Mountain Wild (Harlequin Historical Series) (3 page)

She pushed the sled up to the narrow door frame and climbed over Garret’s legs to get into the cabin. Gripping one of his boots just above the spurs, she pulled off the stiff leather. After placing his boots beneath her table she gripped him by the ankles and noticed a hole in the heel of each thick wool stocking. Either the man wasn’t married or his wife wasn’t worth the food to keep her fed.

“No gentle way to get this done,” she said, firming her hold.

Using all her strength, she hauled him inside. His head bounced against the hardwood floor, the sickening thud making her cringe. No time to worry about his bruised skull, she hurried past him to shut out the chilling wind and bar the door. Tossing her gloves onto the table against the front wall, she quickly shrugged off her fur coat and hung it from a hook beside the door. Cold stagnant air seeped through her clothes, but her heavy coat would get in the way of tending her guest.

Low moans sounded behind her as Garret began 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 room for her to squeeze in beside him. A couple hours to warm up and regain her strength and she’d be ready to dry his gear and start a stew.

She lit the small lamp at the center of her table then dropped to her knees before her trunk at the end of her bed. Stacks of brightly embroidered shirts and dishcloths filled three quarters of the space—a winter’s worth of work. She didn’t have use for such colorful garb. Since Ira’s death, she bartered the fancy stitched dishcloths and clothing instead of animal pelts. She pulled out her flannel nightshirt and dropped
the lid. Changing into the dry garment she hung her damp clothes over the chair and placed it before the stove. She’d be needing her clothes long before Garret would have use for his.

The fire stoked, her clothes drying, she stood beside the bed in her thick wool socks and nightshirt. She held her belt and sheathed blade, but was hesitant to crowd in beside Garret. Didn’t matter that she’d watched him in the lower hills more often than she should have in the past few years or that he seemed a fine man. She’d once been foolish enough to trust those who’d been ready to watch her die at her brother’s hands.

Ain’t enough of you to fight off man or beast.
Ira’s gritty voice sounded in her mind.
Don’t bed down without a weapon at hand.

If she didn’t get some sleep she’d be dead on her feet by the time Garret awoke.
Not smart.
His slow, jagged breaths assured her he was in a deep sleep just this side of death.

She went to the foot of the bed, stepped onto her trunk and eased into the sliver of space. She draped her belt over the bedpost and angled her knife so it would be within easy reach. She burrowed beneath the heavy blankets, lifting Garret’s arm to make room. The chill of his skin stole her breath as she settled beside him. Even so, her tired muscles rejoiced at the feel of the mattress beneath her.

Garret moaned. His big body shifted, his arms closing around her.

Maggie braced her hands against his cold chest. “Garret?” she whispered, forcing her voice past her constricted throat.

Several minutes passed. His eyes remained closed. The pressure of his hold didn’t change despite the tremors of his body. His heart thumped slow and steady beneath her palm.

The man’s practically an icicle,
she reasoned. Instinctively he was trying to get warm.

She relaxed against his hold and tried to scoot into a more comfortable position. With every shift, her bare legs brushed
against the coarse hair of his masculine body. She’d never lain with a naked man. The few times she’d snuggled up with Ira for warmth they’d been fully clothed and she’d been too cold to be bothered by Ira’s stench. Cleanliness wasn’t Ira’s way. He frequently grumbled about her sweet-scented soaps attracting bear. But he respected her way, making sure she had lye to make soap and seeking out a hot spring when she needed a long soak. She could use one now. So could Garret.

She yawned again, drawing in the musky scent of Garret’s skin. The hair on his chest tickled her cheek. Garret Daines didn’t smell bad, she noted. Her hand slid over his side to the smooth skin of his back as she settled against him. Despite his cold presence, a pleasing warmth spread through her as she gave in to sheer exhaustion.

S
he spoke to him through the darkness. Her soothing touch pulled him from the cold depths of a nightmare. Heat suffused across his body as images of delicate ivory features and piercing blue eyes flickered through his mind.

Garret knocked a weight from his shoulders then shifted against the warmth pressing against him. His hand slid over a distinctly feminine form. A bare leg, a smooth hip curving into a narrow waist. He snuggled closer. Silky hair brushed his face. Her fresh, floral scent swirled across his senses as a soft, satiny breast filled his palm.

