“Or do you prefer Blondie? That’s fine by me. A lot of convicts go by aliases.”
“Don’t call me a convict,” she snapped.
He shrugged. “Just making conversation.”
“My name is Abby. Abby Nichols.”
“I’m Jake.”
Jake. The name fit him, she realized. Almost as well as those jeans.
“It looks like we might be stuck here together for a while, Abby. I figured we ought to be on a first-name basis.”
She stepped back and watched him hang the jeans and long johns he’d been wearing neatly above the stone hearth.
“How are those meals coming?” he asked.
She looked down at the two unopened containers in her hand. At some point in the last five minutes her appetite had vanished. Maybe about the time when she’d looked over and seen… Mercy, she didn’t want to think about what she’d seen. “I wasn’t sure how to…activate the heat.”
Coming up beside her, he took one of the meals and proceeded to tear off the foil label. “Like this. See?”
He moved with the self-assurance of a man who was comfortable with himself and didn’t necessarily give a damn what the rest of the world thought. Abby watched, fascinated by his hands as the steaming food came into view.
“I hope you like chicken and broccoli.” He handed one of the containers to her. “I’m partial to beef myself.”
“I’d eat nails if they were cooked and warm.” Abby took her food to the hearth.
He walked over to the saddlebag, removed two plastic forks and two containers of water, then met her at the hearth. “The floor’s cold. You can sit on the bedroll if you want.” He handed her water in a collapsible cup.
Abby accepted it and drank deeply. Slipping off the duster, she unrolled the bedroll—an insulated sleeping bag—then settled onto it with her legs crossed. Jake did the same and soon they were forking chicken chunks and broccoli from their instant meals.
They ate in silence, the only sound coming from the raging wind outside, the patter of driving snow against the windows and the occasional crackling of wood as the fire consumed it.
The chicken was surprisingly good, and Abby savored every bite with the fervor of a woman who didn’t know when or where she’d get her next meal. She was going to need her strength in the coming days. As long as she stayed calm and kept her head, she could still get out of this. Jake Madigan might be an armed lawman, but he wasn’t the kind of man who could shoot a woman in the back if she took off on him. All she needed was the opportunity and a little luck.
The warmth from the fire was relaxing her. Abby snuggled deeper into the sleeping bag and drifted. Her tummy was full. She could feel her cold-stiffened muscles beginning to unwind. Her hands no longer ached. She could feel her feet again. Sleepiness was starting to descend like a lavender mist clouding her brain one micro-droplet at a time.
She was aware of Jake moving around the cabin. She heard the door open. Felt the draft of cold air against her face. The clanging of metal against metal.
She opened her eyes to find him kneeling at the hearth, setting a large, scarred kettle over the embers. He looked at her intently, then turned back to the kettle. “I’m melting snow so we can wash up,” he said.
Sitting up, she looked around. The windows were dark now, the interior of the cabin illuminated only by the fire. Outside, the wind howled like an angry banshee. Abby could still hear the snow blasting against the glass on the north side. Jake had taken their empty food containers into the kitchen. She must have fallen asleep.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“You got somewhere to go?”
“No, I’m just wondering.”
“A little after seven.”
Early evening. It felt like the middle of the night. With the storm waging all-out war on the cabin, it seemed as if they were the only two people on earth. The thought should have disturbed her, but it didn’t. In fact, as she sat on the bedroll and looked around the cabin, a strange and comforting warmth encompassed her. The storm might be an inconvenience, but it would buy her some time. Besides, she’d much rather be stuck in this cabin than in a prison cell. At least here there was the hope of escape.
The water in the kettle was steaming. Abby watched Jake use one of his leather gloves to take it from the fire and carry it to the kitchen where he dumped the hot water into a larger pail of snow. She swallowed hard when he turned his back to her and proceeded to strip off his shirt.
Broad shoulders rounded with muscle came into view as he draped the shirt neatly over the back of a chair. The faded jeans he wore rode low on his narrow hips. Jeans that left no doubt about Jake Madigan’s masculinity. Abby tried not to stare, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from him. The man was built like Adonis. The fire cast yellow light over the room, turning his skin to bronze, his muscled shoulders and back to a sculpted work of art. His biceps flexed as he leaned forward and splashed water onto his face. His wet skin glistened when he dipped a small rag into the water and brought it to his neck and chest, then lower.
Abby turned abruptly away and stared into the hearth, watching the flames leap over the dry wood. Her face felt hot. But she knew it had nothing to do with the fire, and everything to do with the man. She could hear the water splashing on the other side of the room, but for the effect he was having on her body, he may as well have been right next to her.
“I can warm you some water if you want it.”
She jumped at the sound of his voice. He’d come up behind her. Still sitting on the floor in front of the fire, Abby had to crane her neck straight up to look at him. She tried not to look at his chest or that thatch of dark hair covering it. Oh, Lord, she wished he’d put his shirt back on.
“Um, well…yes. I’d…like that.”
What was wrong with her voice?
Without speaking, he went back to the kitchen area and jerked on his shirt, then slipped into his duster. Taking both the kettle and the pail, he went out the door.
Abby’s heart rate quickened. While the thought of washing up with warm water sounded heavenly, she had no idea how she would manage it with Jake around. He might be comfortable strutting around half naked, but she wasn’t.
He came back through the door with a gust of wind and a swirl of snow. She watched as he set the kettle over the fire, then set the larger pail half full of snow back on the rickety table in the kitchen area.
“The water ought to be boiling in a few minutes,” he said. “I found a couple of clean towels you can use.”
“Thank you.” Rising, she looked frantically around the cabin. It was small and sparse and offered absolutely no privacy.
The water in the kettle began to steam. Abby stared at it, then risked a look at Jake. “I can’t bathe with you in here,” she said in her most reasonable voice.
He cut her a look that was half annoyed, half incredulous. “I’ll turn my back.”
“I’m afraid that won’t do. I just…can’t…with you in here.”
“Oh, for crying out loud.”
“Would you mind terribly waiting outside for a couple of minutes? I mean, it’s not like I’m going to take off in this weather.”
“Lady, it’s snowing like crazy with subzero wind chills. I don’t feel like getting hypothermic just so you take a damn bath.”
She looked longingly at the water. “Please, just give me five minutes of privacy.” Her gaze traveled to the fire. “We’re low on firewood. Maybe you could take a few minutes and find