Читать книгу Mountain Wild - Stacey Kayne - Страница 14

“No, you didn’t!”

Garret heaved a sigh of relief and shoved his hands through his hair. Oh, thank God.

Her angry glare cut his relief short.

“I didn’t mean to insult you. I’m a little…out of sorts.”

“I dragged your sorry hide two miles through the snow,” she raged, her crossed arms locked tight over her chest. “I was tired!”

Garret’s breath stalled, the tremble in her voice confirming his fear—he hadn’t been dreaming.

“Had I known you’d awaken with such intensions, I can assure you I’d have left you in the—”

“I’m sorry,” he said, lunging to his feet. “Honest to God, I wouldn’t have—”

“Sit! Down!”

He obeyed the command only because he recognized her fear. Beneath the anger in her gaze, he saw panic.

“I took advantage,” he said quickly. “I wasn’t in my right mind.”

“Neither was I.”

The stain of embarrassment on her cheeks stabbed at his conscience. He hadn’t given her a chance to refuse him, having coaxed her body into passion while she slept. “It was all my fault,” he said. “You were sound asleep. Your body was on my side before you even woke up and I—”

“Enough!” she shouted, her fingers clamping over the hilt of her blade. Garret carefully regarded the hostility in her posture poised to strike.

“I swear I’d never force myself on you.” Holy hell. He wasn’t rightly sure what he’d done before he’d passed out. He knew what he’d wanted to do.

“Oh God,” he groaned, horrified at the thought of shaming the woman who’d saved his life. “Did I hurt you?”

The concern in his soft tone caught Maggie off guard.

Did he hurt her? She’d never felt anything so exquisite in all her life. “Ma’am? If I—”

“You kissed me,” she said. “And then you blacked out with fever.”

“That’s all?”

That’s all? “That was enough!”

“I was afraid…the thought of forcing you—”

“You didn’t,” she clipped. Remembering just how willingly she’d responded to his kisses increased the fire beneath her cheeks. The sheer relief in his expression doubled her embarrassment. His eyes no longer clouded by fever, the thought of such intimacy with someone like her likely repulsed him. Alarmed by the moisture burning her eyes, Maggie turned toward the stove.

“I was disrespectful.”

Startled by the voice directly behind her, Maggie spun around. He stood a foot away, his fingers tucked into his pant pockets, his expression nothing short of miserable.

“I am truly sorry.”

The ache in her chest intensified. “Okay,” she said, hardly able to breathe the word.

“It ain’t a wonder you’ve looked on the verge of skinning me. I’d be gunning for any man who’d treated my sister in such a way. Honest to God, I thought you were a dream. I couldn’t imagine why else I’d be in bed beside such a…”

Maggie steeled herself for the insult. Hag? Shrew? She’d heard them all, whispers of townsfolk when she’d venture into a settlement.

“Beautiful woman. I figured I must be dead or dreaming.”

Surprise rippled through her. Was he mocking her?

He took a step back, caution darkening his gaze—the effect she was used to having on folks—and Maggie realized she was glaring at him.

“Did you really drag me two miles through the snow?”

She wanted to rage at him to keep backing up, to sit down and shut up until he cleared out…but she couldn’t. His solemn gaze choked her anger and put an ache in her belly. He felt bad—she didn’t know why that should soften her rage, figuring he ought to feel real bad and then some for all he’d put her through. It had been sheer hell, having her hands all over him while fighting the memory of his sweet words and even sweeter mouth.

“I had a sled,” she told him, his silent guilt wearing on her nerves. “Not that it made the climb an easy one.”

“Thank you.”

His gaze held hers as an unfamiliar surge twisted through her, feelings she couldn’t identify.

“Guess I can’t blame you for not wanting to share your name after the way I shamed you. Don’t blame you a bit for reactin’ so hostile. I’ll admit, for a moment there, I thought you might be the woman they call Mad Mag. I swear, I—”

“Grace.” She blurted out her middle name, the first that came to mind.

“I beg your pardon?”

Realizing she’d shouted the name at him, she dragged in a calming breath. “My name is Grace.”

His stormy eyes warmed as his lips curved into a grin.

Sweet mercy.

“You look like a Grace.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That it’s a pretty name.”

She blinked against a sudden burning in her eyes. She had to get out of here. She couldn’t breathe with him standing so close. “You still have food on the table.”

He gave a nod and turned away from her. “I have a niece named Grace. She and her sister are six years old and cute as buttons.”

The moment his butt touched down on the chair she made a dash for her coat and shrugged into the heavy fur as she reached for the door.

“Where are you—?”

“Wood box,” she said, stepping into a burst of cold wind. “Boots!”

Garret watched his dog dash outside. She slammed the door before he could offer another word, much less any assistance.

His elbows hit the table as a hard breath broke from his lungs. He rubbed a hand over his face and the four days’ worth of growth on his chin. He must look like a polar bear. He’d clearly displayed all the manners of one.

Maybe Duce was right and he needed to find himself a steady girl at the Gilded Lady. He’d given it a shot, but after having his own woman in his own bed, weekend romps just didn’t appeal to him. A hell of an inconvenience for a man with no wife. The thought of seeking out any of the single young ladies in town left him cold and irritable. He flat didn’t trust those inviting smiles and batting lashes.

Instead of carousing or courtship, he’d assaulted a decent woman who’d saved his life.

What a fine mess.

He ate the last of his stew wondering all the while what had happened to Grace for her to end up alone in this cave. Done up as it was, the stone enclosure was still a cave in the heart of wild country. And she shouldn’t be out there in that wind!

He stood, his sore muscles complaining as he collected the empty dishes on the table. It would take another day before he’d be of any use. A full stomach didn’t do anything but sap the last of his strength. Not that she’d welcome his help.

Damn it.

Spotting her shotgun still propped inside the door, he knew he was lucky she hadn’t reached for her gun and loaded him full of buckshot after the liberties he’d taken. Would have served him right.

He stepped up to a washstand wedged between her pantry and the empty wood box. Finding a jar of dishrags, he took one and wiped out the bowls then set them in the basin. He lifted the kettle from the stove and scalded the tin with the hot water. Grace returned as he was stacking the dishes in her pantry. Didn’t take but a glance at her wide blue eyes to gauge her wariness.

Boots trotted in before her, his wet paws tracking prints across the floor she’d already mopped up once today.

She kicked the door closed behind them and stood there, her arms loaded down with wood.

“I’ll wipe up the floor,” he said, turning to find another rag.

“No.”

The single words stopped him.

“You should lie down.”

He figured that was her way of telling him to get the hell away from her. Tiny thing that she was, he didn’t doubt his size made her nervous. He backed toward the bed. His dog seemed to know the routine, having lain back down in his corner without prompting.

She didn’t take a step forward until Garret eased onto the mattress. She dropped the firewood into the box beside her stove, her gaze moving over the sink basin and the dishes he’d rinsed and put away. She fetched the drying sheet from the back of her chair and dropped it on the damp floor. Her foot dragged the cloth across the puddles as she watched him.

“If I can help with anything—”

“You can help by resting.”

“Two days abed should have been enough,” he said, hating that he felt so damn useless.

“You were sick.”

Red rimmed her eyes. He imagined she hadn’t slept much in the past three days.

“Doesn’t look like you’ve had much sleep at all.”

“I’ll sleep just fine once you’re gone.”