Читать книгу Mountain Wild - Stacey Kayne - Страница 13

Garret woke to the aroma of stewed meat and the telltale bubbling of something simmering on the stove. He blinked several times, and still he stared up at a high stone ceiling. His gaze swept over rock walls, a black stove to his right…none of it the slightest bit familiar.

His stomach growled, the tantalizing scent drawing his gaze back to the bubbling kettle. Licking his dry lips he glanced at the wood front of what appeared to be someone’s home. A lamp to his right and another beyond the foot of the bed created soft circles of light, brightening the dank surroundings.

Where the hell am I?

He pushed up onto his elbows and had to stifle a groan. His body ached as though he hadn’t moved in ages. Pain pulsed through his skull, radiating from the left side. He reached up and touched a tender spot above his forehead and discovered a small lump and what felt like a gash beneath his hair. The movement wafted him with a clean, sweet scent. He paused and sniffed his arm.

“Wildflowers?”

Sapphire eyes and black hair against delicate ivory skin surfaced in his mind.

The woman. She’d stayed nearby, stroking his skin, encouraging him to drink.

Rest, Garret. You have a fever.

The soft, husky voice tantalized his memory with the alluring scent of her skin, her silky softness beneath his lips.

“A dream,” he muttered. The only safe place to love a woman.

He pushed the wool blanket aside and froze, surprise prickling through him. He wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing. His gaze skated around the room, searching every shadowed corner. He was alone. In the corner beside the stove was a rumpled blanket and tooth-scrapped bone. Wherever his caretaker had gone, she’d taken his dog. Why was he here? If he was sick, why wasn’t he in his own bed? And yet…he didn’t recall getting sick. For all he knew some woman had knocked him from his saddle and dragged him to her bed.

Her delicate feminine features surfaced in his mind.

A man could suffer a worse fate.

Another glance around the rough rock walls snuffed that thought. He doubted the delicate creature of his dreams would live in such desolate surroundings. Had he dreamed up her pretty face to match the soothing voice and gentle hands that had been caring for him?

He shifted his feet to the floor with silent caution. His bare toes touched down on a cold, smooth surface.

Polished wood? He glanced again at the tidy space, noting the canisters, boxes and stacked dishes lined up all nicelike on the wide-set shelves, the stack of blankets folded at the foot of the bed. He’d known a couple of miners who’d carved out similar dwellings—but he’d never known any miner to be quite so tidy. Every breath drew in a clean floral scent and the mouthwatering aroma of stew.

How the hell had he gotten here? He closed his eyes, trying to remember. Last he could recall he’d been riding range…he’d ridden home at noon and—Duce. He’d been looking for Duce. His business partner hadn’t made it in for the noontime meal. The way the countryside had been strewn with violence and mishaps lately, too many ranchers turning up dead and a storm rolling in…

Chills prickled his skin as he recalled the cold, whipping rain washing out horse tracks he’d followed into the hills—old panic clenched his chest.

He hadn’t found Duce.

Garret shot to his feet, pulling the blanket around his waist as he stood. The quick movement made him lightheaded and wafted him with the scent of spring flowers, reminding him that whoever lived here had done more than simply tend his fever. He’d been bathed.

He moved toward the door, each step a slow stretch of tense muscles. The way his head and body ached, he could have been struck by lightning. Maybe Duce had found him and brought him to this place.

Spotting his boots tucked beneath the small table beside the rickety door, he pulled them out and stepped into the tall leather shafts. His clothes were nowhere in sight. Surely he’d been fully dressed when he’d arrived. He scanned three large barrels stacked on top of the other in the far corner and a large chest at the foot of the bed. He was tempted to search their contents for his britches. A pinch in his bladder urged him to search out a privy first. After he relieved himself, he’d find whoever had taken his clothes and his dog and demand some answers.

He pulled open the door and had to shield his face from a flurry of snowflakes. Cold wind buffeted against his bare chest, sending an instant chill shivering across his skin. He stared gap-jawed at the snow piled some three feet high on either side of the door, a path having been recently shoveled.

“What the hell?”

Through the haze of swirling flakes tall timbers reached toward a gray sky. White-topped mountain peaks rose up from all sides.

