All He Could See Of His Unexpected Guest Was Her Silhouette. Letter to Reader Title Page PAMELA MACALUSO Dedication Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Epilogue Copyright

All He Could See Of His Unexpected Guest Was Her Silhouette.

It was all he needed to see. She might not have been using common sense, traveling unknowingly into a blizzard, but she was definitely an eyeful. Not that short, sassy, green-eyed redheads were his usual type. He preferred cool blondes with long legs.

But he’d been hard-pressed to remember he was a gentleman and not sneak a peek while she was changing earlier. He was a gentleman, but he was only human. And standing there with his back to an attractive woman while listening to the seductive sound of zippers and shifting clothing had put his chivalry to the ultimate test.

And he didn’t realize just how sexy his oversize cowboy duds could look on a woman. A woman who was sleeping in his bed....

Dear Reader,

This month, Silhouette Desire celebrates sensuality. All six steamy novels perfectly describe those unique pleasures that gratify our senses, like seeing the lean body of a cowboy at work, smelling his earthy scent, tasting his kiss...and hearing him say, “I love you.”

Feast your eyes on June’s MAN OF THE MONTH, the tall, dark and incredibly handsome single father of four in beloved author Barbara Boswell’s That Marriageable Man! In bestselling author Lass Small’s continuing series, THE KEEPERS OF TEXAS, a feisty lady does her best to tame a reckless cowboy and he winds up unleashing her wild side in The Hard-To-Tame Texan. And a dating service guarantees delivery of a husband-to-be in Non-Refundable Groom by ultrasexy writer Patty Salier.

Plus, Modean Moon unfolds the rags-to-riches story of an honorable lawman who fulfills a sudden socialite’s deepest secret desire in Overnight Heiress. In Catherine Lanigan’s Montana Bride, a bachelor hero introduces love and passion to a beautiful virgin And a rugged cowboy saves a jilted lady in The Cowboy Who Come in From the Cold by Pamela Macaluso.

These six passionate stones are sure to leave you tingling... and anticipating next month’s sensuous selections. Enjoy!

Regards,

Melissa Senate

Senior Editor

Silhouette Books

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

The Cowboy Who Came In From The Cold

Pamela Macaluso

www.millsandboon.co.uk

PAMELA MACALUSO

wanted to be a writer from the moment she realized people actually wrote the wonderful stories that were read to her. Since she is extremely curious and has an overactive imagination, writing is the perfect career for her.

While she loves movies, Pamela would choose a good book over any other form of entertainment.

For Karen Taylor Richman, my editor.

Many thanks for all your insight

and guidance on this book.

And for Pammy, whose quiet intelligence

and gentle spirit have ultimately prevailed over

those who doubted, providing inspiration through

the realization of a dream.

One

“You might as well get into the truck, lady. I’m not leaving you here. A snow flurry is one thing, but a blizzard is something completely different.”

Patrice Caldwell looked from her sports car resting in the shallow ditch to the tall stranger. He was bundled up from the cold. All she could see of his face was the vague shape of his eyes in the shadow of his Stetson. For all she knew he could be a crazed ax murderer.

She glanced at his truck. No ax, but there was a rifle in the back window. Lack of sleep, the long hours of driving and the turmoil that had sent her on this mad dash from Phoenix, Arizona, to somewhere in Montana weighed heavily on her.

She spoke her thoughts without considering how they would sound. “Freezing would be less painful than bleeding to death from a gunshot wound.”

The stranger shook his head and said something she couldn’t quite make out because of the muffling layers of scarf covering his face. Before she could ask him to repeat what he’d said, he stepped forward and scooped her into his arms.

Patrice had been swept off her feet figuratively before, but this was the first time it had happened literally. It was unsettling to say the least. Even through layers of clothing, she could tell this guy had a rock-hard body. Struggling to get away wasn’t an option. In size and muscle power he held all the cards. She would have to be sure any battle between them was a battle of wits.

Right, Patrice, like your wits are in any kind of competent shape after a day and a half with little sleep and over twenty-four hours on the road.

He carried her to the truck. When he opened the door, the heated air hit her face in a blast of warmth. He set her in the driver’s seat because that was closest to where they’d stood. For an instant she considered throwing the engine in gear and driving away, but he was right behind her. Because of his height, the bench seat was back far enough that it was easy for her to scoot across to the other side—all the way to the passenger door.

The stranger started the truck moving as soon as he got in and closed the door.

Patrice looked back at her car. She hated to abandon it this way. They’d come so far together in the past twenty-four hours that a special bond now linked them. It had never been more than a way to get to and from work, until her whole life had come crashing down around her, and then it had become her means of escape. Now she was saying “Thank you” by abandoning it.

Her thoughts snapped to reality when she remembered the personal items she’d brought on the trip with her. “Wait! My luggage!” How could she have forgotten?

The stranger continued to accelerate. “It won’t go anywhere.”

The suitcase was in the trunk. “My briefcase and laptop are in the back seat, and my cellular phone is on the front seat, and I didn’t lock the door.”

