Mountain Wild (Harlequin Historical Series) (4 page)

G
arret woke to the aroma of stewed meat and the telltale bubbling of something simmering on the stove. He blinked several times, and still he stared up at a high stone ceiling. His gaze swept over rock walls, a black stove to his right…none of it the slightest bit familiar.

His stomach growled, the tantalizing scent drawing his gaze back to the bubbling kettle. Licking his dry lips he glanced at the wood front of what appeared to be someone’s home. A lamp to his right and another beyond the foot of the bed created soft circles of light, brightening the dank surroundings.

Where the hell am I?

He pushed up onto his elbows and had to stifle a groan. His body ached as though he hadn’t moved in ages. Pain pulsed through his skull, radiating from the left side. He reached up and touched a tender spot above his forehead and discovered a small lump and what felt like a gash beneath his hair. The movement wafted him with a clean, sweet scent. He paused and sniffed his arm.

“Wildflowers?”

Sapphire eyes and black hair against delicate ivory skin surfaced in his mind.

The woman. She’d stayed nearby, stroking his skin, encouraging him to drink.

Rest, Garret. You have a fever.

The soft, husky voice tantalized his memory with the alluring scent of her skin, her silky softness beneath his lips.

“A dream,” he muttered.
The only safe place to love a woman.

He pushed the wool blanket aside and froze, surprise prickling through him. He wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing. His gaze skated around the room, searching every shadowed corner. He was alone. In the corner beside the stove was a rumpled blanket and tooth-scrapped bone. Wherever his caretaker had gone, she’d taken his dog. Why was he here? If he was sick, why wasn’t he in his own bed? And yet…he didn’t recall getting sick. For all he knew some woman had knocked him from his saddle and dragged him to her bed.

Her delicate feminine features surfaced in his mind.

A man could suffer a worse fate.

Another glance around the rough rock walls snuffed that thought. He doubted the delicate creature of his dreams would live in such desolate surroundings. Had he dreamed up her pretty face to match the soothing voice and gentle hands that had been caring for him?

He shifted his feet to the floor with silent caution. His bare toes touched down on a cold, smooth surface.

Polished wood?
He glanced again at the tidy space, noting the canisters, boxes and stacked dishes lined up all nicelike on the wide-set shelves, the stack of blankets folded at the foot of the bed. He’d known a couple of miners who’d carved out similar dwellings—but he’d never known any miner to be quite so tidy. Every breath drew in a clean floral scent and the mouthwatering aroma of stew.

How the hell had he gotten here? He closed his eyes, trying to remember. Last he could recall he’d been riding range…he’d ridden home at noon and—
Duce.
He’d been looking for
Duce. His business partner hadn’t made it in for the noontime meal. The way the countryside had been strewn with violence and mishaps lately, too many ranchers turning up dead and a storm rolling in…

Chills prickled his skin as he recalled the cold, whipping rain washing out horse tracks he’d followed into the hills—old panic clenched his chest.

He hadn’t found Duce.

Garret shot to his feet, pulling the blanket around his waist as he stood. The quick movement made him light-headed and wafted him with the scent of spring flowers, reminding him that whoever lived here had done more than simply tend his fever. He’d been
bathed.

He moved toward the door, each step a slow stretch of tense muscles. The way his head and body ached, he could have been struck by lightning. Maybe Duce had found
him
and brought him to this place.

Spotting his boots tucked beneath the small table beside the rickety door, he pulled them out and stepped into the tall leather shafts. His clothes were nowhere in sight. Surely he’d been fully dressed when he’d arrived. He scanned three large barrels stacked on top of the other in the far corner and a large chest at the foot of the bed. He was tempted to search their contents for his britches. A pinch in his bladder urged him to search out a privy first. After he relieved himself, he’d find whoever had taken his clothes and his dog and demand some answers.

He pulled open the door and had to shield his face from a flurry of snowflakes. Cold wind buffeted against his bare chest, sending an instant chill shivering across his skin. He stared gap-jawed at the snow piled some three feet high on either side of the door, a path having been recently shoveled.

“What the hell?”