He was in the high country. He wouldn’t have ridden into these snow-packed mountains.

A familiar bark echoed over the rush of wind and Garret stepped into the brisk cold. “Boots!”

Snow burst from the embankment up ahead as his dog bounded onto the shoveled path. Garret grinned, relieved to see his shaggy friend.

“Hey, boy,” he said, reaching down to pat his furry head while keeping his gaze on movement near the end of the path. He narrowed his eyes, trying to peer through the falling snow as the stranger drew near. The small form slowly emerged through the flurry of flakes, a white hooded coat blending with the winter landscape. He couldn’t make out more than a faint outline and a shotgun clutched in the left hand.

Caution tensed his muscles as the stranger drew close.

Mad Mag was the first thought to his mind, until she looked up. The deep blue eyes and delicate, feminine features lurking beneath that hood stole his breath.

She’s real. The passionate woman from his dream.

“You should be inside.”

Her voice was low, husky, and flooded his mind with the sounds of breathy moans, the image of her rose-tipped breast straining toward his mouth.

“Move.”

Her harsh tone and stern gaze jarred him from the tantalizing vision. He stepped back, allowing her to rush him through the doorway. She quickly shut out the wind and wisps of snow.

“Go lay down.” She pointed toward the far wall, her stern tone commanding as she stared him right in the eyes.

Maybe this bitty thing had clubbed him over the head and dragged him to her bed. Shock rippled through him…along with an undeniable stir of attraction.

Boots brushed his leg on his way to the corner, and Garret realized she was talking to his dog, not him. He scrubbed a hand over his stubble-coated jaw. He obviously wasn’t working with a full deck. His brain struggled to take hold of the notion that his dream lover stood before him. He stared at her, his mind lost somewhere between reality and a really good dream.

She propped her gun beside the door and glanced briefly at the floor. Her supple pink lips pressed to a firm line as her gaze moved over puddles of melting snow. He’d left the door wide-open.

“Sorry about that.”

Sharp blue eyes narrowed, her expression bordering on lethal. Not quite the passionate woman from his memory—his dreams, he silently amended. He eased back toward the warmth of the stove, his instincts warning him not to crowd the little filly. Her soft, delicate features were a clear contradiction to the hard blue eyes watching him with calculating caution.

She stayed beside the door, her posture stiff, defensive. The hand hovering near her waist made him wonder if she wore a gun beneath her coat. She pushed her hood back, revealing silky black braids tucked behind her ears. In his mind her hair was loose, fanned out across his arm, his chest—

“How do you feel?” she asked, her smooth voice washing over him like a sensual caress.

Uncomfortably aroused. He shifted his hold on the blanket and had to remind himself he didn’t know this woman. Other than the alluring images in his mind, he’d never seen her before.

“Alive, I suppose,” he answered. At the moment he wasn’t certain of anything else. His dreams blended with reality, distracting him from the questions he should be asking. Like why he’d awakened in the high country, where were his clothes and…had he actually bedded this woman? Best to start with something simple.

“Where am I?”

“About eight miles north of your ranch.”

Eight miles? Most of them straight up by the looks of the mountainous terrain he’d glimpsed outside.

She shrugged off her heavy fur. Garret wasn’t sure what he expected to see beneath the long coat, but the vibrant red flowers stitched across the shoulders of her white shirt took him by surprise. The garment hung to mid-thigh, cinched at her narrow waist by a beaded belt. She wasn’t wearing a gun. A leather sheath secured a long bowie knife at her hip.

Tiny but fierce, he thought, noting how her gaze didn’t stray from him as she hung her coat beside the door. Buckskin britches encased her slender legs, the bottoms tucked into her tall Indian-style boots. He only knew of one mountain woman to frequent these ranges, had been close enough to the old woman called Mad Mag to catch her stench, to see the filth on her hands as she had held a rifle to a man’s chest. The wide white cuffs of this woman’s shirt were etched with red thread and hid her hands, revealing just enough of her fingers to see her clean, short fingernails. She smelled as fresh as a spring rain.

“You were caught in the storm,” she said, drawing his gaze back to her young, pretty face.