He peeled the scarf off the lower half of his face, tucking it around his neck. It didn’t give her any better view of her rescuer, since he had a dark beard covering his chin and jaw, and a mustache that hid his top lip. All that was new to the picture was his nose and full bottom lip. But it was enough for her to know this man was a looker—in that sexy rugged mountain man way.

Now that his eyes weren’t squinting to protect them from the frigid wind, she could see them better. They were an incredible shade of blue...and framed by thick dark lashes.

He had great eyes, seductive eyes, except at the moment, the message they were sending was one of annoyance, not enticement “Lady, your stuff will be safe. No one is dumb enough to be out in this weather.”

“Meaning no one else is dumb enough to be out in this weather.”

He glanced her way. No words were necessary; the glance spoke volumes.

Did he have any idea how stop-in-your-tracks good-looking he was?

What was she thinking? A stranger picks her up along the side of the road and all she can think about is how attractive he is? Maybe her brain had frostbite.

Technically he was a stranger to her, but an expected stranger, and one she was relieved to see. She’d spoken to the sheriff of Clancy, Montana, and he’d said he would send someone with a tow truck to help her.

Suddenly she realized she wasn’t sitting in a tow truck. “Sheriff Jackson said he was calling someone with a tow truck,” she said nervously, slightly suspicious of her rescuer.

“I have one. But at the moment, it’s on the far side of the ranch. Besides, we never would have made it in time.”

“In time for what?”

“In time to be back safely before the storm gets going.”

“You’re really expecting a blizzard?”

He took a deep breath and let it out. Even with the heater on the highest setting, a white puff of condensation accompanied it. “Surely those fancy city wheels of yours must have a radio. Haven’t you been listening to it?”

She’d been listening to CDs—soft, soothing music, in an attempt to counter the turmoil in her mind and spirit.

“Yes, the car has a radio, but I hadn’t been listening to it.”

He shook his head. “Didn’t you notice the clouds gathering?”

Earlier, all her attention had been on the road. Two lanes, wet where the snow hit and melted.

Knowing where the conversation was heading, she didn’t answer him. After the past thirty-six hours, the last thing she needed was some modern-day Jeremiah Johnson lecturing her about being on the road without keeping track of the weather.

She settled into her seat, rubbing her gloved hands together. Thank heaven she’d bought the gloves, hat, scarf and snow boots the last time she’d stopped for gas. She was cold enough with them. Being without would have been unthinkable. A heavier jacket would have helped, too. Something like the sheepskin-lined coat the man beside her was wearing.

The stranger slowed the truck, looking to the left. A minute later, he turned, steering between two metal stakes. There was a shallow buildup of snow on what seemed more like a trail leading into the forest than a road. He put the truck into four-wheel drive.

Patrice looked around trying to memorize the surroundings—just in case. But she couldn’t make out any discernible landmarks. There were lots of trees and a number of rocks, all dusted with white snow. None were distinctive enough to make a good marker. Metal stakes were posted at regular intervals, marking the trail, but she had no idea how many similar trails were in the area. Would she be able to find her way back alone and on foot if she had to make a run for it?

Part of her was nervous and on guard, while the other part urged her to give the guy the benefit of the doubt, trusting that he really was there to help, not indulge in nefarious deeds. Her budding trust was shaken when the trail narrowed even more, curved and started upward.

“We’re going higher? Shouldn’t we be heading down the mountain?”

“The nearest shelter is this way.”

Shelter? How did he define shelter?

The flakes were falling faster, whirling around before splatting against the windshield, and there were more of them joining in the dance as time passed. A shiver of unease passed through her as she finally admitted to herself that he might be right about the blizzard after all.

They drove another five minutes or so, then the road widened into a clearing. In the middle of it was a snow-covered log cabin. Patrice would have appreciated it more as a photo on a Christmas card than up close and personal as she sat shivering in a pickup truck.

The stranger pulled around to the side of the cabin, parked beside a lean-to and turned off the engine. Without the rumbling and the whooshing of the heater, the wail of the wind echoed outside the truck’s cab. Her mysterious rescuer reached across her and took a cellular phone out of the glove compartment. Tucking the phone into his pocket, he opened the driver’s side door, slid out, then grabbed the rifle.

Patrice couldn’t stop her quick intake of breath. “Do you have to bring that? I mean, can’t you leave it in the truck?”

“Most bears are hibernating this time of year, so if one shows up, it’s liable to be extra cranky.” He closed the driver’s door and headed for the cabin.

Bears?

Patrice looked in all directions before hopping out of the truck and quickly following him to the narrow porch. A wooden sign hung over the door. Burned into it was the letter G nestled inside a larger letter C, and next to that, the number five.

Inside, the cabin looked larger than it did from the outside, but it was still a long way from what anyone would call spacious. And it was dark. Light struggled through the shuttered windows and only the open doorway made a dent in the darkness.

The man took off his gloves and lit the two kerosene lanterns sitting on the wooden table. He left one on the table and set the other on top of the dresser sitting next to a set of bunk beds. The only other furniture in the room was two benches along either side of the table and a small couch.

“Close the door.”

