Mountain Wild

by Stacey Kayne

  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.

  Chapter Five

  “N o, 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 co
uldn’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.”

  “I can kick back in that chair if—”

  “You’ll stay in the bed. I’m not taking the chance of your fever coming back.”

  Her cut-and-dried delivery of orders sure could go against a man’s grain. Aggravated by his weakened state and aching with exhaustion, he was in no shape to argue with her.

  “Rest up,” she said, picking up her shotgun on her way to the chair. She settled back like a guard on watch duty. “You’ve got a long walk home.”

  Garret kept his eyes on Grace as he stepped into his second boot and reached for his coat. He hated that he’d slept in her warm bed while she’d huddled over a table all night. Her cheek rested on her folded arms, one of her hands gripped a white cloth. Her expression was peaceful in the dim light of the lamp, yet he knew the quilt draped over her shoulders couldn’t be keeping her warm. A hard wind blew outside, the cave growing colder by the second.

  He’d attempted to stoke the fire, but hadn’t been able to do more than clear out ashes. Grace had already burned the last of the wood she’d brought in. With no natural light in the place he couldn’t tell the time, but judging by the cold stove and empty firebox, it was near dawn or shortly thereafter.

  Boots bumped his hand as he reached for the gloves tucked in his coat pocket. Anxious to go outside, his dog pranced impatiently.

  “Easy, partner,” he whispered.

  Grace jerked up as though he’d shouted. Her eyes wide, disoriented, she shot to her feet, the chair scraping across the floor as her gaze wildly searched the room.

  “It’s just me,” he said, watching recognition ease her fright. “You’re a jumpy little thing, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t usually wake up to voices.” Still clutching the white cloth, she tossed it onto the table and pressed her hands to the small of her back. An array of colors on the fancy hand towel caught his attention. A small wooden hoop clasped over the white fabric, the circular portion of cloth stretched tight. A threaded needle hung from a half-finished yellow blossom amid a cluster of brightly colored flowers.

  “You sew,” he said, looking closer at the intricate bouquet embroidered on the dish towel.

  “I do.” She picked up a covered basket from the floor beside her chair. Flipping up the lid, she tossed the towel over a rainbow of thread.

  “Did you stitch the flowers on the shirt you’re wearing?”

  She glanced down and seemed surprised by the red blossoms draping down from her shoulders. “Yeah.”

  “It’s pretty.”

  Her face scrunched with a frown. “Still storming?” she asked, glancing toward the unmistakable sounds of a grueling wind battering the trees outside.

  “I’d say so. Boots and I were just headed out. Why don’t you curl up in that warm bed? There’s bound to be fresh snow. Soon as I shovel out to the woodpile, I’ll relight the stove.”

  Maggie hadn’t stopped assessing her cabin, the bed he’d made up, the pail of ashes sitting before the stove. He’d found his hat, the brown Stetson pulled low on his brow. He wore his thick coat. The bottoms of his trousers were tucked into the tall shaft of his boots. Apparently he’d been up and around for quite some time—and she hadn’t woken up?

  “I’ll be back with some wood as soon I finish the shoveling.”

  Ready to be rid of him, she waved him off. “Go. Shovel’s in the corner by the—”

  He
was already lifting the bar, shovel in hand. He opened the door to a gust of wind. Snow rolled in onto the floor, which was to be expected. Maggie reached for her blanket, shivering as she cinched the quilt tight around her shoulders.

  Boots barked, but didn’t bound out the door as he usually did.

  “Sonuvagun,” Garret muttered. “That’s a lot of snow.”

  Curious about both their odd reactions to a bit of snowdrift, Maggie stepped forward. A bit of snowdrift was actually closer to five feet. Nearly snowed in, the high point almost reached the stone overhang.

  “The wind just builds it up against the cabin.”

  Garret eased out and knocked back the soft powder. To Maggie’s surprise, he hit a solid four feet of snowbank. He glanced back at her but Maggie’s gaze was locked on the blur of white whipping beyond the break, a blizzard that would swallow anyone who ventured too far out.

  She couldn’t send him out in that.

  Boots kept barking at the wall of white blocking his path.

  “Stop your griping, old man,” Garret said to his dog. “I’ll get you out.”

  Boots quieted but stayed at his heels as Garret shoveled out a narrow path. The moment he eased to the side his dog jumped through the narrow channel.

  “Looks like I’ll be getting a late start.”

  Maggie tightened her hold on the blanket to clamp out the cold. “You can’t leave today.”

  “I can manage,” he said, shoveling at the frozen ground.

  “Yesterday you could hardly stand.”

  He straightened and looked back at her. “Do you want me gone or not?”

  “I want you gone, not frozen. I didn’t spend three days keeping you alive just to send you back out in the middle of a blizzard.”

  “Believe me, I’m just as anxious to get back to my ranch as you are to see me off.”

  “It’s already well past sunup. It will be noon by the time I’m dug out and we get you outfitted and ready to go. Even in clear weather it’d take a full day for you to reach your ranch.” She shook her head. “You’ll have to wait.”

  His jaws flexed, his eyes narrowed slightly and Maggie was reminded she spoke to a man of considerable size and strength. And she was demanding he stay? Fear nettled beneath her skin. She’d lost her mind.