"Of course. Cocoa along with the coffee?" Kassie patted Toren's shoulder. "You get on out of here so I can get you a mess of my special supper pastries to take with."
Sam paused to check the contents of the orange bag. It was her daddy's one concession to her demands for safety and preparedness. The bag held an extensive first aid kit, emergency shelter and blankets, a handgun and ammo, freeze-dried food and other wilderness survival gear. A person could manage fairly well with the contents of that bag for several days – more if they had water and fuel. And with a storm that size headed their way, she wasn’t fool enough to forget it.
She checked that her gloves were securely in her pocket and her scarf waited around her neck, then stooped to sling the orange duffel over her shoulders. Turning to push the door open with her backside, she froze.
Toren stood staring at her, lower lip caught between his teeth as if he wanted to say something. He seemed entirely at a loss for how to act or what to do. So why did she suddenly feel like Little Red Riding Hood to his Big Bad Wolf? Nonsense. Especially considering the strange sense of safety she felt in his presence. Why the contrast?
Kassie rescued him by handing him the canvas-covered food carrier she'd designed, with compartments for hot, cold, and in-between, along with storage for utensils and condiments and other necessities and luxuries. "Here you go, Toren. Now you help Sammie along to the truck and keep her safe out there." He took the heavy container, flashed Kassie a grateful look, and rushed to hold the door for Sam.
The gentlemanly act gave her a moment's pause. The only time a man had held the door for her was when the funeral parlor attendant held it when she went to Ben's funeral. She'd been so surprised she stopped a moment and waited for him to go through first. She gave Toren a wary glance and rushed through, feeling awkward as a whore in church.
Tripping over the threshold didn't help, especially when Toren grabbed her arm and steadied her. His grasp betrayed enormous strength and he'd moved impossibly fast. All that faded to insignificance in comparison to her self-consciousness as she freed her arm from his grip. Feet safely on the ground again, she started over.
Sam took the extra moment to grab tools from the shed so they wouldn't be stuck with no way of making a repair or spreading feed. In no time they were loaded and ready, and Sam wrestled the old transmission into gear. The truck jolted to break free of its frozen tracks and they were under way. She glanced at Toren sprawled in the passenger side, surprised he hadn't at least offered to drive. Most of the hands insisted.
Shit. She slammed the brake and the truck ground to a halt. "Where's your gear?"
He gave her a puzzled look. "My gear?" He blinked, drawing her attention to the black lashes surrounding those silver eyes.
"Yes, your gear. Coat. Hat. Gloves. Stuff to keep you warm in this weather? Don't tell me you don't have your own, because no one here is big enough to lend you theirs." Just her luck. An absolute greenhorn and no time to make sure he knew how to wipe his own ass.
"Oh, that." He nodded. "I threw it in the back while you got the tools from the barn."
The almost nervous glance over his shoulder into the bed of the truck made her wonder, but Sam took him at his word. Outright asking a man if he were too stupid to live was more of an insult than she was willing to give on such short acquaintance. She just nodded and started the rust bucket rolling forward again. At least she had a little time to figure out if she should make him stay in the truck when they got to the hay shed, or if he might actually be able to help.
"So you've worked on other ranches?"
He grinned, perfect teeth, except for the little chip in his incisor she'd noticed earlier, flashing in the twilight of the truck cab. "I've done a lot of different kinds of work. Most recently, I was a soldier."
Okay. Maybe that explained it, then. Lots of guys came back from the war a little unsure of themselves, not to mention he'd been away from ranch life for a while. "Where are you from? Before you joined the service, I mean."
"We moved around a lot, different obscure little places, all over the world." The distant note in his voice seemed like he wasn't too keen on answering questions about his past. "Tell me a little about the C-Bar. Did you grow up here?"
"I did." Odd that he'd ask something like that instead of how many head they ran or what stock. Most ranch hands wanted that kind of info up front since it told a great deal about the fiscal health of an operation, and whether their pay checks would clear or bounce. "My daddy's family came here in the 1850s, but didn't really start ranching right off. That came in the 1880s after beef prices and shipping were more stable. Until now, it's passed father to son. My daddy's the first without a son to pass it to." She shut up before her bitterness leaked through and had Toren wondering if he might be the son and heir her daddy wanted.