She did as he asked. Leaning against the heavy wooden barrier, ready to make a run for it if needed, she watched him light fires in the stone fireplace and the woodstove. When she noticed he’d left the rifle on a rack beside the door, she felt more at ease.

He took the phone from his pocket and dialed. “Mack? It’s Stone. I’ve got her.” He tipped his Stetson back a bit. A lock of hair fell over his forehead. It was a shade darker than his beard. “Yeah, we made it safely to number five. Let Jackson know, will you? I’ll call again in a few days.” He paused. “Right. Talk to you later.”

Stone, his name was Stone. It suited him—rugged and hard. “Is Stone your first or last name?”

“First.”

Patrice inched her way into the room, leaving her safe haven by the door. Stepping closer toward him, she slipped off her right glove and reached out her hand. “I’m Patrice Caldwell. It’s nice to meet you, Stone.”

He looked at her hand, then slowly reached out and took it in his. She was immediately struck by how much larger his hand was and how much warmer. His grip was firm, but in a comforting way, not threatening.

He let go of her hand. “You’d better get your glove back on, ma’am. Your hands are colder than ice cubes.” He turned and headed for a pantry cupboard across the room. “I’ll make some coffee.”

After Stone had gathered what he needed and walked to the stove, Patrice investigated the cupboard. There was an inventory posted on the inside of the door and labels on the shelves identifying where everything belonged. And to think her friends had teased her about being overly organized.

“Have you lived here long?”

He let out a short, dry laugh. “I don’t live here. This is a line shack. Someplace for the ranch hands to stay when they’re out riding fence or working the herd and it gets too late to go back to the ranch for the night. Or someplace to hole up if the weather turns nasty ... like today.”

“Oh.” She closed the cupboard. “Are you a cowboy?”

There were ranches and cowboys in Arizona, but Patrice had never actually met one before. For her, cowboys were the larger-than-life heroes that she’d watched, along with her father, during the Wild West movie marathons on TV.

“I’m a cowboy.”

“Do you like your job?”

He shrugged. “I guess. I’ve never given it much thought.” He turned. “The coffee will be ready in a bit. Meantime, let’s see about getting you some warmer clothes.” He walked to the dresser. “They’re on the large side, but they’re the smallest we’ve got.”

The thermal underwear, blue jeans and flannel shirt he brought her would be much warmer than the linen pantsuit she was wearing.

“Thanks.”

“I’ll get a jacket for you to wear until it warms up in here.”

He rifled through a second cupboard near the first one. Inside she could see sleeping bags, pillows, stacks of blankets and towels, as well as a supply of jackets, hats and gloves.

Patrice looked around the small cabin. The only door was the one they’d come in. “Um, is there somewhere I can change?”

“What you see is what you get.”

A strong gust of wind rattled the shutters. Dare she suggest he wait outside?

“You’ll keep your back turned, won’t you?”

“Of course.”

He brought her the jacket then stood in front of the fireplace to give her some privacy.

“I’m going to change now, if that’s okay.”

“Yes, ma’am. Let me know when you’re finished.”

She walked to the bunk beds, setting the clothes on the top mattress. Turning her back to him, she shrugged out of her clothes and put on the others. Roomy was an understatement, but already she could feel the extra warmth and was grateful.

She turned toward the fireplace and her breath caught in her throat. He still had his back to her, that wasn’t the problem. What disturbed her was the vision he created. Like something out of a fantasy. He had one arm raised and leaning against the mantel, the other rested at his side and held his hat. The red-orange tinged light from the fire flickered as it cast its glow over him. His jacket was long, hiding his backside, but making his denim-clad legs look that much longer, and powerful.

She reached her hand to her mouth to stop the whistle of appreciation that threatened to escape and got a face full of flannel.

A quick inspection of her attire confirmed what she already suspected. He might look like a fantasy come to life, but she looked like a five-year-old playing dress up.

Laughing, she started to roll up the sleeves. “You can turn around now. I’m decent.”

After the sleeves, she tackled the pant legs. She looked up and stopped laughing. He was watching her. While she couldn’t interpret his expression, the intensity of his gaze had her wondering if she’d forgotten some article of clothing.

“There’s rope in the cupboard you can use as a belt.” His voice had an extra huskiness to it.

“All right.” Patrice easily found the rope. Fortunately there were already some pieces cut, and one was the exact size she needed.

When she turned, Stone was still standing in front of the fire, looking too at home, too handsome and way too sexy.

He took a step forward. “The coffee should be just about ready.”

“Coffee.” She repeated the word, but it had no meaning at first. Only as he poured the dark brew into two speckled blue enamel mugs did the fog in her mind clear.

“How do you take it?”

“Usually with a little milk.”

“Is powdered creamer all right?”

She nodded. She wasn’t in a position to be picky.

They sat on opposite sides of the table on the end farthest from the lantern.

Patrice sipped her coffee, then wrapped her hands around the warm mug.

An unsettling thought weaseled its way into her mind. “There’s only one room here.”

“Like I said, what you see is what you get If you’re worried about sleeping arrangements, don’t be. I’ll stay in my own bunk, and I don’t snore.”

Good grief! She hadn’t even gotten around to worrying about sleeping arrangements. And she needed to. Once asleep, she would be absolutely, positively at his mercy!

