Valentine's Cowboy Rescue Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

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  VALENTINE'S COWBOY RESCUE

  Cowboys of Wildcat Creek, Book One

  Barbara McMahon

  www.barbaramcmahon.com

  Valentine’s Cowboy Rescue

  Copyright © 2022 Barbara McMahon

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Chapter One

  Jenny stopped the jeep a few feet from the cabin. The three wooden steps leading up to the porch were already covered in several inches of snow as was everything else in sight.

  “We made it,” she said to the large German Shepherd dog sitting attentively beside her.

  Val whined to get out. He’d patiently sat through the trying drive from town without a whimper, skids and all, but now that they were home, he was excited to get out and play in the snow.

  “Okay, hold on. I’ll let you out in a second.”

  She smiled at her companion and opened her door–quickly sliding out. He followed a half second later. She’d learned early on when she first got him that he always wanted out of a car and if she didn’t move fast enough, he’d sail right over her once the door was open.

  He ran in the snow and barked in delight. Stopping to roll in the white stuff, he stood again, looking like a ghost.

  She laughed. She loved that dog. He brought her so much joy. More than what she expected when they were first paired up.

  Taking a deep breath of the frigid air she raised her gaze to the tree tops, some branches already bending slightly with the weight of the snow. The cold, crisp air felt good. And so different from the hot, dusty air of Afghanistan. Gazing around, she relished the tall evergreens, the clearing in which her small cabin sat. Silence seemed even more muted with the snow. Except for the dog running around, she could almost hear the snowflakes landing.

  She loved being home. She’d been lucky to rent the cabin when she returned to Wildcat Creek. It suited her perfectly and felt like home from the first day.

  “I wish you could help me unload,” she called as she pulled four bags of groceries from the back seat.

  The weather forecast had predicted a record snowfall when this blizzard moved in and she’d stocked up for several weeks. She could cocoon herself in the cabin, self sufficient if the predicted snowfall arrived.

  It was falling so thick she could hardly see more than a few dozen yards in front of her.

  Jenny trudged carefully up the steps to the porch. The overhang sheltered most of it from the snow. Putting down a couple of bags, she unlocked the door. The cabin was toasty warm. Quickly carrying the bags to the kitchen, she turned to bring in another load.

  The large stack of firewood, protected on the porch, would last for days. The major stack of wood for the winter was close enough to the house she could shovel a path to it when the logs on the porch became depleted.

  She had a generator if the power went out as it often did this far from town when heavy snow or fallen trees pulled down the lines.

  Two more trips and the jeep was empty. Val ran around in the snow, sticking his nose into the white stuff then tossing his head up causing a small arc of snow that drifted in the wind. Jenny laughed again.

  “Shall I throw you some snowballs?” she asked. Taking a handful of snow, she packed it into a ball and then threw it. The dog ran after it, then stopped–puzzled. He sniffed around, sticking his nose into the snow, looking for the ball.

  Laughing again, Jenny played the game with him for several minutes. She tossed some gently and he’d jump to catch them mid-air, only to bite down on them and sending snow cascading from his mouth.

  Finally she called a halt.

  “Come on, let’s go inside. The snow’s getting deeper and it’s cold and I still have to put the groceries away.”

  Val trotted over and once on the porch shook off the accumulation of snow transforming himself from white to black.

  “Glad we have this porch or you’d be making a bigger mess inside,” she said, opening the door to let the dog in.

  By the time Jenny finished putting the groceries away, she was ready for lunch. At one point that morning she’d debated staying in town to treat herself to lunch from the café, but when the snow began falling heavily she knew she’d better get home before the roads became impassable.

  A loud crack came from outside, then two muffled thumps.

  Jenny froze for a split second, then dropped to all fours and scurried beneath the dining room table, her mind taking her back to the ambush in Afghanistan. She couldn’t move, she could scarcely breath. Visions of that attack flooded her mind. Adrenalin surged, her heart pounded, her vision was obscured. She heard the echo of the mortar rounds. Felt the incessant heat. Heard the cries of the wounded, the rounds of gunfire. She drew herself into a ball, trying to hide where there was no hiding. Trying to be safe until she could move again.

  Val leaned against her, sticking his face in front of hers, licking her cheek. He whimpered, pushing against her and licking her face over and over.

  Slowly the images and sounds faded. She reached for her service dog and buried her face in his thick fur hugging him tight. Taking a deep breath, she willed her mind to come back to the present. Wished her racing heart would slow down. Wished she could forget.

  The dog remained in position, leaning against her slightly, not moving until she did. Slowly her breathing returned to normal. Slowly she opened her eyes and saw the furnishings in the cabin she rented.

  She wasn’t in Afghanistan. She was in Wyoming.

  She wasn’t in the Army any more. She was home.

  Safe at home.

