Читать книгу The Cowboy Who Came In From The Cold - Pamela Macaluso - Страница 10

Three

“Would we really lose that much heat if we opened the shutters?” Patrice asked late in the afternoon when she was about to go stir-crazy.

“It would get draftier.”

It was already drafty. “I’d just like to see some of the daylight.”

“Feeling closed in?”

She nodded.

Stone put on his jacket, scarf, hat and gloves. Once outside, he opened the shutters on the two windows on the front side of the cabin.

Patrice went over to look out. It was cloudy and overcast, but the sight of the meadow and what she could see of the trees through the snow was a nice break from the four walls of the cabin. At times she could see snowflakes falling to the ground, other times it seemed they were sailing horizontally across the sky.

Viewed through the intricate frost patterns on the window, everything was beautiful and picture-perfect.

For the first time since she’d discovered her ex-fiancé’s betrayal, a sense of peace settled over her. Yes, her life was a mess, but her life couldn’t reach her right now. The snow seemed like a protector. Instead of a barrier keeping her in, it was a shelter keeping the world out. She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

The prospect of being able to lick her wounds in peace sounded appealing. So far she’d focused on the financial end, but knew she couldn’t keep avoiding the most hurtful aspects of things—the emotional betrayal. Mountains of hurt and anger were building inside her...not just because he’d been enough of a creep to rob her blind, but because she’d been foolish enough to fall for him.

Stone passed in front of the window, carrying an armful of logs. She went to the door to let him in.

“Thanks,” he said, stomping the snow off his boots and returning to the warmth inside.

Patrice closed the door and took her place next to the window, letting the beauty entrance and soothe her once more. The sound of Stone stacking the wood became part of the assuagement.

“Do you get much snow in your part of Arizona?” He was now standing behind her.

She glanced over her shoulder at him. “How do you know I’m from Arizona?”

“Your license plate.”

“I’m from Phoenix. Snow is rare.” She looked back out the window. “It really is beautiful up here.”

“I’ve always thought so.”

“Do you get snowed in often?” she asked.

“Not for long, the main part of the ranch is at a lower elevation, and we have a snowplow.”

“Have you been stranded up here before?”

“I was up here last winter by myself for a week.”

“You were stuck here alone?”

“Yes.”

“Sounds scary. I’m glad you’re here with me.” She glanced over her shoulder. He’d moved a few steps closer.

His gaze dropped briefly to her lips then returned to her eyes. “Are you?”

Her heartbeat seemed to trip over itself, then picked up speed. If she turned and took a step, she could be in his arms.

His gaze found her mouth again, and she almost gave in to the temptation.

The crackle of a log in the fireplace stopped her in time. “Yes, I wouldn’t want to be here alone.”

A half smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Darlin’, if you had any idea what’s been going through my mind the last few minutes, you’d wish me out of here in a heartbeat.”

Quickly she turned back to the window. She thought about the way he’d looked at her mouth. Had he been thinking about kissing her, even as she’d been dreaming and pondering what it would feel like to have him turn the force of his charms her way?

Before she could change her mind, she turned fully around to face him. “Why do you say that?”

She thought he wasn’t going to answer, but then he said, “I’ve been wondering most of the day what it would feel like to kiss you, and the last few minutes I’ve been giving serious consideration to finding out.”

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and nibbled on it. What would it feel like to kiss him?

“I’ve never been kissed by a man with a beard.” She had no idea why that fact had tumbled out of her mouth...maybe because it was harmless compared to the other thoughts she was having.

How can you want him to kiss you when you’ve known him less than a day?

He rubbed his fingers along his jawline. “I usually grow a beard in the winter. It helps keep my face warm.” He took half a step toward her. “It’s not as rough or scratchy as it looks.” He reached out and took her hand, bringing it to rest against his cheek.

Her breath caught in her throat. He was right, it wasn’t as rough as it looked. She could imagine the feel of it brushing against her cheeks...across the swell of her breasts...on the sensitive skin of her inner thigh....

There was a hint of warmth coming from his skin beneath. Her fingertips tingled, and she fought back the urge to run her thumb over the fullness of his bottom lip.

She looked into his eyes. They had darkened to a deeper, more striking blue. It would be too easy to let herself fall into them. She forced herself to blink, to break the spell.

“Why?” she asked.

“Why isn’t it as scratchy as it looks?”

“Why do you want to kiss me?”

“Why do you want me to?”

She pulled her hand from his face and moved away until she felt the cabin wall against her back. “I didn’t say that I wanted you to kiss me.”

He smiled. “You didn’t have to say the words, it was written all over your face.”

It crossed her mind to lie, but she told the truth. “I honestly don’t know why.”

He moved to the couch. “Is there a significant other waiting for you back in Arizona?”

She shook her head. “I was engaged, but that ended the same time I lost my job.”

“Were the two related?”

“Yes, but I’d rather not talk about it.”

He shrugged. “All right.”

“Is there a significant other waiting for you back at the ranch?”

A troubled look passed over his features. “No. I’m a widower.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s been two years.”

The obvious questions crossed her mind: How had he lost his wife, how long had they been married? But she didn’t want to pry. Besides, what mattered most was that he was currently unattached, and she was surprisingly glad.

She realized he hadn’t answered her question about why he’d wanted to kiss her. And apparently he’d changed his mind, since he stood so far away....

He rubbed his hand across his beard where she had so recently touched. “We could play some cards. There’s a deck in the cupboard. Unless you’d like to get back to your book?”

“Let’s try cards for a while. Although I’m afraid I don’t know many card games.”

They ended up pulling the cribbage board out of the game box. Patrice had never played, so Stone taught her. He was a thorough and patient teacher, She couldn’t stop from speculating whether he’d be a thorough and patient lover, as well.

Stone shuffled the cards. “Clancy is a fairly small town. What’s your grandmother’s name? I may know her.”

“Dorothy Winston.”

“Dorothy Winston? The Mrs. Winston that teaches at Clancy High?”

“She used to.”

“She taught one of my senior year classes.”

Patrice tried to picture a younger high-school-age Stone. She would bet money he’d been breaking hearts even then.

“I always wished I could be in a class of hers. Was she a good teacher?”

“The best. One of the only English classes I enjoyed in school.” A wistful smile curved his lips. “I met Val in Mrs. Winston’s English class.”

Patrice made a mental note to ask her grandmother about Val and Stone. She wasn’t sure what good knowing about the other woman would do, other than give her an idea of the kind of woman Stone was attracted to. A topic she was better off not exploring.

Before she knew it, the light coming in through the windows was starting to fade.

“I’d better make a trip out back before it gets dark,” she said.

“Good idea.”

Once the necessities and dinner were taken care of, Stone went out and closed the shutters for the night. “We’ll open them again during the day tomorrow.”

They settled in on opposite sides of the couch with their books.

“I keep forgetting to ask, what do the C and G over the door stand for?” Patrice said.

“That’s our brand. Baron Garrett Cattle Company.”

“Baron Garrett as in Baron and Garrett, or titled aristocracy?”

“The baron claimed to be titled. But he arrived here in the 1890s. Back then, as slow as news traveled, he could have claimed to be the king of England himself and no one would have been able to prove otherwise. There’s a portrait of him at the ranch. Tall, blond, very aristocratic looking.”

“Is there any way to find out whether he was really a baron?”

“I’m sure there is. Val talked about researching and finding out the truth, but she didn’t get around to it.”

“Val was your wife?”

“Yes. I told her she only wanted to know because she wanted to say she was a baroness.”