He remembered a rainstorm, and the cold…waking to a beautiful woman sleeping in his arms. His gaze slid to the bed, a sense of dread tightening his gut.

“Do I have you to thank?” he asked. “Or was it your husband who brought me here?” A husband would be good. He needed some reassurance that the visions in his mind were just that—visions.

“You can thank your dog. If not for him, you likely would have froze before I found you.”

“You found me?”

Her posture stiffened. “That’s right.”

“Begging your pardon, ma’am, but…I don’t recall your name or riding up to this…” His gaze slid over the stone walls. “Cabin.”

“I’m not surprised. You were froze out of your mind when I found you. That was the day before yesterday. Once your chill wore off a fever set in.”

He had the vague memory of a cool, damp cloth stroking his skin, her smooth, husky voice encouraging him to drink. Incapacitated for nearly three days, it wasn’t a wonder he was starving and his bladder about to burst.

His shock wearing off, he was hit by the renewed urge to step outside.

“You’ve been sick,” she said. “You should lie down.”

“What I need are my clothes.” And an outhouse. At this point, his clothes would be a waste of time—he had to go now. He took a step forward.

The woman’s hand went for her blade. The glint in her eyes told him she wouldn’t hesitate to fillet him.

“Easy, honey,” he said, raising his hand, the other gripping the blanket at his hip. “I’m just headin’ for the door. No reason to get jumpy.”

“You can’t leave,” she said, her hand still on the hilt of her long knife.

“I need to step outside for a spell.”

Her stance widened as though she thought she could stop him. “It’s still storming.”

“Lady, I’ve got to take a leak,” he all but shouted, the pressure becoming downright painful.

“Oh.” Her eyes widened, understanding easing her tense expression. God bless her, a pink flush flared into her cheeks. “There’s a chamber pot under the bed.” She rushed past him.

Garret watched her kneel beside the bed and figured she must be out of her pretty little mind. It was bad enough he stood before this woman in nothing but his boots and a blanket. He’d damn well risk the frostbite.

“You can—” A burst of cold air hit Maggie’s face as she sat back. Her guest slammed the door shut behind him.

“Of all the fool notions!”

His dog scampered after him and barked at the closed door.

“He’s going to freeze,” she spat. And this time she was not going to tend to his warming! Boots bumped against her leg as she stood, his tail wagging wildly. He was obviously happy at seeing his master up and around. Maggie reached down to pet him and noticed her hands were shaking.

He’s awake.

She didn’t know why Garret’s size had come as such a shock—but it had. Tending him while unconscious hadn’t prepared her for looking up at those flexing muscles, his eyes clear and alert. The way he’d stared at her…

He remembers.

If her cheeks blazed any hotter they’d catch fire. She pressed her hands to her flushed skin. Hellfire. She was actually blushing. The fact that he’d flustered her so increased her worry. He’d taken one step toward her, his eyes dark and turbulent, and she’d damn near drawn her knife against him.

A natural reflex, she reasoned. For someone who lives in the wild. She’d spent most her life hunting, skinning and shooting at anything that came at her baring teeth, whether it be beast or man. And there’d been plenty of both.

She’d suffered her share of scratches, bite marks and bullet wounds. Even so, she ventured that most folks, sane folks, didn’t greet a request for an outhouse with a knife wound.

Biting out a swear word she grabbed one of the blankets at the end of her bed and dropped it onto the wet floor. It had been too many years since she’d been so close to anyone. She’d never had cause to be cordial with any man since Ira. She wasn’t sure she remembered how. After so much effort to keep Garret alive, she’d sure hate to harm his handsome hide.

I ought to bar the door while I have the chance.

Instead she draped the damp cloth over her chair and hurried to the stack of barrels she’d turned into tall cupboards. Opening the hinged side of the center barrel she took out Garret’s clean shirts and trousers. She pulled his coat from the bottom barrel.

He’ll rest up and be gone by tomorrow.

