by Stacey Kayne
“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.”
H
is 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 mountains. 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 b
efore 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.