  “Stupid, huh,” she said into his fur, still clinging to her dog as the adrenalin slowly dissipated. “A tree limb probably broke dumping snow.”

  She hated this. The psychiatrist at the VA hospital had told her the attacks would most likely fade over time–lots of time. Sudden loud noises seem to trigger events. Or sensory overload if she was in a crowded noisy place. Or stress. Or nothing at all.

  Jenny reviewed what she was doing to manage the PTSD. To minimize triggers.

  She lived alone in a quiet home tucked away in a section of a peaceful forest. Neighbors weren’t too far away, but she couldn’t hear them when she was outside.

  Her trips to town were manageable. Wildcat Creek was a small ranching community–nothing like big cities with constant noise and activity.

  Her job as a private duty nurse suited her situation. Fortunately the residents of Wildcat Creek and nearby towns where she might be called to work knew her situation and her service dog was as welcomed as she was.

  She sat back on the floor and continued to hold on to Val. He climbed into her lap, his face still studying hers. His hundred pounds was a welcomed weight against her legs.

  “You aren’t exactly a lap dog,” she said as she petted him.

  Taking deep breaths, she tried to orient herself. In a moment, she’d get up, fix her lunch, and be fine the rest of the day.

  Or she would be when the adrenalin surge subsided.

  She hoped.

  “If I only had a second’s warning, I could prepare,” she murmured to Val.

  He thumped his tail on the floor, still pinning her legs to the floor, leaning against her slightly, giving the support she needed.

  “Okay, I’m good.”

  He rose and she scooted out from beneath the table. Jenny stood up and then leaned over to hug her dog again.

  “Thanks for being here for me,” she said.

  She ate lunch at the round oak table to one side of the great room gazing out the front window. The storm was fast becoming the predicted blizzard. The snow so thick she could scarcely see it piling up on the jeep.

  “I know you love playing in the snow, but a quiet afternoon inside is in store for us. If it stops snowing tomorrow, we’ll play outside,” she said to Val.

  The dog was curled in front of the fireplace, his gaze on her. He wagged his tail.

  Suddenly he rose, ran to the window and looked out, ears up, tail out, his full attention on something outside.

  “What is it? A deer? Some old cow that broke through the fence?”

  Wild life wasn’t uncommon. Even cows sometimes wandered around due to the fact the cabin was actually on a portion of one of the large ranches in the area. Apart from this area of trees that continued upward for several miles, most of the land around Wildcat Creek was rough pasture for the cattle that built the economy in the area.

  Val was on alert. He didn’t move–ears forward, eyes gazing as if seeing a long distance through the swirling snow. Then he whined, runni
ng to the door. Barking, he looked back at her.

  “We’re not going outside. It’s cold, the snow’s getting too deep to walk in and I told you we’d play tomorrow.”

  He nosed the door and barked again. He looked back at her and then barked.

  “What is it?” she asked, becoming concerned. He’d never acted this way before.

  He barked again, several times, almost as if he was chastising her.

  “Okay, okay.”

  Jenny pulled on her heavy winter coat and flipped the hood over her head.

  “Okay, we’ll see what’s got you all worked up. But if it’s a squirrel or something, I’m not going to be happy.”

  She opened the door and he shot outside like a bullet, running past the jeep and down the driveway.

  “Val, come,” she called, hurrying after him. Where was that dog going?

  The snow was already a foot deep. She hurried after him, slipping now and then.

  It took several minutes to catch up with him. He continued to bark and when she rounded a curve in the driveway, she saw him on the road. Not that it was easy to see, the snow blended everywhere. She’d been lucky to find her way back home earlier.

  As Jenny approached her barking dog she saw a white pick up truck had gone into the ditch on the other side of the road. Val stood near the driver’s door barking furiously.

  Jenny hurried to join him. The truck already had a thick coating of snow and due to the angle of incline in the ditch, the side window was coated as well.

  She scraped the driver’s side window clear and peered inside.

  A man sat behind the wheel, his head resting on the back of the seat, a trickle of blood running down the side of his head.

  She pounded on the window. For a moment, nothing happened. Then he opened his eyes, blinked once and turned to stare at her.

  Jenny tugged on the door handle and pulled the door open.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, leaning in slightly to see him better.

  “I’ve been better.”

  He looked out the door, then back at the covered windshield.

  “I thought I could make it back before the snow got too deep. Guess I figured that wrong.”

  Jenny straightened, noticing he wore jeans and a shearling jacket over a flannel shirt. Beyond him on the front seat was the ubiquitous cowboy hat.

  “Judging from the angle of the truck, I’d say you aren’t going to back it out any time soon. And even if you did get it out under its own power, I doubt you’d get five feet down the road. The snow’s more than a foot deep already. And you can see how heavy it’s coming down.”

  His hand rubbed his forehead.