Only first things first. “What I was wondering about was, um, the facilities? The bathroom?”

“The outhouse.”

“Right”

“It’s out back.”

“It’s snowing out there.”

He took a drink from his mug before answering. “I know. That’s why we’re here.”

“But the bathroom is out back?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Who designed this place?”

“It’s intended for occasional use only, and it wouldn’t be cost-effective to install modern plumbing.”

“What about some not-so-modern plumbing?”

He smiled, the first real smile she’d seen on him. She felt it all the way to her toes. He shook his head.

Patrice sighed. “Not cost-effective?” She tilted her head, looking at him. Cost-effective wasn’t typical cowboy lingo. Maybe he was foreman or ranch manager. “Getting eaten by a bear can’t be cost-effective, either.”

There was that smile again. She caught a glimpse of it before he hid it by drinking his coffee.

She took a sip from her mug. Already the contents were starting to cool.

“An angry deer can be dangerous, too,” he said.

Terrific! Bears and her too-sexy rescuer weren’t perilous enough.

She remembered the large deer she’d swerved to avoid hitting before ending up in the ditch. “Are all the deer around here extra large?”

“There are some good-size animals in the area. What do you consider extra large?”

“The size of a small horse.”

He raised one brow in question. “You saw a deer the size of a small horse?” he asked disbelievingly.

“It was crossing the road.”

“It was probably an elk,” he corrected.

“An elk? Are they any friendlier than deer or the insomniac bears?”

He chuckled. “’Fraid not.”

“It figures. I don’t think I’m cut out for this wilderness thing,” she confessed.

“I could have told you that,” he said honestly.

She set her mug down. “How can you say that? You don’t even know me.”

“I don’t have to. If you were used to the wilderness, you wouldn’t be driving a convertible through the mountains of Montana with a storm coming.”

“The top was on.”

He shrugged. She waited for him to launch into the lecture she’d expected earlier. Instead he asked if she wanted more coffee.

“No, thanks.” She stood. “I’m going to take a short walk.”

“Out back?”

She nodded.

“Let me make sure nothing has decided to nest out there since the last time the place was used.”

Nesting things? She didn’t even want to know what the possibilities were. “Be my guest.”

Once Stone was back, Patrice headed out. It was still light outside, but it was clear nightfall was on the way. The amount of snow falling had increased, too, but not enough to block visibility of her destination.

She was almost back to the cabin when Stone came around the corner holding a rope. A flutter of fear settled in her stomach. “I was just on my way back.” She tried to sound casual while glancing around for something to pick up and use as a club.

“I’m going to string up a line between the end of the cabin and the outhouse, in case you need to get out there after dark or in a whiteout.”

“Oh...thank you.” She felt silly for letting her wild imagination get to her.

“Don’t mention it, ma’am.” He tipped his hat, then headed toward the corner of the cabin.

Patrice went back inside. She slipped off her gloves and stood in front of the fireplace, holding her hands toward the flames.

When she heard the sound of Stone’s boots stomping on the porch, she went back to full alert.

“Let me add a few more logs there,” he said.

Patrice moved. Standing to the side, she watched him. He looked right at home, completely in his element.

A yawn escaped her. “Pardon me.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “You’ve had a rough day, runnin’ off the road and all. Maybe you should turn in.”

Okay, Patrice, now’s the time to worry about the sleeping arrangements.

Two

Stone pulled several sleeping bags and pillows out of the cupboard. He set one pair on the top bunk, the other on the bottom.

“I suggest you sleep on top.”

Patrice knew he meant the top bunk, but his words created a vivid image in her mind. An image that involved her being on top, not of the bunk and not for sleeping. “Warm air rises. I know, I took physics,” she said, trying to ease the awkward moment.

“I didn’t take physics, but I’ve slept in both of these bunks, and you’ll be warmer in the top one.”

She untied the sleeping bag and unrolled it across the mattress, conscious of his gaze on her. Fluffing the pillow, she tried to act as nonchalant about the whole situation as he did. No reason for him to know the thought of spending the night here alone with him unnerved her.

He continued, “The end of the bed is a ladder.”

“I noticed.” She was surprised by the snap in her voice. It wasn’t like her, but then the way he was explaining things—how to get into a bunk bed—made it seem as though he thought she was a complete idiot.

“Look, I know I made a mistake driving up here without checking the weather, but I’m perfectly capable of putting myself to bed for the night.”

His gaze narrowed, and she expected him to snap back- Instead he nodded toward the bunk. “Get some sleep.”

Patrice climbed onto the mattress, slipped into the sleeping bag and rested her head on the pillow. She watched Stone adding wood to the stove. When he finished, he poured himself another mug of coffee and walked across the room to the fireplace.

Walked didn’t quite describe his movements, she decided. Ambled came closer, since his motions were easy, casual and relaxed. She was struck again by how handsome he was and how he looked so natural in the surroundings. It felt as if she were watching a cowboy movie from front row center.

Despite her earlier fears about her vulnerability while asleep, the warmth of the sleeping bag and the softness of the pillow were seducing her senses toward sleep.

