definitely not Western or Southern. He’d heard highly educated Easterners speak like her before. He loved the unique flow and her vocabulary, but that hardly mattered right now.
“Where is the closest town?” she asked. “Is cowboy a central theme? Where am I?” Her eyes widened, and that fear he’d glimpsed earlier seemed to be sneaking back in.
“The closest town is Coleville, Montana.”
“I’ve never heard of Coleville.” Her eyes looked near panicked now. What was wrong with her? She must have a head injury. That goose was egg was huge.
“It’s small. Kalispell’s the biggest town close by.”
Her eyes still looked an odd combination of blank and fearful.
“Have you heard of Glacier National Park? That’s just a couple hours northeast of us.”
“I believe so.” She frowned. “A national park? Is it beautiful?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“It could not possibly outshine this spot.” She looked around at his picture-perfect valley and the mountains surrounding it.
“Heaven on earth,” he agreed. When his dad sold him this family plot of land a year ago when he came home from the military and Sheryl dumped him, his mom had not been happy. He’ll end up a hermit, a recluse, a heart-broken, washed up cowboy living by himself in the mountains.