  Looking closely, she noticed a slight bump.

  “Did you hit your head?”

  “I think I whacked it on the window when the truck spun and then slammed into the ditch.”

  “You can’t stay here. You’ll freeze to death. You’d better come back with me.”

  He looked around. “Where’s your house?”

  She pointed across the road to the wide space between the trees. “Down that way.”

  He looked at her and then at the German Shepherd standing right next to Jenny.

  “You’re the Army veteran. I heard you lived outside town.”

  She nodded. “Jenny Schofield. Come on, it’s getting colder by the minute. Do you need any help?”

  He shook his head slightly, grimaced, and climbed out of the truck. He set his hat on his head, wincing slightly when it touched the abraded area.

  “I’m Tucker Mason. Folks call me Tuck.”

  “And you live in Wildcat Creek?”

  “On the Bar 7 Ranch on the other side of town. I’m segundo there.”

  “Bill Mackay’s place?”

  He nodded, then winced again. “Yep.”

  Val danced around.

  “Let’s go home,” she told the big dog.

  He turned and led the way back toward the cabin trotting ahead of them, but not too far ahead Jenny couldn’t follow.

  Tuck walked beside her.

  He was tall with that slim physique common to cowboys–wide shoulders, long legs–and of course wearing cowboy boots. Which wouldn’t offer much traction in the snow.

  He kept pace with her despite the head injury and boots more suited to riding than tramping through snow.

  “Does your head hurt?” she asked.

  “A bit.”

  “I’ll look at it when we reach home, I’m a nurse.”

  “Fine.”

  They walked in silence the rest of the way. Jenny was grateful for Val’s leading. The snow was swirling around them so much she might have walked right off the driveway into the trees and been lost. At least there was no wind at the moment.

  Her curiosity about the cowboy at her side rose. She didn’t know everyone in town, of course, but she did know most. Or heard of them. She didn’t think she’d ever heard of Tucker Mason.

  She’d been gone for six years and only back a few months. She’d been surprised at how much changed in her absence. As a child growing up in Wildcat Creek, she’d believed nothing changed in a hundred years.

  “Are you from around here?” she asked.

  How much farther to the cabin? She was cold and felt she’d been walking miles. She kept her hands balled up in her pockets. Once or twice she slid in the uneven ground beneath the snow, but kept on.

  “From the Bar 7,” he said again.

  “Born and raised there?” she asked with some asperity. She wasn’t senile, she heard him the first time he’d said it.

  “No, born and raised in Texas.”

  His voice held a hint of Texas drawl.

  “How long have you been here in Wyoming?” she asked.

  He looked down at her. She met his gaze, knowing hers was full of curiosity. This man she met a few moments ago already intrigued her.

  “A while.”

  She wrinkled her nose and faced forward. Either he was super secretive or just didn’t want to open up.

  Which raised her curiosity a notch higher.

  “Do you know where you’re going?” he asked a moment later.

  The thick snow made it impossible to see more than a few feet in front of them.

  “I’m relying on Val to lead the way,” she said. “He’ll get us home. My driveway’s long. He must have heard your crash though I can’t imagine how. The snow muffles everything. He was in an all fired hurry to get out and headed straight for you.”

  “I appreciate the rescue.”

  They trudged along in silence for several minutes. Then the snow covered jeep appeared and finally the cabin.

  “We’re here,” she said, following Val up the steps to the porch. After they brushed off most of the snow, she opened the door and led the way inside.

  “Man this feels great,” Tuck said, removing his hat and holding it in his hand.

  She could almost see him soaking up the warmth. She took off her jacket and watched as he assessed her home.

  Tuck looked around the cabin, glad for the warmth. It looked like it was one large room with furniture designating the different areas–living, dining. The kitchen opened to the room and had a door leading outside. Three doors on the back wall were closed. Bedrooms and bath were his guess.

  “You can hang your coat and hat on the rack,” she said, pointing out the hooks on the wall beside the door. She’d already hung her jacket and was walking toward the back.

  He nodded, taking off his jacket. The place was snug and warm. Too bad he’d have to head back out as soon as he could get his truck towed. There was too much work waiting at the ranch to give into a sudden desire to just sit down and soak up the warmth. And if the storm delivered all the snow that was forecast, there’d be even more things to deal with.

  “Can I use your phone?” he asked.

  “Sure, but let me look at your head first.”

  That same head that was pounding like a jackhammer. He took a deep breath. Then followed her to the bathroom. He felt the trickle of blood on his face now that the warmth started the flow again.

  “I can wash up,” he said, peering at his reflection in the mirror. Not too bad. He’d had worse.

  “Sit down and I’ll wash it and assess the damage,” she said in a no-nonsense voice.

  “Bossy,” he muttered.

  “What?”

  “I’ve had worse being tossed from a bull.”