Just before she drifted off, she remembered Stone’s words, “I’ll stay in my own bunk, and I don’t snore.”

How did he know he didn’t snore?

Stone angled the sofa closer to the fire before he stretched out on it. The small love seat wasn’t nearly long enough for him to get too comfortable.

He had to make do while a much larger couch and oversize recliner sat empty at the house. Then again his Labrador retriever, Elwood, was probably taking advantage of his absence to make himself at home.

He glanced toward the bunk beds. The sides of the room were shadowed so that about all he could see of his unexpected guest was a silhouette.

It was all he needed to see. She might not have much common sense, traveling unknowingly into a blizzard, but she was definitely an eyeful. Not that short, sassy, green-eyed redheads were his usual type. He preferred cool blondes with long legs.

He’d been hard-pressed to remember he was a gentleman and not sneak a peek while she was changing earlier. He was a gentleman, but he was only human. And standing there with his back to an attractive woman while listening to the sound of zippers and shifting material had put his chivalry to the ultimate test.

Patrice Caldwell. The woman’s name suited her, as did her tailored clothing and flashy red car. She was a city slicker through and through, but he had to admit the oversize cowboy duds he’d given her to wear looked kind of cute. That had been a surprise, turning around to find the icy, serious Patrice laughing and smiling as she rolled up the sleeves of the borrowed shirt.

He couldn’t help fantasizing about getting her back out of those warm clothes and into a sleeping bag with him....

Especially when the feel of carrying her to the truck was fresh in his memory. She was petite, but curvy in all the right places, and, Lord help him, he liked a woman to have curves. Yep, she was a pleasing armful and eyeful, all right

He felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth as he thought about her reaction when he’d told her about the outhouse. And her comment about the deer and insomniac bears!

For a moment he almost felt sorry for her, but then he reminded himself, Patrice was the reason he was stuck here on a too-small couch with a quickly cooling cup of coffee, instead of watching a football game from the recliner in his den.

At least he didn’t have to worry about things at the ranch. His foreman, Mack, was top-notch and would take care of business. His housekeeper, Virginia, would hold down the homefront.

The bad part about being stuck here was figuring out how to keep occupied. If he didn’t stay busy, he would go nuts. There was a small assortment of books, magazines and games in each of the line shacks, but the prospect didn’t excite him at the moment... not nearly as much as his unexpected roommate did.

The shutters rattled with the increasing wind gusts. His wife used to love listening to the wind late at night. Especially when it would hit the eaves at the right angle to make a whistling sound.

No way, buddy, don’t start thinking about Valerie.

A log shifted in the fireplace, sending up a shower of sparks. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The cabin was starting to warm up. He would keep the fires going full force for the next few hours then catch some sleep.

He glanced toward the bunk again. Patrice hadn’t moved. She was probably fast asleep by now. This was going to be some night. A true test of his self-control. Because he’d never shared a bunk bed with a woman before...well, never in separate bunks.

Patrice’s body was so tired it ached. Her mind was frazzled and tired, too, but it didn’t want to stop racing.

This was the second time she’d awoken. The first time had been when Stone had been adding logs to the fire. From the noise below, and since the lamps were off, she assumed this time what had disturbed her was his calling it a night.

Her heartbeat raced. No need to panic, he’s in his own bunk, and he said he would stay there. From the sound of the wind outside, she had no choice but to trust that she was safe with him.

And...he won’t snore. Once again she wondered how he knew. Was there someone he slept with on a regular basis waiting for him at home? A wife? Live-in girlfriend? Somebody who might not like the idea of his spending the night in a cabin with another woman?

What difference did it make? Tomorrow they would be out of here, and she probably wouldn’t ever see him again.

A popping noise came from the fireplace and she jumped. There was movement and more rustling from below, as though Stone were settling more deeply into his sleeping bag. Patrice fought back a nervous giggle as she realized this was the closest she’d ever come to sleeping with a man. There was a mattress and several feet of air between them, but they were still sleeping together.

This was definitely not how she’d pictured her first night with a man.

Then again this was not the man she’d pictured herself with. Though she had to admit he was attractive. His eyes were incredible. How many women had he seduced with just a look?

What would it feel like to have him look at me that way?

Finally she felt the brush of sleep flirting with her once again. Pondering the question, she drifted off.

The smell of freshly brewing coffee woke her in the morning. Patrice opened her eyes slowly. The lamps were lit, and the small crack of dim light between the shutters announced that it was some time after sunrise. Stone was sitting at the table, a book open in front of him. The wind still howled past the cabin.

She started to move, but every muscle in her body protested. Biting her bottom lip to keep from groaning, she wriggled out of the sleeping bag and slowly sat up. “Good morning.”

He nodded in her direction. “Mornin’.”

It sure didn’t sound good from the wind outside. “Is the blizzard still going strong?”

“Yep, from what I heard yesterday, it should let up day after tomorrow.”

Patrice was sure she’d heard him incorrectly. “Day after tomorrow?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You mean we can’t leave here until the day after tomorrow?” What on earth would they do stuck in this cabin until then?

“We can’t leave until some of the snow melts.”

