The second chop bounced off the tree and vibrated all the way up her freezing arms to her collarbones. "Ouch," she muttered. Her mood was getting worse by the moment. She wondered if there was any wood already lying under the snow, and how she could possibly find it without digging up the whole area. Without a shovel. Never mind.
It took two hours to get the tree to fall, and another to completely sever it from the stump. Crista was sweating under her clothing, but still freezing, too. She sat down on the trunk of her victim and tried to catch her breath. She felt shivery and faint, and just wanted to rest for a moment.
When the tunnel vision hit her and fresh perspiration broke out on her forehead, she knew she had to get inside. The tree would just have to wait.
It was only fifty yards to her front door. She could manage. When she stood, though, she swayed on her feet and her vision went entirely black. Closing her eyes, she took a step toward the cabin, then stopped and waited for her balance to return. Then she took another step. She made it five steps before she fell to her knees and then her face.
***
Mason watched the woman as she came outside in her ridiculously inadequate clothing. She wasn't even wearing boots, for heaven's sake, and a bright pink hoodie was no protection from this kind of storm--even if it did have a matching toboggan. He shook his head.
When he first realized that there was someone else on the lake, he wondered what they were up to, and when he saw the hair curling down her to waist, he realized that it was a woman. Alone, evidently. Otherwise, why would she be out here trying to gather wood by herself? When he watched her faint and fall into a snow bank, he prayed that she hadn't just died right in front of him.
Tourists didn't stay here in the winter, and he had no idea what she thought she was doing. Even if she had managed it, cutting down a single sapling with a hatchet wasn't going to help her much in the long run. Fainting in the freezing cold would get her killed.
He really wanted to mind his own business. He really wanted to walk back to his own warm cabin and fix himself some lunch. If she was dumb enough to try to winter here without supplies, he should just leave her to her own devices and stay away. She might even be one of those women who got angry when a man tried to help, and all he would get for his efforts would be a slew of insults and possibly a slap in the face. Even if she wasn't, he knew from experience that people caused him trouble, and it was better to avoid them altogether.
At the same time, the temperature had been dropping steadily for the last four hours, and if he left her there she would be dead by nightfall.
He cursed and started toward her, squinting against the snow and praying that he wasn't making a mistake.
She was getting buried quickly in the fast-falling snow, and he rolled her over and brushed off her face. Very pretty. Very alive. She looked sweet, if a little pale. Her skin was clear and that long, long hair framed it with dark curls that shimmered in the cloudy light. His gaze fell to her lips, which were almost the color of her skin. Thank god they weren't blue. He scooped her up and started toward the door of her cabin. No way was he taking her to his place. That was off-limits to anyone.
She felt soft in his arms, and the warmth from her body stole through their clothes. It had been a long time since he'd felt any sort of human touch, much less that of a woman. Damn. He felt his reaction immediately as it pushed against the rough fabric of his jeans. He'd known that this was going to be a mistake. Trying his best to ignore it, he kept walking.
The snow that clung to her eyelashes fluttered away when she opened them, looked up, and screeched. Her eyes widened in terror and she pushed against his chest. If he hadn't been holding her so firmly against him, he would have dropped her in the snow. As it was, she slipped so far down his arms that he was about to lose her. She must have felt it too, because her impossibly big blue eyes widened even further and her grip on his coat collar instinctively stopped pushing and started pulling. She almost dragged them both into the snow.
"Who are you? Where are you taking me?" Her voice was frantic.
He pulled one arm away and dropped her feet into the snow. If she could scream at him, she could stand. He immediately missed the warmth of her body, though.
"Who are you?" she repeated, a little calmer now with her body upright again. She took a step back, away from him. Everyone did that, but it always stung a little. At least she had good reason.
"Just a passerby," he said, meeting her eyes. "I saw you faint and thought I would help."
Her eyes flicked away as she glanced around and seemingly realized that they were walking toward her cabin. "Oh. Yeah. That."
"That could have gotten you killed, lady. What were you doing?"
A blush crept into her cheeks, making them rosy. "I was trying to gather some firewood. I'm almost out, and I really don't want to freeze up here."
"You aren't prepared." He continued to search her face for signs of instability or panic, but she seemed to be getting her bearings back now.
"No. Not at all. I didn't plan to be here long enough to get snowed in. Who would have thought that the storm would leave me stranded so quickly?"
"Anyone who has ever experienced a real Montana snowstorm."
Her eyes flashed in annoyance and she flipped her gorgeous hair back over her shoulder. "Well, I haven't, and so I didn't know that. I thought I would just be here for the weekend."
He raised an eyebrow. "Honeybunch, you're going to be here for at least a week, and that depends on how long this storm lasts. It could be two or three weeks before they manage to plow the access road."
Her face paled again. "I... I can't.... There's no way I can stay here for that long! I'll starve and freeze to death at the same time!"
Her eyes flew from him to the cabin and back to him again, and she looked like she might slip back into panic mode any moment. He had to get her under control, for her own sake.