Her stomach flopping something awful, she tossed the stack of clothes onto the trunk and pressed a hand to her belly. The sight of black braids lying over bright red blossoms made her groan as the heat in her face intensified. She felt foolish wearing the ornate nightdress she’d hemmed, her hair woven into the only style she’d ever done on her own. No respectable townswoman wore braids at the age of twenty-seven, but Maggie didn’t own any hairpins and wouldn’t know what to do with them even if she had. She’d done the best she could to appear feminine, normal.

She hadn’t convinced him. His expression had creased with confusion as his gaze soaked up her attire.

“I don’t give two shakes what he thinks of me,” she muttered as she hung his coat beside hers and went to the stove. So long as he doesn’t think I’m Mad Mag. With Nathan hunting her and wanted posters boasting a reward for her capture, she couldn’t risk anyone knowing where she lived.

She glanced warily at the door. Boots stood vigil, whining as the wood creaked against a gust of wind. Hopefully he hadn’t gotten too close a look at her that day in town.

She dragged in a shaky breath and lifted the lid off her stewpot. Thick brown gravy bubbled around tender meat and potatoes. Her appetite soured at the memory of Nathan grabbing her in that alleyway. Her surprise had paled to his. He’d been shocked to see his little sister alive and well—a shock that had given way to undeniable fear. She’d relished the fear and had spent the weeks before the first heavy snow checking out his new place. Had she caught him alone she would have finished what he started in Bitterroot. But Nathan was a coward. He didn’t take a step out his door without being surrounded by his hired guns.

Before winter had set in she’d taken care to give Nathan the welcome he deserved. There wasn’t a holding pen on his ranch that could stay latched. Rattlers had become a common inhabitant of his outhouse. She’d spent quite a few nights bedded down in the tall grasses around his place, gazing at the night stars as she listened to her brother’s yelps and shouts echoing across the plains. Her brother hadn’t changed a lick in fourteen years—he was still a thief and a liar. And folks still turned a blind eye to his treachery. His band of cattle thieves spent more time skimming off neighbors stock than tending their own. She’d followed along on a few of their late-night roundups, watching intently as they gathered and moved nice tight herds, tucking the longhorns into canyons and valleys on Circle S land. It sure didn’t take much to spook a herd of cattle. She grinned, recalling just how high-pitched a man’s scream could hit.

She’d move on, just as soon as she settled her business with Nathan.

A burst of cold air announced Garret’s return.

“Damnation! That is a cold wind.” He slammed the door shut as a gust lifted the edge of his blanket, giving her a glimpse of his rounded backside.

Nothing I haven’t already seen, she lamented, which didn’t do a damn thing to settle the sudden stir of her pulse.

Boots pawed at him, demanding his attention, and nearly stripped him of the blanket he struggled to keep around his waist. “Easy, boy.” He knelt down, briskly rubbing his hands over the dog’s thick coat. “Glad to see you, too, but we don’t want to offend the lady.”

Lady? A pleasing stir moved through Maggie at the unexpected title. She watched the bunch and flex of muscles beneath his bronze, knowing full well there wasn’t anything offensive about Garret’s body.

“Worried about me, were ya?”

The dog hadn’t been the only one to fret over him. After all her toil and trouble, he’d traipsed off into the storm!

“Sick as you’ve been, you shouldn’t have risked the chill,” she said. “I would have given you some privacy.”

He straightened and shoved a hand through his tousled hair, giving her a clear view of his green eyes. The curiosity she saw in those gentle depths stirred a tingling surge of sensation she’d first felt when she’d awakened in his arms.

“No sense in you getting a chill, as well,” he said, taking a slow step toward her.

“I’m not the one who’s been abed the past two days,” she said, her tone sounding hateful to her own ears.

Be civil, she silently berated. She’d been schooled in good manners and proper etiquette, though she couldn’t clearly recall a single lesson. Her life before Ira was nothing but a distant dream.

“Your clothes are on the chest behind you,” she managed to say in a mild tone. “I hung your coat by the door. Your chaps are stored outside.”

He glanced at the stack of clothes and then looked back at her. “I’m much obliged.”

She would be, too, once he buttoned that chest into a shirt. Not that it would matter much. She’d memorized all the contours of his muscular form as she’d tended his fever, soothing him when he thrashed around, murmuring names in his sleep. Some she recognized, most she didn’t.