She didn’t like the sound of this. “When the snow melts?”

“We’re low enough that when the Chinook comes, enough of it will melt for us to drive out.”

“I don’t mean to play twenty questions, but what is the Chinook? And when is it coming?” she asked sincerely.

“A Chinook is a warm wind. And it should be here in a week, or so.”

When he’d told whomever he’d talked to on the phone that he’d call again in a few days, she never dreamed he meant that he’d be placing the call from here. “A week? Or so?”

“Hey, this is no picnic for me, either.”

His words hit her like a blast of cold air, making her feel ungrateful and selfish. If the storm wouldn’t let up until the day after tomorrow, he’d probably saved her life by getting her out of and away from her stuck car. “I appreciate your coming to my rescue. I guess I should have said thank you yesterday. Better late than never?”

“You’re welcome, Patrice.” He stood. “Oatmeal for breakfast?”

She wrinkled her nose.

A half smile tugged at his mouth. “Better get used to the idea. There’s not a lot of variety. Most stays here are only a few days at a time. So while we won’t starve, the menu will be limited, and it’s not going to be gourmet fare.”

“Like you said, this isn’t a picnic. Is there anything I can do to help?” She headed for the end of the bed, wincing when her foot hit the first rung.

“A little sore this morning?”

“A lot sore.” She finished her climb down and rolled her shoulders back and forward, trying to loosen up some of the stiffness. “I don’t understand it, the bed felt comfortable enough when I crawled in it last night.”

“The stiffening is most likely from the accident yesterday.”

He was probably right. That whole problem of automatically tensing your muscles before impact, the reason why sleeping passengers and drivers under the influence often escaped serious injury.

“With everything else, I’d forgotten about that.” The threat of wild animals and spending her first night with a man—a gorgeous one at that—had brushed the accident right out of her mind. Both the accident and the events leading up to it.

“There are painkillers and ointment in the first-aid kit.”

Patrice easily found aspirin in the well-organized cupboard. She also glanced through the packaged and canned food. The supply was plentiful, but there wasn’t much variety. Stone was right, they wouldn’t starve. And since most everything was heat-and-serve or add-hot-water, meal preparation was going to be a snap.

They worked side by side getting breakfast ready and cleaning up. Afterward, Stone went outside to bring in more wood and gather buckets of snow so they wouldn’t use up their bottled water for washing and dishes.

When she could put it off no longer, Patrice made the trip to the outhouse. The brutal wind cut through all the layers of her clothing. It was amazing how much snow had fallen during the night, and it was still coming down.

Once back inside the cabin, she stood in front of the fire.

“I thought it was cold in here until I went out,” she said, being truthful.

“It is cold in here. It’s just colder out there.”

“I guess. Brrr, is an understatement”

She turned her back to the fire so that she could defrost evenly. Stone was sitting on one end of the couch. The book he’d been reading sat open in his lap.

There was an awkward silence. She laughed, nervously. “Well, we’ve introduced ourselves and discussed the weather. Now what?”

“There are some books and things in the cupboard,” he directed.

“More than a week’s worth?”

“Read slowly,” he said sarcastically.

Patrice sighed. “I guess electricity and a computer wouldn’t be cost-effective out here, either.”

“Nope. And if we had electricity, I’d put in a TV and VCR before a computer. More people could use it at the same time.” He closed his book and set it next to him on the couch.

“I never would have expected cost-effectiveness to be such a concern for a cowboy.”

“Ranching is a business.”

“I guess I never stopped to think about it. I hear the word cowboy and automatically think about men in boots and hats riding horses and driving pickup trucks.”

He smiled one of his killer smiles. “That’s the fun part, but there’s a whole lot more to ranching than that.”

“And I’m keeping you from work, aren’t I? I’m sorry.” An awful thought crossed her mind. “You won’t lose your job because you’re stuck here, will you? If you need me to explain things to your boss—”

“I am the boss. My job’s not in any danger as long as beef prices stay up and we don’t lose too many cattle over the winter.”

“That’s a relief. I feel bad enough about stranding us. If I’d jeopardized your job on top of that, it would be even worse.” She wondered about the effect on his private life, but wasn’t about to ask. Was she afraid to hear that he bad a wife and half a dozen kids waiting for him?

She glanced at his left hand. He wasn’t wearing a ring, although that wasn’t necessarily conclusive with such a rugged career.

But if he did have a wife, wouldn’t he have called home? Of course he might have done so while she was in the outhouse. Besides, it shouldn’t matter. The last thing she needed right now was another man in her life.

“So, what brings you to Montana?” he asked.

“My grandmother lives in Clancy.”

“Does she know you’ve been delayed? Would you like to call her?”

“Actually she doesn’t know I’m coming. I was planning to surprise her.” She sighed. “I guess I should have called first. She would have warned me about the storm.”

But Grandma would have heard the hurt and despair in her voice, and she would have ended up pouring out her troubles over the phone. She wanted to do it in person, where Grandma was close enough to offer the comfort of hugs, a cup of tea and warm cinnamon rolls.

“How’re the sore muscles?” Stone asked.