"OK, focus. Do you have any supplies at all?"
"I, um, no. I mean, I have two cans of chili, a candy bar, and a box of cheese crackers." She ticked them off on her fingers.
"That won't get you through the day, much less the next week or two."
"I know. That's why I fainted; I was trying to skip breakfast to conserve food." Her eyes lit up. "Do you have a snowmobile? If you could get me to town...."
He was already shaking his head. "I do not. I hate those noisy things."
She bit her lip, which somehow made her look even cuter.
"Listen," he said, to distract himself. "Let's get inside, please, out of the weather, and then we can talk about it. OK?"
She nodded and turned, and he followed her through the snow to her door. As they walked, his gaze travelled from those silky curls, capped in pink, to her hourglass waist and down, farther, until his eyes settled on the twin curves of her behind. Oh, lord, this was a mistake.
From the way he felt right now, though, it seemed that his own body disagreed with him.
***
Crista felt the man following her. That was to only way to describe it. She felt drawn to him, and all of her senses were honed in on the guy. He was the man that everyone said was crazy. The one who lived here year-round and didn't speak to anyone if he could help it. She had seen him from afar a few times over the last couple of years, but she hadn't noticed how big he was. He was almost a giant of a man, with shoulders twice as wide as hers. He was handsome, too, in a rugged, outdoorsy sort of way. She normally didn't like the shadow of beard or scruffy hair that made a man look like he had just rolled out of bed, but this guy wore those features nicely. And his eyes...he had the deepest brown eyes she'd ever encountered. They looked like they held the saddest of the world's secrets.
The guy was a recluse, though. Sexy eyes aside, no one knew anything about him. He was a mystery, and mysteries were often dangerous. Even if his chest had been hard as a rock. Even if his arms had felt as solid as granite. She could still feel his grip on her body. Her nipples hardened at the though
t, but she ignored them. He was probably trouble.
She wondered why he had decided to interact with her. After all, it wouldn't affect him one way or another if she froze to death. Why had he come to her rescue if he was so bad?
Whatever the reason, she was grateful for it. She could have been in serious trouble if he hadn't happened by.
A darker thought crossed her mind. What if he hadn't just happened by? What were the odds of that, anyway? What if he had realized that she was alone out here, and had been stalking her this whole time?
OK, that was just stupid. First of all, she hadn't even been here twenty-four hours yet. Second, if he had been able to notice her so easily, then she would have been able to notice him, too. Right? Except that she wasn't always the best at paying attention to her surroundings. She regularly smacked into random objects. Still, she didn't sense that he was dangerous, now that he wasn't carrying her around like a caveman. Making a mental note to practice paying more attention, she opened the door to her cabin.
He stomped in behind her, trying to get the snow off of his boots, and she smiled. At least he had manners. She stopped inside the door to let her eyes adjust and felt him smash into her back, knocking them both off balance.
His hands snaked to her waist as he steadied them both, and she felt a heat that had nothing to do with being inside. Oh, that felt nice....
"Sorry. Are you OK?" he breathed into her ear, only centimeters away. She swallowed and nodded, her heart leaping around in her chest. Stop it, Crista. This is trouble, and you've got more important things to worry about.
She could still smell the cold on him as she slid around him to shut the door. Cold, and something rich, like leather, filled her nose. He filled up her cabin, making it seem small and close. Very close. Too close.
She slipped around him again, ignoring the spark of heat in her belly, kicked off her snow-filled shoes, and motioned toward the horrible sofa beside the fire. "Come and get warm."
He paused in the middle of taking off his coat and looked from her to the fireplace. Then he shrugged his coat back on and sighed. He seemed to sigh a lot.
"I'll be right back."
"Where are you going?" she squeaked. "You need to get warm, too."
He turned and opened the door, letting in a blast of air. "I'll be right back," he repeated, and then he was gone again.
Crista looked at the fireplace, and realized that the fire was almost out. Crap. He was probably going to get her some wood. She hated that he had to go back out in the cold for her, but she was thankful that he did. She would freeze otherwise.
She sat down on the sofa and tucked a throw around her feet. She wished she had some hot cocoa, at least. Anything to take the chill away.
The man unnerved her. Something about him was so intriguing, but her common sense told her that he could be anyone. He could be dangerous, and she was acting just like those stupid girls in the movies, just letting him into her home like they'd known each other for years.
What if he really was dangerous? What if he hadn't gone to get wood after all, but had realized that she was all alone and went to get, uh, something else. A gun! Or her hatchet! What if he killed her with her own hatchet? A mental image of her brains splattered all over the sofa popped into her mind. It would improve the sofa, at least.
But she didn't want to die out here in the woods. He had seemed so impatient, almost rude, the way he kept sighing at every little thing. Maybe he hated having to prolong his kill. Maybe he was trying to catch her off-guard.
She felt her heartbeat quicken and looked around, wondering what she could do if this were the case. Did she have anything to use as a weapon? There weren't any knives in the kitchen, since she had taken them back to Houston when they winterized. She didn't even have a can opener, she realized belatedly. A lot of good that chili would do her.