Through the haze of swirling flakes tall timbers reached
toward a gray sky. White-topped mountain peaks rose up from all sides.

He was in the high country. He wouldn’t have ridden into these snow-packed mountains.

A familiar bark echoed over the rush of wind and Garret stepped into the brisk cold. “Boots!”

Snow burst from the embankment up ahead as his dog bounded onto the shoveled path. Garret grinned, relieved to see his shaggy friend.

“Hey, boy,” he said, reaching down to pat his furry head while keeping his gaze on movement near the end of the path. He narrowed his eyes, trying to peer through the falling snow as the stranger drew near. The small form slowly emerged through the flurry of flakes, a white hooded coat blending with the winter landscape. He couldn’t make out more than a faint outline and a shotgun clutched in the left hand.

Caution tensed his muscles as the stranger drew close.

Mad Mag
was the first thought to his mind, until she looked up. The deep blue eyes and delicate, feminine features lurking beneath that hood stole his breath.

She’s real.
The passionate woman from his dream.

“You should be inside.”

Her voice was low,
husky,
and flooded his mind with the sounds of breathy moans, the image of her rose-tipped breast straining toward his mouth.

“Move.”

Her harsh tone and stern gaze jarred him from the tantalizing vision. He stepped back, allowing her to rush him through the doorway. She quickly shut out the wind and wisps of snow.

“Go lay down.” She pointed toward the far wall, her stern tone commanding as she stared him right in the eyes.

Maybe this bitty thing
had
clubbed him over the head and dragged him to her bed. Shock rippled through him…along with an undeniable stir of attraction.

Boots brushed his leg on his way to the corner, and Garret realized she was talking to his dog, not him. He scrubbed a hand over his stubble-coated jaw. He obviously wasn’t working with a full deck. His brain struggled to take hold of the notion that his dream lover stood before him. He stared at her, his mind lost somewhere between reality and a
really good
dream.

She propped her gun beside the door and glanced briefly at the floor. Her supple pink lips pressed to a firm line as her gaze moved over puddles of melting snow. He’d left the door wide-open.

“Sorry about that.”

Sharp blue eyes narrowed, her expression bordering on lethal. Not quite the passionate woman from his memory—
his dreams,
he silently amended. He eased back toward the warmth of the stove, his instincts warning him not to crowd the little filly. Her soft, delicate features were a clear contradiction to the hard blue eyes watching him with calculating caution.

She stayed beside the door, her posture stiff, defensive. The hand hovering near her waist made him wonder if she wore a gun beneath her coat. She pushed her hood back, revealing silky black braids tucked behind her ears. In his mind her hair was loose, fanned out across his arm, his chest—

“How do you feel?” she asked, her smooth voice washing over him like a sensual caress.

Uncomfortably aroused.
He shifted his hold on the blanket and had to remind himself he didn’t know this woman. Other than the alluring images in his mind, he’d never seen her before.

“Alive, I suppose,” he answered. At the moment he wasn’t certain of anything else. His dreams blended with reality, distracting him from the questions he should be asking. Like why he’d awakened in the high country, where were his clothes and…had he actually bedded this woman? Best to start with something simple.

“Where am I?”

“About eight miles north of your ranch.”

Eight miles? Most of them straight up by the looks of the mountainous terrain he’d glimpsed outside.

She shrugged off her heavy fur. Garret wasn’t sure what he expected to see beneath the long coat, but the vibrant red flowers stitched across the shoulders of her white shirt took him by surprise. The garment hung to mid-thigh, cinched at her narrow waist by a beaded belt. She wasn’t wearing a gun. A leather sheath secured a long bowie knife at her hip.

Tiny but fierce,
he thought, noting how her gaze didn’t stray from him as she hung her coat beside the door. Buckskin britches encased her slender legs, the bottoms tucked into her tall Indian-style boots. He only knew of one mountain woman to frequent these ranges, had been close enough to the old woman called Mad Mag to catch her stench, to see the filth on her hands as she had held a rifle to a man’s chest. The wide white cuffs of this woman’s shirt were etched with red thread and hid her hands, revealing just enough of her fingers to see her clean, short fingernails. She smelled as fresh as a spring rain.

