Free Mountain Wild (Harlequin Historical Series) by Stacey Kayne

shouted. Her eyes wide, disoriented, she shot to her feet, the chair scraping across the floor as her gaze wildly searched the room.
    “It’s just me,” he said, watching recognition ease her fright. “You’re a jumpy little thing, aren’t you?”
    “I don’t usually wake up to voices.” Still clutching the white cloth, she tossed it onto the table and pressed her hands to the small of her back. An array of colors on the fancy hand towel caught his attention. A small wooden hoop clasped over the white fabric, the circular portion of cloth stretched tight. A threaded needle hung from a half-finished yellow blossom amid a cluster of brightly colored flowers.
    “You sew,” he said, looking closer at the intricate bouquet embroidered on the dish towel.
    “I do.” She picked up a covered basket from the floor beside her chair. Flipping up the lid, she tossed the towel over a rainbow of thread.
    “Did you stitch the flowers on the shirt you’re wearing?”
    She glanced down and seemed surprised by the red blossoms draping down from her shoulders. “Yeah.”
    “It’s pretty.”
    Her face scrunched with a frown. “Still storming?” she asked, glancing toward the unmistakable sounds of a grueling wind battering the trees outside.
    “I’d say so. Boots and I were just headed out. Why don’tyou curl up in that warm bed? There’s bound to be fresh snow. Soon as I shovel out to the woodpile, I’ll relight the stove.”
    Maggie hadn’t stopped assessing her cabin, the bed he’d made up, the pail of ashes sitting before the stove. He’d found his hat, the brown Stetson pulled low on his brow. He wore his thick coat. The bottoms of his trousers were tucked into the tall shaft of his boots. Apparently he’d been up and around for quite some time—and she hadn’t woken up?
    “I’ll be back with some wood as soon I finish the shoveling.”
    Ready to be rid of him, she waved him off. “Go. Shovel’s in the corner by the—”
    He was already lifting the bar, shovel in hand. He opened the door to a gust of wind. Snow rolled in onto the floor, which was to be expected. Maggie reached for her blanket, shivering as she cinched the quilt tight around her shoulders.
    Boots barked, but didn’t bound out the door as he usually did.
    “Sonuvagun,” Garret muttered. “That’s a lot of snow.”
    Curious about both their odd reactions to a bit of snowdrift, Maggie stepped forward. A bit of snowdrift was actually closer to five feet. Nearly snowed in, the high point almost reached the stone overhang.
    “The wind just builds it up against the cabin.”
    Garret eased out and knocked back the soft powder. To Maggie’s surprise, he hit a solid four feet of snowbank. He glanced back at her but Maggie’s gaze was locked on the blur of white whipping beyond the break, a blizzard that would swallow anyone who ventured too far out.
    She couldn’t send him out in that.
    Boots kept barking at the wall of white blocking his path.
    “Stop your griping, old man,” Garret said to his dog. “I’ll get you out.”
    Boots quieted but stayed at his heels as Garret shoveled out a narrow path. The moment he eased to the side his dog jumped through the narrow channel.
    “Looks like I’ll be getting a late start.”
    Maggie tightened her hold on the blanket to clamp out the cold. “You can’t leave today.”
    “I can manage,” he said, shoveling at the frozen ground.
    “Yesterday you could hardly stand.”
    He straightened and looked back at her. “Do you want me gone or not?”
    “I want you gone, not frozen. I didn’t spend three days keeping you alive just to send you back out in the middle of a blizzard.”
    “Believe me, I’m just as anxious to get back to my ranch as you are to see me off.”
    “It’s already well past sunup. It will be noon by the time I’m dug out and we get you outfitted and ready to go. Even in clear weather it’d take a full day for you to reach your ranch.” She shook her head. “You’ll