Focus, Crista. How are you going to defend yourself?
She didn't see anything at all. She knew that the tiny closet only held bedding, so that was no use. The bathroom? Nothing in there but an old bar of soap and her toothbrush.
She heard him stomp back onto the porch, and panic seared through her. He was a complete mystery to her, and she had no idea what was going on his head. He could be hiding out here because he was a wanted man, or because he was in the mob. Maybe he was a hit man. She imagined him sitting in a cabin much like hers, cleaning his rifles like they did in the movies. That was it - he needed perfect solitude in order to hone his shooting skills. She had to find something now, or she could die.
There, over in the corner. She snatched it up and stood behind the door. When he opened it, she brought her weapon down onto his head as hard as she could, but he saw her. Instinctively dropping the load of wood he carried, he held up one arm to ward off the blow. Her weapon struck him and snapped in two.
She felt as stunned as he looked.
"Why are you beating on me?"
Her face felt very hot. He had been getting her some wood, after all. "I.... I thought you were going to murder me."
A deep laugh erupted from him, and he shut the door and leaned against it.
"What?" She felt stupid, and dropped her half of the fishing pole. "It could happen. I was only protecting myself."
He was doubled over now, laughing so hard that he was gasping for breath.
She just stood there.
Still laughing, he looked at her, and the laughter in his eyes made him even sexier. They crinkled a bit around the corners of his tanned face and shone with delight.
"So your plan was to kill me with a fishing pole?" He gasped between guffaws.
"It's not funny..."
That made him laugh even harder.
"Stop it!" Even as she said it, though, she could feel a smile stretching her lips. "It's really not funny, you know."
"Why not?" He began to take off his coat, still shaking his head.
"Because..." She sobered and looked at him. "You could be a murderer or something. I don't know you and you live up here all alone and keep to yourself."
The laughter slid abruptly from his face, and he stood to his full height. "What makes you say that?"
"What? That you could be a murderer?"
"If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it when I found you. Better yet, I would have left you out there to kill yourself." His tone thickened, and each word was like a punch. "I have never murdered anyone."
With that, he whirled and slammed back out the door.
***
Mason fumed all the way back to his cabin and locked the door behind him. He should have known better than to try to help. He should have walked away, left her there. She would have been fine. The last time he had tried to help, it had cost him ten years of his life.
He swept up the snow that had trailed in through his back door, poured a cup of coffee, and sank down into his leather recliner. Pulling out the binder that held the journal of his downfall, he glanced through the pages, growing more and more despondent as he did.
Stopping at the picture of his 'victim', he looked into her eyes. The same eyes that had stared up at him more than a decade before, pleading for help. The same eyes that he had closed when he realized that she would never need help again.
He tossed the book aside. He didn't even know why he still had it, other than to torture himself occasionally. It was over. He'd lost his family, his job, his life. Now, he was doing well, starting fresh, and he wasn't about to let some hysterical woman destroy all of his hard work.
He thought about her, this woman, while he sipped his coffee. She was beautiful, and everything about her seemed real, unlike most of the Daddy's Girls that came to the lake to play. He watched them every year, slicing through the gate in their slick black cars and sashaying around the lakeshore like they owned the whole world. He always thought they were trying too hard.
This woman wasn't trying at all, from the looks of things. He saw that ridiculous sofa and her beat-up little Chevy, and wondered just how she
could afford a place like this.
He wished that he'd gotten her name. She looked like a Chloe...or maybe a Rachel. About his age. Wonderful figure, even though he bet she wouldn't agree. Women were like that.
He looked from the binder to the window and cursed under his breath. He was going back.
Picking up the phone, he dialed the only number he ever dialed.
Wayne picked up on the second ring. "Hey little brother! Long time, no...talk. How's it going?"
Mason rolled his eyes. "Good. I'm good, Wayne."
"Marcy was asking me just yesterday if you were coming home for Christmas this year."
"I doubt it, buddy. I just...I don't think it's a good idea. Not yet, anyway."
Wayne's voice dropped. "You'll have to face them sometime, you know. Why not come in for the holidays, make mom scream with happiness, and get the rest of it over with? It won't be as bad as you think."
"People don't forget."
Wayne chuckled, and Mason missed the sound of his brother's laughter. "You'd be surprised. This bunch is getting more forgetful every year. Last week sometime I had to drive over to the mall and help Aunt Jane find her car."
"She lost it?" A grin quirked Mason's mouth.
"Nope. Uncle Ray moved it. He was supposed to be waiting for her, but forgot why he was sitting there and just drove off." Wayne was laughing now. "Came home and had two cups of coffee before he wondered where the hell Jane went."
Mason was laughing now, too. "OK, OK," he said finally. "I'll think about it."
"Good."
"Right now, though, I have a favor to ask you."
"Sure. You know I've got your back. What do you need?"
Star-Crossed Curves: BBW Erotic Romance Boxed Set Page 39