She hadn't forgotten that fact; it had been one of the reasons she had been reluctant to become involved with him in the first place. But he had easily over-ruled that objection, and once she got to know him she hadn't really thought the two years mattered either. But as far as Kyle Whitney was concerned it was just another black mark against her. And his condemnation was unfair. Kenny had finished with his childhood sweetheart before leaving for London the previous year, and if his cousin didn't know that then it wasn't her fault, Kenny certainly didn't have to tell the older man everything. And she may have written to Kenny twice a week, but he had written much more than that, more like the every day Kyle Whitney had accused her of doing.
‘—although thank God he seems to have gotten over that now,’ Kyle rasped.
Shelby suddenly realised she had been so deep in thought she had missed this last scathing comment. ‘Sorry?’ she prompted with a frown.
‘You might well look concerned.’ The ghost of a smile creased the hard face.
He was a man who smiled little, she had learnt that over the last few weeks. The only time he seemed to relax was when he was out working with the men on the ranch. ‘Could you explain what you just said?’ She still frowned, puzzled by what he was trying to tell her.
He shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘Doesn't the fact that Kenny isn't one of the people out looking for you speak for itself?’ he drawled.
Shelby felt her heart give an uncomfortable lurch, watching Kyle with disbelieving eyes as he poured himself another mug of the strong coffee, almost as if he hadn't just dealt her a terrible blow emotionally. ‘Is he hurt in some way?’ she demanded, concerned.
Even white teeth gleamed against the mahogany skin as Kyle gave another brief, humourless smile. ‘I guess after the way he's been running around after you since you got here it must be pretty difficult for you to accept or understand that he just didn't want to look for you.'
‘Why?’ she asked through stiff lips, knowing that no matter how much this man may dislike her, he wouldn't lie to get her out of Kenny's life. But if what he was saying was true…!
Kyle sipped the coffee. ‘The argument you had must have been really something,’ he looked at her admiringly. ‘Or maybe he was just too disgusted after the way you walked off like that.'
‘But I—–'
‘It was a damn fool thing to do,’ he growled, the harshness back. ‘Even if you were mad at Kenny.'
‘But—–'
‘And when we get out of here I'll give you the hiding you deserve for doing it,’ he added grimly. ‘You might not have been found until the spring.'
Shelby gave up all effort of trying to defend herself. ‘The spring?’ she echoed dazedly.
He looked at her steadily. ‘When the thaw comes.'
She felt herself blanch as his meaning became clear. Although she was also concerned as to how he had got the impression she and Kenny had argued; it simply wasn't true. And yet he said Kenny hadn't helped look for her. She didn't understand any of this.
‘MR Whitney—–'
‘I believe Kenny decided days ago it was to be Kyle,’ he rasped dismissively, moving with that minimum of movement that was so natural to him. ‘Now are you capable of helping me get us something for dinner? If not perhaps you could find some cutlery to put on the table.’ He was already engrossed in the contents of the tins in the cupboards over and under the sink.
‘I can cook, Kyle—–’ She snapped her resentment at his assumption that she didn't know one end of a kitchen from the other.
‘Thank God for small mercies.’ He gave her a look that implied he thought she was good for little else.
Shelby was well aware of how she must appear to him. A little over five feet in height, with gleaming red-gold hair just past her shoulders, a beautiful face dominated by thickly lashed green eyes, her slender figure shown to perfection in the dark green cashmere sweater and tightly fitting denims, he must be cursing the day she had walked into his life, must wish he hadn't come looking for her either!
‘Kyle, about Kenny—–'
‘He was on his way to see Wendy when I last saw him,’ he dismissed with cruel honesty.
Wendy Seymore was Kenny's old childhood sweetheart, Shelby knew that, she had even met the other girl on one occasion, an embarrassingly awkward time when Wendy had made no secret of her dislike of Shelby. In the circumstances she hadn't been able to blame the other girl, but she found it hard to believe that Kenny had left her out in the blizzard while he went to visit the other girl on her father's neighbouring ranch. It didn't sound like the Kenny she knew and loved. There had to be a logical explanation for his behaviour. If only she could think of one!
‘Look at this practically, Shelby.’ Surprisingly Kyle's voice had softened a little as he noticed her pained preoccupation. ‘You've had a free two-week holiday in Montana. It's more return than a lot of Women get.'
Her mouth firmed. ‘If you're implying what I think you are, Mr Whitney,’ the formality seemed perfectly fitting in the circumstances! ‘I can assure you that I haven't been paid for services rendered!’ Two angry spots of colour darkened her cheeks.
His calculating gaze moved over her with slow thoroughness, from the tip of her gleaming head to the boots on her feet, his eyes darkening as they encountered the latter. ‘You should have taken those off,’ he bit out accusingly. ‘They're wet through! I bet your denims are too,’ he added questioningly. ‘It's a little difficult to tell when they already fit so—snugly,’ he said derisively.
She knew the disparaging comment was warranted, but when she had done her shopping for this trip back in London these clothes had seemed ideal for the climate while still remaining feminine. She had only realised the absurdity of them when the denims were too tight for her to sit astride the horse Kenny had persuaded her to ride, the boots too high-heeled for her to walk with any degree of composure over the uneven ground of the Double K yards.
But Kyle was right about the denims being damp, the snow having been up to her thighs in places. Although what he expected her to do about the situation she didn't know. He must be as wet as she was, and neither of them had a change of clothes available. He soon had an answer to that!
‘I suggest you take off your clothes before you catch pneumonia,’ he continued at her silence.
‘Certainly not!'
‘And wrap up in a blanket until they dry,’ he added over her outraged comment.
‘There aren't any blankets,’ she told him with almost triumphant spite.
With a pitying glance in her direction he moved to the chests that stood beneath the two lower bunks, pulling them out to display more quilts like the one he had placed over her earlier, and also blankets and sheets, enough for all four of the bunk beds.
‘Help yourself,’ he stood up. ‘But for God's sake hurry up and get out of those wet clothes.'
