Mountain Wild. Stacey Kayne
and shouts echoing across the plains. Her brother hadn’t changed a lick in fourteen years—he was still a thief and a liar. And folks still turned a blind eye to his treachery. His band of cattle thieves spent more time skimming off neighbors stock than tending their own. She’d followed along on a few of their late-night roundups, watching intently as they gathered and moved nice tight herds, tucking the longhorns into canyons and valleys on Circle S land. It sure didn’t take much to spook a herd of cattle. She grinned, recalling just how high-pitched a man’s scream could hit.
She’d move on, just as soon as she settled her business with Nathan.
A burst of cold air announced Garret’s return.
“Damnation! That is a cold wind.” He slammed the door shut as a gust lifted the edge of his blanket, giving her a glimpse of his rounded backside.
Nothing I haven’t already seen, she lamented, which didn’t do a damn thing to settle the sudden stir of her pulse.
Boots pawed at him, demanding his attention, and nearly stripped him of the blanket he struggled to keep around his waist. “Easy, boy.” He knelt down, briskly rubbing his hands over the dog’s thick coat. “Glad to see you, too, but we don’t want to offend the lady.”
Lady? A pleasing stir moved through Maggie at the unexpected title. She watched the bunch and flex of muscles beneath his bronze, knowing full well there wasn’t anything offensive about Garret’s body.
“Worried about me, were ya?”
The dog hadn’t been the only one to fret over him. After all her toil and trouble, he’d traipsed off into the storm!
“Sick as you’ve been, you shouldn’t have risked the chill,” she said. “I would have given you some privacy.”
He straightened and shoved a hand through his tousled hair, giving her a clear view of his green eyes. The curiosity she saw in those gentle depths stirred a tingling surge of sensation she’d first felt when she’d awakened in his arms.
“No sense in you getting a chill, as well,” he said, taking a slow step toward her.
“I’m not the one who’s been abed the past two days,” she said, her tone sounding hateful to her own ears.
Be civil, she silently berated. She’d been schooled in good manners and proper etiquette, though she couldn’t clearly recall a single lesson. Her life before Ira was nothing but a distant dream.
“Your clothes are on the chest behind you,” she managed to say in a mild tone. “I hung your coat by the door. Your chaps are stored outside.”
He glanced at the stack of clothes and then looked back at her. “I’m much obliged.”
She would be, too, once he buttoned that chest into a shirt. Not that it would matter much. She’d memorized all the contours of his muscular form as she’d tended his fever, soothing him when he thrashed around, murmuring names in his sleep. Some she recognized, most she didn’t.
“Come here, Boots,” she said, patting her thigh. She rubbed the mutt behind his ear then pointed to his blanket. “Go chew on your bone.”
He stood beside her, watching his pet curl up in the corner. His lips curved into a grin as he met her gaze. The unexpected smile caused an equally unexpected surge of sensation low in her belly.
“I hope Boots hasn’t been any trouble for you.”
“Get dressed.”
His grin widened. “Yes, ma’am.”
She waited until he moved around the bed before she turned back to the stove. She watched the play of shadow cast on the floor as she took two bowls from her shelf and began serving stew.
“I sure appreciate you taking care of him,” he said, followed by the sound of his boots thumping to the floor as he pulled them off. “He’s been with me a long time.”
The care he showed for his pet was something that had always intrigued her. She couldn’t recall a time she’d spied Garret in the hills without his dog along.
“He hasn’t been any trouble.”
She could feel his gaze upon her, could tell he was watching her by the stillness of his shadow.
“Glad one of us hasn’t.” Fabric snapped as he shook his trousers out.
She set the steaming bowls aside as his shadow swayed, his hand reaching toward his head. She turned as he slumped forward and reached for the foot of the bed.
“Garret.” She was beside him in a flash.
“I’m all right,” he said, easing down to sit on the trunk.
Maggie curled her fingers into her palms, fighting her urge to soothe him. His complexion had paled. Wearing only his trousers, his shirt clutched in his hand, he rested his elbows on his thighs and blinked as though clearing his vision.
“You shouldn’t have gone out into the cold,” she scolded.
He glanced up, his gaze dark, burning with frustration.
Maggie took a step back, beyond his reach.
“Why in hell am I so weak?”
“You nearly froze to death. You’ve been abed for two days.”
His green eyes scanned her from head to toe and back again. “This may sound rude, but…should I know you?”
“I don’t see why you should,” she said, relief easing her stalled breath. “You were hardly conscious when I found you.”
“You seem to know me…and my dog.”
“I’m sure most folks around these parts are familiar with you and your cattle ranch, Mr. Daines.”
He shrugged on his shirt, his gaze never wavering from hers. “I thought I knew most folks around these parts. And I sure—” He paused, turning his face toward the collar. He sniffed loudly, his eyes widening as he met her gaze. “You washed my clothes?”
“They were already wet.” She wasn’t about to put dirty clothes in her cupboards. “I figured adding some soap couldn’t hurt.”
A slow grin eased his tense expression. He stood and stuffed his shirttails into his waistband. “I smell like a field of flowers.”
“It’s the only soap I have,” she said, realizing now that a man may not care to smell like wildflowers.
“I suppose it’s better than carrying the stench of sweat and horsehide.”
While tending his fever, it made sense to add some soap to that water, as well. Hopefully she’d rinsed him enough since then that he hadn’t noticed.
He sat on the side of the bed and Maggie felt some relief. He wasn’t quite so intimidating when he wasn’t towering over her. Perhaps she could tie him to a chair until he was strong enough to leave.
“I’ll be damned,” he muttered, staring at his mended sock.
Maggie silently cursed the heat in her cheeks. “They were in a sorry shape.”
“You’re more than a thorough nursemaid. I’m indebted to you, Mrs…?”
“Didn’t take much to mend them.”
He stared at her a moment, his narrowing gaze telling her he hadn’t missed her failure to give her name. “I was also wearing a gun,” he said.
“You’ll get your holster back when you leave.”
“I didn’t see any other structures outside. Where are you keeping my horse?”
“There was no horse.”
“No horse?” He surged up. Maggie forced herself to hold her ground, not that she could have backed any closer to