“Come here, Boots,” she said, patting her thigh. She rubbed the mutt behind his ear then pointed to his blanket. “Go chew on your bone.”

He stood beside her, watching his pet curl up in the corner. His lips curved into a grin as he met her gaze. The unexpected smile caused an equally unexpected surge of sensation low in her belly.

“I hope Boots hasn’t been any trouble for you.”

“Get dressed.”

His grin widened. “Yes, ma’am.”

She waited until he moved around the bed before she turned back to the stove. She watched the play of shadow cast on the floor as she took two bowls from her shelf and began serving stew.

“I sure appreciate you taking care of him,” he said, followed by the sound of his boots thumping to the floor as he pulled them off. “He’s been with me a long time.”

The care he showed for his pet was something that had always intrigued her. She couldn’t recall a time she’d spied Garret in the hills without his dog along.

“He hasn’t been any trouble.”

She could feel his gaze upon her, could tell he was watching her by the stillness of his shadow.

“Glad one of us hasn’t.” Fabric snapped as he shook his trousers out.

She set the steaming bowls aside as his shadow swayed, his hand reaching toward his head. She turned as he slumped forward and reached for the foot of the bed.

“Garret.” She was beside him in a flash.

“I’m all right,” he said, easing down to sit on the trunk.

Maggie curled her fingers into her palms, fighting her urge to soothe him. His complexion had paled. Wearing only his trousers, his shirt clutched in his hand, he rested his elbows on his thighs and blinked as though clearing his vision.

“You shouldn’t have gone out into the cold,” she scolded.

He glanced up, his gaze dark, burning with frustration.

Maggie took a step back, beyond his reach.

“Why in hell am I so weak?”

“You nearly froze to death. You’ve been abed for two days.”

His green eyes scanned her from head to toe and back again. “This may sound rude, but…should I know you?”

“I don’t see why you should,” she said, relief easing her stalled breath. “You were hardly conscious when I found you.”

“You seem to know me…and my dog.”

“I’m sure most folks around these parts are familiar with you and your cattle ranch, Mr. Daines.”

He shrugged on his shirt, his gaze never wavering from hers. “I thought I knew most folks around these parts. And I sure—” He paused, turning his face toward the collar. He sniffed loudly, his eyes widening as he met her gaze. “You washed my clothes?”

“They were already wet.” She wasn’t about to put dirty clothes in her cupboards. “I figured adding some soap couldn’t hurt.”

A slow grin eased his tense expression. He stood and stuffed his shirttails into his waistband. “I smell like a field of flowers.”

“It’s the only soap I have,” she said, realizing now that a man may not care to smell like wildflowers.

“I suppose it’s better than carrying the stench of sweat and horsehide.”

While tending his fever, it made sense to add some soap to that water, as well. Hopefully she’d rinsed him enough since then that he hadn’t noticed.

He sat on the side of the bed and Maggie felt some relief. He wasn’t quite so intimidating when he wasn’t towering over her. Perhaps she could tie him to a chair until he was strong enough to leave.

“I’ll be damned,” he muttered, staring at his mended sock.

Maggie silently cursed the heat in her cheeks. “They were in a sorry shape.”

“You’re more than a thorough nursemaid. I’m indebted to you, Mrs…?”

“Didn’t take much to mend them.”

He stared at her a moment, his narrowing gaze telling her he hadn’t missed her failure to give her name. “I was also wearing a gun,” he said.

“You’ll get your holster back when you leave.”

“I didn’t see any other structures outside. Where are you keeping my horse?”

“There was no horse.”

“No horse?” He surged up. Maggie forced herself to hold her ground, not that she could have backed any closer to the stove.

“I found you and your dog buried in the snow about two miles from here.”

“Buried?”

“Covered by a foot of fresh powder. I nearly walked right past you. If your dog hadn’t stood up, I would have. You’d been hit in the head and had been on the ground for a long while.”

He touched the spot on his head that had been caked with blood when she’d found him.

“Perhaps you should sit down, Mr. Daines. You were suffering from the cold when I brought you here. You had a high fever all of yesterday and most of today. You’d slept so long I was starting to worry the cold or the fever had damaged your brain.”