“Better for the most part. Except my right leg. Probably from slamming so hard on the brake pedal.”

“I can massage some of the knots out of it, if you’d like.”

The last time a guy had worked knots out of her muscles it had ended up costing her her business and close to every dollar she owned. “No, thanks. The aspirin will be kicking in soon.”

“Well, the offer stands, and I’m not trying to make a pass at you.”

The thought hadn’t even occurred to her. Maybe it should have. Was that his game, lulling her into complacency and then attacking?

Now don’t start that again, Patrice. He rescued you and has been a perfect gentleman.

Besides, with his looks, he probably has a steady woman in his life, or a string of women.

“I didn’t think you were trying to make a pass.”

Something flashed in his eyes. “And if I had been?”

She wasn’t sure if the sparkle in his eyes was laughter or something else entirely. Was he teasing or trying to gage her reaction to see if she might be receptive to a sexual advance? “But you weren’t.”

“You can use your imagination.”

No, that wasn’t a good idea. Her imagination could get her into a lot of trouble in this situation... especially since during the night she’d let it ponder the question of what it would feel like to have him turn a seductive gaze her way.

She wasn’t about to tell him that in the scenarios she’d envisioned, she had returned his advances with enthusiasm—melting into his arms, returning his kisses. And even worse was the possibility that if he were to make a real pass, she might be unable to stop herself from doing just that.

No one who knew her would believe her capable of such a wildly spontaneous action, but then they hadn’t laid eyes on Stone, or had him settle his baby blues on them.

Amazing how in less than twenty-four hours she’d grown less suspicious of him and more fascinated by his rugged masculinity. Amazing...since she’d always preferred the sophisticated business-suit type.

And look where that got you!

All the long hours and hard work she’d put into building her bookkeeping service and what did she have to show for it? An engagement ring, which had turned out to be a cubic zirconium, and her car, which was stuck in a ditch in the middle of a blizzard.

She hoped it would be all right, since she’d been planning on trading it in when she got home. She needed the cash to hold her until she found a job.

If her credibility wasn’t totally shot in the Phoenix area...

“Are you going to answer my question?”

“I really think it’s for the best if I don’t,” she admitted.

He shrugged. “Here’s an easier one. Are you planning to be at your grandmother’s long?”

“I’d thought about a week.”

“Will you be able to get an extension on your vacation time?”

“I’m, uh, between jobs at the moment.”

“A recent development?”

“Very recent.” She hadn’t been completely successful at keeping the catch out of her voice. “I guess I’ll check out the selection of books.”

She didn’t want to discuss her lack of a job, knowing that when she did the tears would come. She’d waited this long to share the tale and seek comfort in Grandma’s arms, she could wait another week or so.

Stone might offer the comfort of his arms...but could any red-blooded female be in them and only think of comfort?

Three

“Would we really lose that much heat if we opened the shutters?” Patrice asked late in the afternoon when she was about to go stir-crazy.

“It would get draftier.”

It was already drafty. “I’d just like to see some of the daylight.”

“Feeling closed in?”

She nodded.

Stone put on his jacket, scarf, hat and gloves. Once outside, he opened the shutters on the two windows on the front side of the cabin.

Patrice went over to look out. It was cloudy and overcast, but the sight of the meadow and what she could see of the trees through the snow was a nice break from the four walls of the cabin. At times she could see snowflakes falling to the ground, other times it seemed they were sailing horizontally across the sky.

Viewed through the intricate frost patterns on the window, everything was beautiful and picture-perfect.

For the first time since she’d discovered her ex-fiancé’s betrayal, a sense of peace settled over her. Yes, her life was a mess, but her life couldn’t reach her right now. The snow seemed like a protector. Instead of a barrier keeping her in, it was a shelter keeping the world out. She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

The prospect of being able to lick her wounds in peace sounded appealing. So far she’d focused on the financial end, but knew she couldn’t keep avoiding the most hurtful aspects of things—the emotional betrayal. Mountains of hurt and anger were building inside her...not just because he’d been enough of a creep to rob her blind, but because she’d been foolish enough to fall for him.

Stone passed in front of the window, carrying an armful of logs. She went to the door to let him in.

“Thanks,” he said, stomping the snow off his boots and returning to the warmth inside.

Patrice closed the door and took her place next to the window, letting the beauty entrance and soothe her once more. The sound of Stone stacking the wood became part of the assuagement.

“Do you get much snow in your part of Arizona?” He was now standing behind her.

She glanced over her shoulder at him. “How do you know I’m from Arizona?”

“Your license plate.”

“I’m from Phoenix. Snow is rare.” She looked back out the window. “It really is beautiful up here.”

“I’ve always thought so.”

“Do you get snowed in often?” she asked.

“Not for long, the main part of the ranch is at a lower elevation, and we have a snowplow.”

“Have you been stranded up here before?”

“I was up here last winter by myself for a week.”

“You were stuck here alone?”

“Yes.”

“Sounds scary. I’m glad you’re here with me.” She glanced over her shoulder. He’d moved a few steps closer.

His gaze dropped briefly to her lips then returned to her eyes. “Are you?”

