Free Mountain Wild (Harlequin Historical Series) by Stacey Kayne Page A

have to wait.”
    His jaws flexed, his eyes narrowed slightly and Maggie was reminded she spoke to a man of considerable size and strength. And she was demanding he stay? Fear nettled beneath her skin. She’d lost her mind.
    “I’ll start digging you out and see how it goes.”
    Boots stuck his head in, his sharp barks rattling through the cabin.
    “Would you stop shouting at me,” Garret said with exasperation. “I can’t squeeze through a rabbit hole!” Boots moved back and kept barking as Garret dug at the thick snow pack. “All your yapping isn’t helping,” he grumbled, which Boots answered with another series of barks.
    Maggie was surprised to find herself grinning as she watched them. The way he talked to Boots, as though talking to a person, had been something she’d always found endearing about him. His wide shoulders shifted in fluid motions as he cleared the doorway with impossible speed, shovelingaway snow in minutes that would have taken her half the day. She envied his strength.
    He turned back and dragged the flat shovel across the floor, clearing out the hard-packed snow that had slid inside. “I’ll bring in some wood as soon as I uncover the woodpile. You go on and get some sleep,” he said, nodding toward the bed before shutting the door.
    Sleep? With him tromping around outside her cabin?
    He sure seemed spry this morning for a man who could barely stand the day before. Amazing what a good meal could do. Maggie dried the floor and went to check the stove. She wasn’t pleased to find he’d cleared out all the hot coals, leaving the stove completely cold. She knew better than to let the fire die out during a storm. The way it was snowing, she’d have to go up top and dig out the stovepipe before she could light a fire. The mere thought made her shiver.
    Garret came in with an armload of wood as she shrugged into her coat. He dumped the wood into the box, his hands slamming down on his hips as he regarded her for a silent moment.
    “What’s wrong?”
    “I let the fire die down, which means the pipe likely snowed over. I’ll have to clear it before I build a fire.” She refrained from telling him she never removed all the hot coals from the stove in the dead of winter.
    He turned, his gaze following the pipe up through her ceiling. “I’ll take care of it,” he said, tugging his collar up as he headed for the door. “Stay inside.”
    The door slammed and she bristled at his parting words. Who was he to be giving her orders?
    Biting out a curse, she took off her coat and went back to the stove. As she filled it with kindling and wood, she could hear the scraping sounds coming from up above. The very idea of him knowing her location filled her with unease.
    “All clear.” His deep voice carried through the pipe with crystal clarity and caused an annoying stir of ripples in her belly.
    If food was what it took to keep him strong, she’d keep cooking until he was gone.
     
    Garret had hoped to get a lay of the land, but could hardly see more than five yards in front of him. Through the distortion of snowflakes none of the surrounding white ridges looked familiar. In this storm, eight miles from his ranch might as well have been a hundred.
    Chilled to the bone, he went back to clearing snow from around the woodpile stacked along the front of her cabin, or so it appeared. Wood slats wedged into the mouth of a cave. Even with a wide storage chest built up to one side of the false front for added support and the woodpile stacked on the other side, the upkeep had to be constant. He’d uncovered a large kettle a few yards out she likely used for laundry.
    He shook his head, hardly able to believe a man had left his woman in a place like this. A miner should know only trappers, outlaws and renegade Indians frequented these mountains—even they sought more hospitable ground over winter.
    Pulling back the heavy tarpaulin covering the woodpile, he collected a few more pieces to take inside.