His body stirred, increasing the heat radiating beneath his skin. Her sensual moan dragged him toward consciousness. He wanted to open his eyes, to see her before she slipped back into the darkness. He blinked, letting in a flicker of light, then forced his heavy lids to open.

She was there, in the soft glow, sleeping against his chest just the way he’d always imagined a woman should sleep with her man. Relaxed against him, her head on his shoulder, her silky black hair fanned over his arm. His other hand was tucked inside her shirt. The bunched gray wool revealed a trim
belly and the deep curve of her hip. It had been far too long since he’d had a woman in his bed.

I must be dead…or dreaming.

Looking at her pretty face, he didn’t much care which. She was a vision to be marveled,
cherished.
He leaned in, touching his lips to hers in the lightest caress. His thumb bushed over the firm peak of her breast and her breathing deepened. He dusted light kisses across her cheek and down her slender neck as his hand explored the smooth silk of her abdomen.

She moaned, the husky sound increasing the heavy beat of his pulse. He pressed a kiss to the hollow of her throat as the satin fullness of her breast filled his palm once more.

Her breath broke, her back arched.

Starving to taste what she offered, he nudged at the fabric with his mouth. A button gave way, revealing the soft, supple swell of her breast and beaded pink crown.

Garret gave up on trying to breathe. His lips closed over her and he simply tasted. She stretched and shifted beneath him, twisting against his caressing mouth like a gentle flame. His body warmed to a fevered pitch as he drew his dream lover from sleep in the sweetest way he’d ever imagined.

“Oh! What are…!”
Her fingers drove into his hair and tugged.

Groaning with regret, he released her. Despite her hold on his hair, he brushed his lips over the glistening peak once more before easing up. Wide blue eyes stared at him.

Blue as sapphires,
just as he knew they would be.

“Garret?”

A tingle of surprise rippled through him. Of course she’d know his name.

“You are…
so beautiful.
” He brushed his mouth over her parted lips. She tensed against him and gripped his shoulders.

“Gar—”

His name became a muffled cry as he deepened the kiss.
He wasn’t ready to give up this dream. His fingertips lightly skimmed her breast, her waist, her thigh.

A pleasing groan was lost inside his mouth. Her tight hold on his shoulders became an arousing embrace as she shuddered against him. Her fingers slid over his back as she returned his fiery kiss. Triumph roared through him. The rush of passion and the pounding of his pulse forced him to release her mouth. He dragged for breath as he trailed kisses across her throat.

“You’re
perfect.
” He wanted her; he wanted to know her name.

An intense pain throbbed through his mind, blurring his vision. He gathered his dream lover close, his body aching for her.
“Stay,”
he said, but her delicate features began to fade. Darkness closed in around him, pulling her out of reach.

Trapped beneath Garret’s unmoving weight, Maggie’s eyes burned with unshed tears as she fought for breath. Her mind spun in a tangle of overwhelming sensation and utter confusion. One moment she’d been dreaming of floating in a hot spring, the soothing heat of the water rippling over her sensitive skin—in the next moment Garret Daines had his lips on her, creating a kind of heat she’d never felt before.

She was sure she’d opened her mouth to tell him to stop, but had only managed a strangled moan as he had flooded her body with sensations she’d never experienced in her life.

“Don’t go,” he whispered against her ear, the vibrations rekindling the wild tingles in all the places he’d touched. His arm tightened over her ribs.

Suddenly she was frightfully aware of her exposed damp skin, the warmth of his thigh wedged between hers, the very male portion of him pressed firmly against her hip.

Damnation!

She shoved his arm away and scrambled for the end of the bed. She stumbled over the trunk and fell to the cold floor.
She sprang up, tugging her wool nightshirt closed as she bumped against her table, wobbling the lit oil lamp. Light shifted over shadows and the naked man sprawled in her bed.

She inched toward the stove, grabbed her now dry clothes then backed toward the door. How long had she slept?

