He touched the spot on his head that had been caked with blood when she’d found him.
“Perhaps you should sit down, Mr. Daines. You were suffering from the cold when I brought you here. You had a high fever all of yesterday and most of today. You’d slept so long I was starting to worry the cold or the fever had damaged your brain.”
“It must have. I don’t remember riding into these moun-tains. And I can assure you I am not prone to falling from my saddle.”
“I didn’t assume that you were. Looked to me like someone struck you with a rifle. By the time I found you any other tracks had been long-since snowed over.”
He’d been attacked? Garret tried to jar his memory. Shouldn’t he remember something like being knocked from his saddle? Had he been ambushed? The last he could recall was watching Duce’s tracks fade in the heavy rain.
“I was looking for my partner,” he said. “I followed Duce’s tracks into the hills. What little snow had been on the ground was washed out by the rain.”
“That’s why you nearly froze to death. It didn’t rain long before snow set in, just before sundown. I found you about an hour past dawn. Have you been feuding with anyone?”
“Only half the state,” he said, shoving his hands into his hair. “The cattle trade has been more akin to pirating as of late.”
“Desperation and greed tend to have that effect on men.”
The chill in her husky voice drew his gaze. Why was it her face that filled his mind instead of his attackers?
She nodded toward the front wall. “Go sit at the table.”
She sure didn’t have any trouble passing out orders. His first memory after the storm was her, those blue eyes ablaze with passion, her sweet body arched beneath him as she’d awakened to his touch, his kisses…
“Mr. Daines?”
He blinked, and realized she stood before him with a bowl in her hands, his stern nursemaid, not the lover from his dream. The hearty aroma penetrated his dazed mind, initiating a growl in his empty belly.
“The table,” she repeated.
She obviously didn’t trust him to not end up on his face, staying at his side until he sat in the chair. She plunked the bowl of stew down in front of him and his mouth watered at the sight of steaming chunks of meat in dark gravy. Despite his hunger, he waited for his hostess to join him. Realizing he sat on the only chair, he grabbed the trunk from the foot of the bed and slid it forward.
She stayed by the stove, her bowl in hand, her sweet face pinched in a frown. He gathered she hadn’t planned on joining him at the table. Her steps seemed to drag as she approached him. She nudged the trunk to the far side of the table then hesitantly took her seat.
“I swear I don’t bite,” he said, forcing a smile.
“I don’t usually have company.”
“I don’t usually get lost in snowstorms. I am sorry for putting you out.”
“I’m just glad I didn’t have to bury you in the frozen ground.” With that, she took a bite.
He didn’t wait for further invitation. He heaped a big bite into his mouth and nearly groaned as venison melted against his tongue, the flavorful gravy nothing short of heaven. He emptied the small bowl in a few hearty bites and would have thumbed out the remaining gravy had the bowl not been snatched away from him.
“I’ll get you some more.”
“I don’t want to leave you hungry,” he said, while hoping that big pot was filled to the brim.
“I have plenty,” she said, refilling his bowl. “Luckily I brought more than a frozen cowboy home from my hunt.”
“Thank you,” he said, unable to pull his gaze away from her graceful movements as she sat across from him. Had some sorry excuse of a man left her up here to fend for herself under such harsh conditions? Catching his gaze, she paused before taking another bite. Her tense expression suggested she’d rather be dining alone.
“You were out hunting in that storm?” he asked.
“That deer meat didn’t jump into my stewpot on its own.”
Garret grinned. The flat line of her lips didn’t so much as twitch.
“I don’t imagine it did. Guess you caught more than you bargained for.”
“I did indeed.”
“You must have been at the end of your food stores to be hunting in this storm?”
Her jaw tightened.
“I’m stocked up just fine,” his nameless savior insisted.
He wasn’t new to stubborn women. Wasn’t a woman born more stubborn than his older sister—or so he’d thought.
“A tracking snow can be real useful. It was—before the storm hit. You were the one so far from home.”
If he’d ended up here, what had happened to Duce?
“My business partner didn’t ride in at noon. Duce wouldn’t have stayed out in that weather unless he was having trouble or had found trouble.”
“I’d been hunting in those lower ranges the whole day. I didn’t come across anyone or hear any other gunshots.”
He hoped Duce had made it back to the ranch. “How long have you lived up here?”
“A while.”
Boots pounced up beside her, his front paws landing in her lap. “I already fed you,” she said, her lips hinting at a smile.
“Sorry about that.”
“I’m used to it by now.” She scratched at his ears, turning his cow dog to a limp pile of fur.
“You’ve spoiled him. Boots usually has better manners.”
“You’ve been far more trouble than he has.”
God save him, her smiling eyes sent a whisper of sensation across his skin as images flooded his mind. Unnerved by the rush of desire, he swept his gaze over the small space.
Simple, clean, the nicest cave he’d ever seen. Small and dank, yet livable—for a miner. So where the hell was he?
“More?” she asked, reaching for his bowl.
The first two servings had taken the edge off his hunger, but he could easily put away another. “Only if you’re sure you can spare it.”
She pushed his dog aside and went to the stove. His gaze followed her dainty form, trailing down the part of her braids to her slender, kissable neck.
He pinched his eyes shut. If he’d actually made advances on her in her sleep, she’d be tossing him out on his ear, not serving him stew. And yet…he could practically feel her arms around his neck as she had kissed him into unconsciousness. He looked up as she stepped beside him, her eyes full of caution as she slid the bowl and mugs onto the table—she sure as hell didn’t like being near him.
“You’ve saved my life,” he said. “And I still don’t know your name.”
“I couldn’t rightly leave you in the snow.” She turned away and he caught her by the wrist.
“That’s the second time you’ve avoided telling me your name. Who are you and where is your husband?”
“If you value that hand,” she said, the chill in her tone raising the hair on the back of his neck, “move it.”
Garret had lived with temperamental females long enough to know when