Her heartbeat seemed to trip over itself, then picked up speed. If she turned and took a step, she could be in his arms.

His gaze found her mouth again, and she almost gave in to the temptation.

The crackle of a log in the fireplace stopped her in time. “Yes, I wouldn’t want to be here alone.”

A half smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Darlin’, if you had any idea what’s been going through my mind the last few minutes, you’d wish me out of here in a heartbeat.”

Quickly she turned back to the window. She thought about the way he’d looked at her mouth. Had he been thinking about kissing her, even as she’d been dreaming and pondering what it would feel like to have him turn the force of his charms her way?

Before she could change her mind, she turned fully around to face him. “Why do you say that?”

She thought he wasn’t going to answer, but then he said, “I’ve been wondering most of the day what it would feel like to kiss you, and the last few minutes I’ve been giving serious consideration to finding out.”

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and nibbled on it. What would it feel like to kiss him?

“I’ve never been kissed by a man with a beard.” She had no idea why that fact had tumbled out of her mouth...maybe because it was harmless compared to the other thoughts she was having.

How can you want him to kiss you when you’ve known him less than a day?

He rubbed his fingers along his jawline. “I usually grow a beard in the winter. It helps keep my face warm.” He took half a step toward her. “It’s not as rough or scratchy as it looks.” He reached out and took her hand, bringing it to rest against his cheek.

Her breath caught in her throat. He was right, it wasn’t as rough as it looked. She could imagine the feel of it brushing against her cheeks...across the swell of her breasts...on the sensitive skin of her inner thigh....

There was a hint of warmth coming from his skin beneath. Her fingertips tingled, and she fought back the urge to run her thumb over the fullness of his bottom lip.

She looked into his eyes. They had darkened to a deeper, more striking blue. It would be too easy to let herself fall into them. She forced herself to blink, to break the spell.

“Why?” she asked.

“Why isn’t it as scratchy as it looks?”

“Why do you want to kiss me?”

“Why do you want me to?”

She pulled her hand from his face and moved away until she felt the cabin wall against her back. “I didn’t say that I wanted you to kiss me.”

He smiled. “You didn’t have to say the words, it was written all over your face.”

It crossed her mind to lie, but she told the truth. “I honestly don’t know why.”

He moved to the couch. “Is there a significant other waiting for you back in Arizona?”

She shook her head. “I was engaged, but that ended the same time I lost my job.”

“Were the two related?”

“Yes, but I’d rather not talk about it.”

He shrugged. “All right.”

“Is there a significant other waiting for you back at the ranch?”

A troubled look passed over his features. “No. I’m a widower.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s been two years.”

The obvious questions crossed her mind: How had he lost his wife, how long had they been married? But she didn’t want to pry. Besides, what mattered most was that he was currently unattached, and she was surprisingly glad.

She realized he hadn’t answered her question about why he’d wanted to kiss her. And apparently he’d changed his mind, since he stood so far away....

He rubbed his hand across his beard where she had so recently touched. “We could play some cards. There’s a deck in the cupboard. Unless you’d like to get back to your book?”

“Let’s try cards for a while. Although I’m afraid I don’t know many card games.”

They ended up pulling the cribbage board out of the game box. Patrice had never played, so Stone taught her. He was a thorough and patient teacher, She couldn’t stop from speculating whether he’d be a thorough and patient lover, as well.

Stone shuffled the cards. “Clancy is a fairly small town. What’s your grandmother’s name? I may know her.”

“Dorothy Winston.”

“Dorothy Winston? The Mrs. Winston that teaches at Clancy High?”

“She used to.”

“She taught one of my senior year classes.”

Patrice tried to picture a younger high-school-age Stone. She would bet money he’d been breaking hearts even then.

“I always wished I could be in a class of hers. Was she a good teacher?”

“The best. One of the only English classes I enjoyed in school.” A wistful smile curved his lips. “I met Val in Mrs. Winston’s English class.”

Patrice made a mental note to ask her grandmother about Val and Stone. She wasn’t sure what good knowing about the other woman would do, other than give her an idea of the kind of woman Stone was attracted to. A topic she was better off not exploring.

Before she knew it, the light coming in through the windows was starting to fade.

“I’d better make a trip out back before it gets dark,” she said.

“Good idea.”

Once the necessities and dinner were taken care of, Stone went out and closed the shutters for the night. “We’ll open them again during the day tomorrow.”

They settled in on opposite sides of the couch with their books.

“I keep forgetting to ask, what do the C and G over the door stand for?” Patrice said.

“That’s our brand. Baron Garrett Cattle Company.”

“Baron Garrett as in Baron and Garrett, or titled aristocracy?”

“The baron claimed to be titled. But he arrived here in the 1890s. Back then, as slow as news traveled, he could have claimed to be the king of England himself and no one would have been able to prove otherwise. There’s a portrait of him at the ranch. Tall, blond, very aristocratic looking.”

“Is there any way to find out whether he was really a baron?”

“I’m sure there is. Val talked about researching and finding out the truth, but she didn’t get around to it.”

“Val was your wife?”

“Yes. I told her she only wanted to know because she wanted to say she was a baroness.”

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