Too long,
she reminded herself, still trembling from Garret’s touch. She wasn’t about to look away from the man before her to search for signs of daylight seeping around the door. She shoved her feet into her warm buckskin pants and jerked them up. The shift of fabric against her damp flesh made her shudder. What had he done to her? She tugged on her buckskin tunic over the wool shirt. Her shaky fingers cinched the ties.

Ira had warned her about the violent intentions of randy men. He claimed she was his woman to those they encountered to keep her safe from such advances, but she hadn’t always traveled with Ira. She’d been chased more than once by men with such intentions to hold her down and hurt her—they’d never caught her.

Keeping her gaze on Garret, she slid her foot into a tall moccasin. She should have left him in the snow!
Shot him,
and then left him in the snow!

After lacing both boots she stuffed the bottom of her shirt into her pants. His coloring had returned. The light hair on his legs stood out against the darker skin beneath. Her gaze trailed across his bare backside.

The heated swirls he’d conjured rose up, stealing her breath.

She strapped her arms around her trembling middle and realized her belt and knife were missing.

Her gaze landed on her belt hanging from the bedpost.

Why hadn’t she reached for her blade?

Boots stood up in the corner and stretched. The black shaggy dog trotted toward her and bumped her leg. Keeping her gaze on Garret, she reached down to pat the dog’s head.

“What’s the matter with him?” she whispered. How could he still be sleeping when her pulse hammered erratically from the things he’d done to her?

He hadn’t actually hurt her. He’d
kissed
her, in ways she’d never imagined a man would kiss a woman. Her teeth clamped down on her trembling lower lip. The memory of his mouth on her breast, his tongue moving against hers added to the violent stir of her pulse. His touch had been tender, his kisses…overwhelming. She recalled the time Morgan and his bride had invaded her old cabin some years back. She hadn’t meant to watch them; she’d been mesmerized by their gentle embraces and tender kisses as Morgan had convinced Cora to marry him.

No wonder they seemed to enjoy themselves.
Kissing Garret so intimately…She drew a deep, ragged breath and had to wonder if a man would have courted her with such tenderness, had she been allowed to grow into the proper lady her father always believed she’d become.

Bitter sentiment squelched the thought.

She wasn’t some gentile lady full of ignorant fanciful notions. She didn’t entertain suitors. At twenty-seven she was well into spinsterhood and had put such notions behind her. Garret Daines had no call to touch her in such a manner!

He continued to lie there, his back rising slightly with his deep, even breaths. Could a man put his mouth on her one moment and be unconscious the next?

She moved toward the bed. His dog stayed beside her.

“Garret?”

He didn’t stir. Her stomach dipped at the sight of his sleeping face and flushed lips.
Far too handsome.
She stepped closer. Heat radiated off his body. She touched his shoulder. His skin fairly scalded her hand. He moaned at her touch.

He’s raging with fever.

“Garret?”

When he didn’t respond, she reached over him, grabbed her belt and quickly strapped it around her waist. She picked up one of the blankets he’d knocked to the floor and draped it over the firm slope of his bare backside. Fever or not, her sensibilities could only handle so much.

“Thaw him out to cool him off,” she muttered on her way to the door. Outside she was stunned to discover nighttime encroaching on a stormy gray sky. She’d slept nearly the whole day.

A short while later she was packing snow into the embroidered hand towels she’d intended to sell. Garret moaned in his sleep as she placed them over his superheated body but didn’t fully rouse. The snow melted quickly against his shoulders and the back of his neck. As she swabbed his flushed skin with the cool cloth a troubling thought increased the unease welling inside her.

He’d been out of his mind with fever, and she’d nearly succumbed to his hallucinations. He’d called her beautiful and she’d lost her mind right along with him.

Thank goodness he’d passed out.
She could just imagine his reaction when he awoke to discover it was Mad Mag he’d been kissing in that bed.

Her hands paused on his back, the thought of facing his scorn twisting her stomach into a painful knot. She hadn’t just allowed him to kiss her, she’d reveled in the bursts of pleasing sensation, the shocking intimacy of his deep kiss.

Shame washed through her.
Good God.
What would he think of her?

Same as everyone else, she supposed. Tears stung her eyes, a reaction that stunned her.

This time she’d finally earned the moniker
Mad Mag.