“It must have. I don’t remember riding into these moun-tains. And I can assure you I am not prone to falling from my saddle.”

“I didn’t assume that you were. Looked to me like someone struck you with a rifle. By the time I found you any other tracks had been long-since snowed over.”

He’d been attacked? Garret tried to jar his memory. Shouldn’t he remember something like being knocked from his saddle? Had he been ambushed? The last he could recall was watching Duce’s tracks fade in the heavy rain.

“I was looking for my partner,” he said. “I followed Duce’s tracks into the hills. What little snow had been on the ground was washed out by the rain.”

“That’s why you nearly froze to death. It didn’t rain long before snow set in, just before sundown. I found you about an hour past dawn. Have you been feuding with anyone?”

“Only half the state,” he said, shoving his hands into his hair. “The cattle trade has been more akin to pirating as of late.”

“Desperation and greed tend to have that effect on men.”

The chill in her husky voice drew his gaze. Why was it her face that filled his mind instead of his attackers?

She nodded toward the front wall. “Go sit at the table.”

She sure didn’t have any trouble passing out orders. His first memory after the storm was her, those blue eyes ablaze with passion, her sweet body arched beneath him as she’d awakened to his touch, his kisses…

“Mr. Daines?”

He blinked, and realized she stood before him with a bowl in her hands, his stern nursemaid, not the lover from his dream. The hearty aroma penetrated his dazed mind, initiating a growl in his empty belly.

“The table,” she repeated.

She obviously didn’t trust him to not end up on his face, staying at his side until he sat in the chair. She plunked the bowl of stew down in front of him and his mouth watered at the sight of steaming chunks of meat in dark gravy. Despite his hunger, he waited for his hostess to join him. Realizing he sat on the only chair, he grabbed the trunk from the foot of the bed and slid it forward.

She stayed by the stove, her bowl in hand, her sweet face pinched in a frown. He gathered she hadn’t planned on joining him at the table. Her steps seemed to drag as she approached him. She nudged the trunk to the far side of the table then hesitantly took her seat.

“I swear I don’t bite,” he said, forcing a smile.

“I don’t usually have company.”

“I don’t usually get lost in snowstorms. I am sorry for putting you out.”

“I’m just glad I didn’t have to bury you in the frozen ground.” With that, she took a bite.

He didn’t wait for further invitation. He heaped a big bite into his mouth and nearly groaned as venison melted against his tongue, the flavorful gravy nothing short of heaven. He emptied the small bowl in a few hearty bites and would have thumbed out the remaining gravy had the bowl not been snatched away from him.

“I’ll get you some more.”

“I don’t want to leave you hungry,” he said, while hoping that big pot was filled to the brim.

“I have plenty,” she said, refilling his bowl. “Luckily I brought more than a frozen cowboy home from my hunt.”

“Thank you,” he said, unable to pull his gaze away from her graceful movements as she sat across from him. Had some sorry excuse of a man left her up here to fend for herself under such harsh conditions? Catching his gaze, she paused before taking another bite. Her tense expression suggested she’d rather be dining alone.

“You were out hunting in that storm?” he asked.

“That deer meat didn’t jump into my stewpot on its own.”

Garret grinned. The flat line of her lips didn’t so much as twitch.

“I don’t imagine it did. Guess you caught more than you bargained for.”

“I did indeed.”

“You must have been at the end of your food stores to be hunting in this storm?”

Her jaw tightened.

“I’m stocked up just fine,” his nameless savior insisted.

He wasn’t new to stubborn women. Wasn’t a woman born more stubborn than his older sister—or so he’d thought.

“A tracking snow can be real useful. It was—before the storm hit. You were the one so far from home.”

If he’d ended up here, what had happened to Duce?

“My business partner didn’t ride in at noon. Duce wouldn’t have stayed out in that weather unless he was having trouble or had found trouble.”

“I’d been hunting in those lower ranges the whole day. I didn’t come across anyone or hear any other gunshots.”

He hoped Duce had made it back to the ranch. “How long have you lived up here?”

“A while.”