“You were caught in the storm,” she said, drawing his gaze back to her young, pretty face.

He remembered a rainstorm, and the cold…waking to a beautiful woman sleeping in his arms. His gaze slid to the bed, a sense of dread tightening his gut.

“Do I have you to thank?” he asked. “Or was it your husband who brought me here?” A husband would be good. He needed some reassurance that the visions in his mind were just that—
visions.

“You can thank your dog. If not for him, you likely would have froze before I found you.”

“
You
found me?”

Her posture stiffened. “That’s right.”

“Begging your pardon, ma’am, but…I don’t recall your
name or riding up to this…” His gaze slid over the stone walls.
“Cabin.”

“I’m not surprised. You were froze out of your mind when I found you. That was the day before yesterday. Once your chill wore off a fever set in.”

He had the vague memory of a cool, damp cloth stroking his skin, her smooth, husky voice encouraging him to drink. Incapacitated for nearly three days, it wasn’t a wonder he was starving and his bladder about to burst.

His shock wearing off, he was hit by the renewed urge to step outside.

“You’ve been sick,” she said. “You should lie down.”

“What I need are my clothes.”
And an outhouse.
At this point, his clothes would be a waste of time—he had to go
now.
He took a step forward.

The woman’s hand went for her blade. The glint in her eyes told him she wouldn’t hesitate to fillet him.

“Easy, honey,” he said, raising his hand, the other gripping the blanket at his hip. “I’m just headin’ for the door. No reason to get jumpy.”

“You can’t leave,” she said, her hand still on the hilt of her long knife.

“I need to step outside for a spell.”

Her stance widened as though she thought she could stop him. “It’s still storming.”

“Lady,
I’ve got to take a leak,
” he all but shouted, the pressure becoming downright painful.

“Oh.”
Her eyes widened, understanding easing her tense expression. God bless her, a pink flush flared into her cheeks. “There’s a chamber pot under the bed.” She rushed past him.

Garret watched her kneel beside the bed and figured she must be out of her pretty little mind. It was bad enough he stood before this woman in nothing but his boots and a blanket. He’d damn well risk the frostbite.

“You can—” A burst of cold air hit Maggie’s face as she sat back. Her guest slammed the door shut behind him.

“Of all the fool notions!”

His dog scampered after him and barked at the closed door.

“He’s going to freeze,” she spat. And this time she was not going to tend to his warming! Boots bumped against her leg as she stood, his tail wagging wildly. He was obviously happy at seeing his master up and around. Maggie reached down to pet him and noticed her hands were shaking.

He’s awake.

She didn’t know why Garret’s size had come as such a shock—but it had. Tending him while unconscious hadn’t prepared her for looking up at those flexing muscles, his eyes clear and alert. The way he’d stared at her…

He remembers.

If her cheeks blazed any hotter they’d catch fire. She pressed her hands to her flushed skin.
Hellfire.
She was actually
blushing.
The fact that he’d flustered her so increased her worry. He’d taken one step toward her, his eyes dark and turbulent, and she’d damn near drawn her knife against him.

A natural reflex,
she reasoned.
For someone who lives in the wild.
She’d spent most her life hunting, skinning and shooting at anything that came at her baring teeth, whether it be beast or man. And there’d been plenty of both.

She’d suffered her share of scratches, bite marks and bullet wounds. Even so, she ventured that most folks,
sane folks,
didn’t greet a request for an outhouse with a knife wound.

Biting out a swear word she grabbed one of the blankets at the end of her bed and dropped it onto the wet floor. It had been too many years since she’d been so close to anyone. She’d never had cause to be cordial with any man since Ira. She wasn’t sure she remembered how. After so much effort to keep Garret alive, she’d sure hate to harm his handsome hide.

I ought to bar the door while I have the chance.

Instead she draped the damp cloth over her chair and hurried to the stack of barrels she’d turned into tall cupboards. Opening the hinged side of the center barrel she took out Garret’s clean shirts and trousers. She pulled his coat from the bottom barrel.