because she wasn’t crying hysterically, but was fighting to keep going.
“We have to get away from the car,” he said.
“Help,” she whispered, snow beading her dark lashes, falling on her pink cheeks as she looked into his eyes. A cut left a thin scarlet line across her cheek to her jaw. Her arms went around his neck, clinging tightly.
Ben whirled around, running with her, and she placed her head against his chest. A protective urge that he hadn’t felt in years made him clasp her tightly against his body. She was soft and smelled of springtime. Locks of her silky hair blew across his jaw and he felt a pang, realizing it had been a long time since he had carried a woman in his arms. Desperate, he stretched out his legs, trying to get as much distance as possible between them and the car.
A loud blast behind him threw him forward. He went down, trying to cover her body with his own. For an instant he was aware of the supple curves beneath him, long legs tangling with his, her softness. He looked down at her as she stared at him, her green eyes seeming to pull him into their endless cool depths.
Something hit his shoulder with a blow that felt as if a hammer had pounded into him. He felt a sharp pain and glanced back at a burning hunk of material lying on his leg. He kicked it away, rolling in the snow to extinguish his burning jeans.
When Ben turned to the woman, she lay sprawled on her back in the snow, her lashes dark shadows above her cheeks, her face pale, a crimson stain showing where her dark green slacks were ripped. Cuts were across her hands, on her cheeks, and a sleeve of her navy parka was ripped, hanging loosely and revealing her scraped and bleeding arm. Ignoring the pain that shot across his shoulder, he picked her up again. Turning his back on the wreck, he rushed toward his Jeep.
Gently he placed the woman in the back of the Jeep and threw a blanket over her. “You shouldn’t have been driving in this storm. You don’t belong here anyway,” he grumbled, frowning because of her stillness. He wondered why she was here. The nearest resort was at Rimrock, forty miles to the west, and the small town of Concho to the southeast seldom drew anyone along the rugged stretch of state highway near his place. And she had been on private property, driving on the road to his house. He guessed she had gotten lost. Either that or car trouble had caused her to look for help. He slid his hand beneath her coat and felt her pulse. To his relief, it was steady.
“Snow blinded you?” he asked, brushing a lock of red hair away from her forehead. A tiny smattering of freckles covered her nose, giving her a young, vulnerable look. He yanked out his handkerchief and dabbed at the blood on her cheek. “Crazy lady,” he said softly. “You shouldn’t have been driving in the storm. I’ll take you home where it’s warm, and let’s hope you don’t have internal injuries or broken bones that need a doc. If you do, we’ll have to call for the emergency chopper. In the meantime,” he said, placing his knuckles against her throat in an uncustomary tender gesture, “you’re going where no woman has gone before,” he said quietly, thinking about his mountain home and the privacy he guarded so fiercely.
He climbed out and went around the Jeep to slide beneath the wheel. “I need to get you where it’s warm,” he said, wondering about this sudden urge he felt to talk to her even though she was unconscious. Maybe it was the woman’s silence that compelled him to talk. Or a feeling that by talking to her, she wouldn’t sink deeper into unconsciousness.
Usually he resented any intrusion into his privacy and sent trespassers scurrying away with a scathing remark or look. Even beautiful trespassers. When he wanted a woman, he would find one on his own terms.
He put the Jeep in gear and wound his way back to the road. By the time he was climbing the last quarter mile to his home, daylight was gone. Large flakes of snow spiraled against the windshield, spinning in the twin beams of headlights.
When he finally slowed in front of his house, a husky bounded forward, barking as Ben braked and climbed out. “Down, Fella. We’ve got a guest, and she’s hurt.”
Ben leaned into the back and as gently as possible, lifted the woman into his arms, cradling her against his chest. Locks of her red hair curled against his sheepskin-lined coat. Large flakes fell and caught on her lashes and dotted her hair. Ben tightened his arms, holding her close. She was limp and unconscious and he worried about her, glancing at the gash in her thigh. With care he carried her in long-legged strides toward the dark bulk of his log house that looked as rustic and natural as the trees surrounding it.
As soon as he opened the door, the dog bounded past him into a wide, comfortable room decorated in deep reds and blues with a polished plank floor and braided rugs scattered across the room and in front of the fireplace.
Kicking the door closed, Ben carried the woman through the front room to the large bedroom that ran along the back of the house, its floor-to-ceiling glass giving a panoramic view of the snow-swept mountains and the wide valley. Without giving the windows a glance, he crossed to the king-size bed and knelt to ease her down as the husky curled up in front of the fireplace.
Yanking back the covers, Ben held the woman against him as he sat her up to pull off her bulky navy parka. A green sweater clung to curves that made him pause while his gaze wandered down over her enticing fullness. He lowered her to the bed and removed her fur-lined boots.
Easing away a boot, he frowned as he looked at her swollen ankle. Each brush against her bare skin was evidence of her chill from the cold and shock. In a lithe movement, he crossed the room and piled logs in the large stone fireplace. In minutes a fire blazed as he returned to her. He stared down at her, knowing he had to peel away her slacks and bandage her wounded thigh. With sure fingers he unbuttoned the soft woolen slacks and slid down the zipper.
“Sorry, lady, but you need help, and this is the only way you’re going to get that wound bandaged.” He eased down the slacks and the ripped panty hose, unable to keep his gaze from drifting over creamy skin, her flat stomach and a clinging, pink lace teddy that did little to hide the thick auburn curls at the juncture of her thighs.
He felt his body responding with an intensity that shocked him. His gaze shifted to the gash across her right thigh. Ben went to the adjoining bathroom to get what he needed for first aid.
Seated beside her, with a warm, damp cloth to wipe away the blood, he paused when his hands touched her smooth, cool skin. She was too cold—probably chilled to the bone and in shock—and he knew he should work quickly and get her covered. As he tended her, he tried to ignore the steady throb of his shoulder because her injuries required his attention first.
Her arm was scraped, and as he pushed the sweater high he felt for broken bones. While he probed carefully, he was aware of the delicacy of her bones, the blue vein throbbing in her slender neck. He placed his hand against her throat and was reassured by her steady pulse.
Too aware of her long-limbed beauty, he bandaged her thigh and shifted on the bed to lift her leg and clean a scrape along her shapely calf. As smooth as silk, her flesh was warming beneath his hands, and he was intensely aware of every bare inch exposed to him. His body responded in a manner that was intense, and he paused, flicking a glance over her again, over the flimsy bit of pink, up to her face.
“You’re lucky to be alive,” he said quietly to her as he worked. Her eyes were closed, her full lips rosy in spite of the paleness of her skin. Dark bruises were beginning to show on her face and legs and arms.
As the fire crackled and roared, the room grew hot and perspiration beaded Ben’s brow. He yanked away his jacket and sweater, baring his muscled chest. He sat close against her hip, holding her hand to pick away fragments of glass and clean tiny cuts, aware how slender and delicate her pale fingers looked against his callused,