Boots pounced up beside her, his front paws landing in her lap. “I already fed you,” she said, her lips hinting at a smile.

“Sorry about that.”

“I’m used to it by now.” She scratched at his ears, turning his cow dog to a limp pile of fur.

“You’ve spoiled him. Boots usually has better manners.”

“You’ve been far more trouble than he has.”

God save him, her smiling eyes sent a whisper of sensation across his skin as images flooded his mind. Unnerved by the rush of desire, he swept his gaze over the small space.

Simple, clean, the nicest cave he’d ever seen. Small and dank, yet livable—for a miner. So where the hell was he?

“More?” she asked, reaching for his bowl.

The first two servings had taken the edge off his hunger, but he could easily put away another. “Only if you’re sure you can spare it.”

She pushed his dog aside and went to the stove. His gaze followed her dainty form, trailing down the part of her braids to her slender, kissable neck.

He pinched his eyes shut. If he’d actually made advances on her in her sleep, she’d be tossing him out on his ear, not serving him stew. And yet…he could practically feel her arms around his neck as she had kissed him into unconsciousness. He looked up as she stepped beside him, her eyes full of caution as she slid the bowl and mugs onto the table—she sure as hell didn’t like being near him.

“You’ve saved my life,” he said. “And I still don’t know your name.”

“I couldn’t rightly leave you in the snow.” She turned away and he caught her by the wrist.

“That’s the second time you’ve avoided telling me your name. Who are you and where is your husband?”

“If you value that hand,” she said, the chill in her tone raising the hair on the back of his neck, “move it.”

Garret had lived with temperamental females long enough to know when his hide was in danger. This wasn’t a woman who took kindly to being backed into a corner—or grabbed by the wrist. She didn’t move to pull away but the cold clarity in her eyes told him her other hand was already gripping the hilt of her blade. A sudden move on his part would have painful results.

Biting back a swear word, he opened his fingers.

“My apologies.”

She took a step back, glowering at him as she rubbed her wrist. He knew he hadn’t used enough pressure to bruise her soft skin.

“Well?” he persisted. “Why isn’t your husband here? You are married, aren’t you?”

“I don’t see how my life history would be beneficial to you, Mr. Daines.”

“Considering I’ve been lying naked in your bed for the past few days,” he said bluntly, “asking your marital status seems a fair question.”

She crossed her arms, her pointed little chin raising a few notches. “Are you suggesting I should have left you in the snow for the sake of propriety?”

Her crisp speech carried a hint of formality that reminded him of Amanda’s. This woman’s sharp gaze and graceful mannerisms belayed her odd attire. She’d been properly schooled. Must have been a sweet-talking sonuvagun who’d convinced her to come all the way out here.

“No, ma’am,” he said. “I’m grateful for your help. But your husband may not appreciate—”

“I don’t have a husband, so you can relax.”

Relax? With the thoughts that were filtering through his mind. Not likely. Why the hell didn’t she have a husband? “You live way up here alone?”

“You should be focusing on getting your strength back. You’ll be leaving as soon as the weather allows.”

Her hostility and evasiveness gnawed at him. He was obviously making her nervous. Hell, he was making himself nervous!

“I know for certain I wasn’t near any homestead when the storm hit,” he said, hoping a less invasive question would get him some answers. “At least none that I’m aware of. I’ve lived in this area for nearly nine years.”

“Do you really think you’re on a homestead?”

She wasn’t buying any of it.

“No, ma’am. More of a miner’s claim, I suppose.”

Her single arched eyebrow wasn’t a denial or a confirmation. The sheer challenge in her gaze caused a discomforting stir in his britches. He was starting to think he had a thing for sassy women. Sassy, stern and pretty beyond measure.

Her cheeks flushed to a soft pink before she hooded those blue eyes with thick lashes.

And passionate, his mind added. She’d been hesitant at first but had quickly turned to sweet fire in his arms.

Garret dropped his spoon, the provocative images in his mind driving him to the brink of insanity.

“Did I bed you?”

Her gaze snapped up, pinning him with those vibrant blue eyes.

Well hell, that hadn’t been the smooth delivery he’d hoped for.