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

She’d at least stay warm until the end of winter. Hopefully she’d hunkered down in that bed while he uncovered her yard. Despite all his labor, fresh snow continued to pile up, the steady snowfall showing no sign of slowing. Just as Grace had said, he wouldn’t be going anywhere today.
    “Come on, Boots. Let’s head in.”
    He opened the door to a welcoming burst of heat and a mouthwatering scent that made his stomach roar with hunger. His gaze locked on a steaming pile of golden biscuits at the center of the table.
    “Breakfast is ready.”
    He whipped his gaze toward the all-too-inviting view of Grace lifting a kettle from the stove. Apron strings created a tidy white bow just above the gentle swell of her backside…a shapely backside that had him appreciating her buckskin britches.
    Don’t go there, he silently warned, forcing his gaze up to a second white bow securing the silky black hair she’d brushed into a single ponytail. Boots bumped up beside her. Soaked from his morning run, he was about to shake water all over Grace’s cabin.
    “Boots.”
    His dog froze—so did Grace, her eyes popping wide as he rushed toward them.
    Garret grabbed the dog’s blanket from the corner and draped it over him, briskly drying his wet fur. “Miss Grace doesn’t take kindly to a wet floor.”
    Or sudden moves from stray cowpunchers, he thought, noting how her slender body had shuddered before she had dragged in a deep breath. She grabbed up the mugs and hurried to the table.
    The moment he released Boots his dog shot to the bowl of broken biscuits and meat Grace had placed in his corner. He turned and she stepped back, practically pressing her back to the door.
    “I filled the basin with warm water so you could wash up.”
    He spotted a fresh towel beside the water-filled basin and realized the pleasing scent of spring mingled with the aroma of breakfast. Glancing back at Grace he noted the fresh shine of her skin. He reached for the buttons on his coat and she instantly fluttered past the foot of her bed, anticipating his move toward the door to hang his jacket.
    Her wariness of him stung at his pride—not that he blamed her.
    By the time he finished scrubbing up she was rummaging through her shelves, conveniently giving him plenty of clearance to get to the table. His plate had already been served, a stack of broken biscuits smothered with chunks of venison and white gravy. He collected the linen napkin from beside his plate, noting the tiny pink flowers across the bottom as he draped it over his thigh.
    She hadn’t set a place for herself. Already back at the stove, she obviously didn’t have plans to join him at the table, so he dug in. Just as the heavenly aroma had hinted, her biscuits and gravy were the best to pass his lips since he’d lived in his sister’s home.
    Maggie glanced up from mixing a fresh batch of biscuits as a low, rumbling groan sounded behind her. Garret sat with his eyes closed as he chewed. The coarse stubble along his jaw from a couple of days ago had become smooth fibers with another day of growth. She missed being able to stroke his face, his skin.
    I don’t need to be petting on any man, she silently scolded.
    His tongue skimmed over his full lips and tingles danced across Maggie’s skin, awakening the memory of his soft mouth pressed to hers, the shocking surge of pleasing sensations stirred by his seeking tongue. His blond lashes lifted and Maggie forced her gaze back to her task.
    He didn’t mean to kiss me. No man in his right mind would.
    Anger burned away the reverie.
    “Grace, that was the best breakfast I’ve ever had.”
    She started dropping biscuits into the pan with extra force. “It’s not hard to please a starving man.”
    He stepped beside her holding his empty plate, and Maggie wondered how he could spend his morning shoveling snow and still smell of wood smoke and musk.
    “You’re a great cook. But I thought you’d be sleeping.”
    “And I’d hoped you’d