to rouse. He filled the space between her bed and the stove, leaving little room to walk around him. His eyes clenched tight, his face contorting with pain. She imagined the meager warmth of the stove was starting to penetrate his cold skin. She’d been on the verge of frostbite more than once. Flesh coming back to life felt like needles searing through bone.
She knelt next to him and pulled the leather gloves from his hands.
Greenish-blue eyes glazed with pain blinked up at her.
“Hurting is good,” she said, lifting one of his hands into the lantern light. “Means you’re not froze through.” She caressed each of his fingers, testing for frozen patches of skin. She didn’t feel anything but long, strong fingers and hard-earned calluses.
“You’ll get to keep your hide.” She pushed back the sides of his sheepskin coat and started working the buttons on his shirt. Ice melted beneath her fingers, saturating his two wool shirts by the time she had them unbuttoned. She pulled the thick layers back, his skin cold and damp beneath her palms as she tried to work the fabric over his shoulders.
“We won’t get these off with you lying down.” She eased back and tugged at his arm. “Garret, I need you to sit up.”
His expression contorted with pain. His big body didn’t budge.
“You think this hurts?” she said, moving over him, patting his pale stubble-coated cheeks, forcing him to focus on her. “Wait till the shivers set in. We need to get you out of these wet clothes before your muscles start to spasm.” She tugged on his arms. “Come on, cowboy, give me some help!”
He curled forward, groaning as she gripped his shoulders, pulling him the rest of the way up.
In a burst of movement, he shrugged off her hold. Wild, angry eyes stared deep into hers. He slurred words she couldn’t make out. Judging by his fierce scowl and harsh gaze, he was swearing at her.
Fighting her own fatigue, Maggie sat back on her heels and tried to assess his state of mind. She was in no shape for a bear fight. His narrowed eyes began to drift shut. His head tilted toward the cast-iron stove.
Maggie lunged onto him. Her knees banged against the floor as she straddled his lap. “Garret!” She gripped his shoulders and struggled to hold him upright.
His dog barked, likely startled by her quick movement. Her arms ached in her attempt to hold Garret steady. His chest pressed against hers like a block of ice.
Boots kept barking at her back, the sharp sound echoing across the high stone ceiling. She looked over her shoulder and glared at the mutt. “I skin bigger beasts than you. Lay down.”
Boots pranced for a moment then went back to the blanket, lying down with a whimper. The weight in her arms eased, muscles firming beneath her hold. Maggie looked back at Garret and found him staring at her. His face so close, she could see each tiny fleck of blue and gold in his green eyes. Her skin prickled, the rush of sensation awakening what felt like a field of butterflies in her belly, and suddenly she was startled by their closeness.
What the hell was she thinking to bring him here?
She eased back. Even with his complexion as pale as his shaggy white hair, he was a handsome specimen of a man, the finest she’d ever seen.
“We’ll get you warmed up,” she said. “Then you can get the hell off my mountain. All right?”
His eyes narrowed, as though he struggled to comprehend her words. She had to get him bundled in some warm, dry blankets.
She peeled his jacket and shirts from his arms. His thick muscles began to bunch and quiver. He remained silent as she removed his gunbelt and worked the buckle on his chaps. She tugged open his trousers and glanced up at his vacant stare. She smoothed his hair away from his face. His tremors increased as her hands cupped his stubbly cheeks, forcing him to meet her gaze.
“Garret, you have to stand up.”
He gave a slight nod and she eased back. His quivering muscles flexed in an attempt to do as she asked. The pain in his expression made her chest ache. Halfway up she wrapped her arms around his cold chest, giving him added support as he straightened his legs. His wet chaps and trousers fell to the floor in a heap. She slid her arms down to his bare waist, guiding him forward, helping him step out of the tangled clothing.
Trembling beside her, Garret stared down at his naked form then glanced at her, a look of sheer confusion on his face.
“This is no great thrill for me,” she said, and nearly laughed at the outright lie. Garret Daines in the buff, his muscles flexed and quivering, was a sight to behold. Long, lean, chiseled to perfection.
A startling stir of new sensation shimmered inside her. Maggie forced her gaze up to the startling view of his bare chest.
Good gracious. Heat flushed across her skin, and suddenly her damp clothes weren’t quite so chilling. She reached past him to pull back the quilts and buffalo hide covering her bed. Unnerved by her body’s reaction, she knocked him onto the feather-stuffed mattress and began pulling blankets over all that shivering brawn.
His gruff voice sounded in a slur of words. He growled with frustration and grabbed her hand.
Maggie froze, startled by his strong grip. His eyes burned with questions.
“It’s the cold,” she said, pulling her fingers from his grasp and tucking his hand back beneath the covers. “Addles the mind for a time. You’ve just got to warm up.”
As though she’d given the answer he needed, a sigh broke from his chest. His eyes drifted shut—which was how she preferred them, she decided. Unease swept through her at the thought of a fully conscious Garret Daines standing in her small cabin.
Oh Lord. She hadn’t thought that far ahead…and tried not to think of it now. Wasn’t anything she could do—he was here, shivering in her bed. The wood frame creaked with his violent tremors.
She stepped back. All she could do now was keep the fire stoked. His body needed to hold heat. She pulled her coat back on and grabbed her gloves from the table. She’d have to make sure the stovepipe atop the hillside hadn’t snowed over before she fetched an armload of wood.
By the time she returned to the cabin, her teakettle was steaming and she was trembling nearly as much as the man curled up in her bed. She shut the door against a fierce wind, the storm having fully arrived. She fed the fire another log then took a cup from the shelves beside her stove and opened her tea canister.
Exhausted, she dropped onto the only chair beside her narrow table with her tea and two shortbread cookies. Her shivers reminded her that her clothes were still damp. Taking a sip of tea to wash down the cookies, she told herself she needed to string a line to dry Garret’s clothes and start some stew. Her supply of meat needed to be thawed, cut and salted. She took another deep drink, the warm liquid soothing her chill. Completely worn-out, her mind and body balked at the idea of going back out into that storm to bring in the venison.
She watched Garret shiver in her bed and his dog sleeping soundly beside the stove as she drank the last of her tea. Suddenly she could barely keep her eyes open. Her tea no longer warming her hands and her belly, the chill crept back into her skin. Her own clothes needed to dry out, and she needed warming. All her blankets were wrapped around Garret. Lying on his side, he left just enough
