Free Wilderness Passion by Lindsay McKenna Page B

WAS SHINING through the lacy fingers of the oak tree overhead when Libby stirred drowsily. The mouthwatering smell of oatmeal and coffee wafting on the cool morning air brought her to full wakefulness. Bits and pieces of the previous night’s incident began to filter into her consciousness as she struggled into a sitting position. Had it been a dream after all? Dan’s strong arms about her, holding her close? Libby turned, her lashes lifting to meet the interested gaze of the man who had held her the night before.
    “How do you feel?” he asked, his voice husky.
    Libby’s lips parted and a warming tingle went up her spine. Somewhere in the vagueness of her memory she recalled his mouth moving across her lips. Had it been a dream? Her heart fluttered wildly and she experienced a giddiness that left her breathless. Had Dan kissed her sometime during the night? She held his concerned gaze, trying to gather her scattered thoughts. There was a new tenderness in his blue eyes that morning as he watched her, and Libby found it impossible to speak.
    “You still look a little pale,” he observed, giving the oatmeal a final stir and then adding bits of dried dates to it. “Want breakfast in bed?” he asked, his mouth pulling into a teasing curve.
    Libby ran her fingers through her long, tangled blond hair. “N-no, I’ll get dressed. Give me a minute.”
    She quickly dressed and completed her toilet, hurrying back to the campfire. Dan was sitting on a rock, spooning the oatmeal into two bowls.
    “What’s your rush?” he asked.
    “I just looked at my watch and realized it was eight o’clock”
    “Relax, will you? I let you sleep late.” He handed her the bowl. “I’ve been a little rough on you and decided to ease up.”
    Libby shot him a startled look, sitting down opposite him and pouring them each a cup of coffee. “What do you mean? Haven’t I been keeping a fast enough pace for you?’’
    He shrugged, dipping into the oatmeal. “You’re a tenderfoot. I keep forgetting that because you’re taking to hiking so naturally.’’ He gave her an intense, searching look. “You have stamina, Libby, and I tend to take advantage of people who possess that trait. Yesterday’s accident shouldn’t have happened. I should have been at your side instead of assuming you could get across that difficult area.”
    “Thanks for the backhanded compliment,” she murmured. “And you’re right—I love hiking. No one’s more surprised than I am.” She gave him a careless grin, which he returned.
    “You have a headache this morning?”
    “No. It’s just a little tender,” she responded. A new bond had been built between them, and Libby wasn’t sure when it had happened or why. “Thanks for babysitting me. I feel more than a little embarrassed over my performance last night.”
    Dan got to his feet and scraped a second helping of oatmeal into his bowl. He sat down again, his blue eyes dark and unreadable. “I’ve known enough women to know the difference between a performance and actual fear,” he drawled. “And that wasn’t a performance.”
    Libby blushed. “I feel like a child out here sometimes, Dan,” she admitted softly. “The wilderness is so vast and rugged. I feel lost in it.” She lifted her eyes, meeting his azure gaze. “And in some respects I feel like a child around you because I know so little about hiking and camping. My reaction last night totally frightened me.” She managed a broken smile. “There are no snakes in San Francisco.”
    Dan grinned. “It’s a good thing, lady, or you’d be in my arms every night as a consequence. Not that that’s a bad idea.... I rather enjoyed it myself. Do you realize you snore?”
    Libby straightened up. “What?”
    He laughed. “I’m only teasing. You’re a soft, warm kitten, Lib. Come on, quit looking so devastated and vulnerable. Let’s pack and get going—we’ve got some tough climbing to do today.”
    She considered his candid words as she