Stacey Kayne – Mountain Wild (страница 5)

He swayed, his eyelids drooping.

She reached for him, her arms sliding into his open coat. His shirt crinkled like a sheet of ice.

Alarm squeezed her chest. His clothes had gotten wet.

The rain from yesterday, before the heavy snowstorm had set in. No wonder his coat and woolly chaps weren’t holding heat—they were likely keeping him as chilled as an icebox.

“Come on, Garret,” she urged, trying to guide him toward her sled. “Stay with me.”

His expression contorted with pain. His boots barely moved in the deep powder. With a rumbling groan, he fell from her grasp and landed face-first into the snow.

Boots yapped at him and nudged his tangled hair with his nose.

“It’s no use, dog. We’ll have to get him on the sled.”

Working quickly, she pushed her supplies and the frozen meat wrapped in deerskin aside and rolled Garret onto the wooden slats. After shoving her supplies beneath his legs to keep his boots from dragging on the ground, she bound a strip of rope across his middle, pinning his arms against his sides. Finished, she fetched his hat, shook off the snow and tugged the dark felt over his white hair.

She glanced at his dog standing up to its chest in snow. She’d seen the cow dog jump onto the back of Garret’s horse more than once while roaming through the lower hills, settling in a spot behind the saddle as though curling up on a porch rug—one of the oddest sights she’d ever witnessed.

“Come on, Boots,” she said, patting his master’s coat.

That was all it took. The hound curled up on Garret’s chest and laid its head on his white paws, his two-toned eyes watching her as she grabbed the sled rope and slipped it over her shoulder. Using all of her weight, her leg muscles burned as she began to haul her heavy load toward home. She’d be drenched in sweat before she reached her cabin, creating a nice layer of ice between her skin and her clothes. Risking her life for a stranger only to catch her death with pneumonia.

She glanced back.

Bound and unmoving, Garret looked like a big prize buck strapped to her sled. The ache in her gut intensified.

“You better not die.”

By the time she spotted the gap in the stone leading to a secluded meadow, every muscle in her body burned despite the increasing chill in her skin. A freezing wind whipped at her back as snow swirled around her in a flurry of white. She clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering. She hadn’t slowed to check on her cargo, but kept her focus on the mountainside rising beyond the trees.

She always missed her horse over winter, never so much as the past two hours. But she had no way to house and feed Star once the long freeze set in, forcing Maggie to leave her with the man who’d given her the mare. Chance Morgan’s generosity didn’t keep her from resenting having to depend on his services. Life had been so much simpler when she could keep to the rivers, bartering with only the Sioux and other trappers. Ira had warned her. It was past time to move on.

Barely visible through a thick forest, she spotted her cabin front built into the stone alcove. Home. Relief dragged a groan from deep within her chest.

She dragged the sled through the tight maze of trees then stopped before the snowed-in door topped by a stone overhang. After releasing the bindings on her snowshoes she cleared away the snowdrift then lifted the lock. Her cabin door squeaked open. The small dark space inside was no warmer than the brisk cold blowing through the trees. She hurried to the stove against the stone wall and reached for the matches.

Within moments flames licked over dry wood, illuminating the darkness. She’d expected to come home cold and had left her cabin prepared. She lit the lamp sitting atop her storage shelves beside her stove then moved her full teakettle to the warmest spot on the range top.

Movement beside her made her jump. Boots gave a vigorous shake, spattering a fine spray of melting snow across her cabin floor. She followed a trail of dirty paw-prints across the polished wood. Irritation burned through her.

You brought them here, she silently berated. You’ll have to deal with the messes. She turned and took a small throw from the foot of her bed. She tossed the thin blanket into the corner beyond the stove.

“Lay down,” she said, pointing to the rumpled fabric.

The dog went right to the corner and curled up.

Easy enough. She glanced through the open door at the lump of leather and man bound to her sled. Snowflakes swirled down from a storm-darkened sky.

Dread pooled in her belly and seemed to settle like a lead weight in her deerskin boots. She forced herself to move toward him. Despite her anxiety, she hoped she hadn’t endured that exhausting climb for two-hundred-plus pounds of dead cowboy. She stepped back out into the whipping wind and a shiver moved through her, the biting cold a prelude to the storm rolling in with the dark sky. She released the rope and brushed the fresh snow from Garret’s face. His eyelids fluttered, but didn’t quite open.

“Couldn’t just come home with deer meat,” she lamented, pulling her supplies and the bound venison from beneath his legs. His boots dropped over her threshold. She tossed her gear inside then carried the meat bound in fresh deer hide to the cold box buried beneath a foot of snow just outside her cabin. She dug up the lid and dropped in the whole hide-bound parcel. Salting and stewing would have to wait.

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.