Free Song of the West by Nora Roberts

throat, and her eyes became round and impossibly dark. “Oh, no,” she whispered, closing her eyes in humiliation.
    â€œNo need to be embarrassed, Sam, you have a beautiful body.”
    â€œOh, no.” With a moan, she squeezed her eyes tighter.
    â€œNow, don’t you fret.” His tone took on the light insolence of the cowboy she’d met a month before in the cold March sunset. “When I took off your clothes and rubbed you down, it was strictly medical. I’d do as much for any stray.” He patted her hand, and her eyes opened warily at his touch.
    â€œYes, of course.” Moistening her lips, she attempted to see the practical side. “I, well . . . thank you.”
    â€œâ€™S all right, don’t give it a thought.” He moved toward the door, then paused and turned back. “Now, the next time I get your clothes off, my purpose’ll be completely different.”
    He strolled casually from the room, leaving a speechless Samantha.

Chapter Six
    Samantha looked around her. She remembered with a shock that she was in Jake’s house—and, worse yet,
naked
in bed. She was debating the wisdom of wrapping the quilt around her and searching for more appropriate attire when footsteps sounded down the hall outside her room. She pulled the covers to her chin as Jake strode through the open door.
    â€œSo, you’re awake. How do you feel?”
    â€œFine.” Her respiratory system behaved erratically as he continued toward her and dropped onto the bed. “I’m just fine,” she repeated, then added unnecessarily, “It’s still snowing.”
    â€œSo it is,” he agreed without taking his eyes from her face. “Slowing down, though.”
    â€œIs it?” She forced herself to look out the window.
    â€œThe worst’ll be over by midday.” He reached up and pried one of her hands loose from the death grip on the blankets. “Calm down, Sam, I’m not going to ravish you, I’m going to check your pulse.”
    â€œI’m fine,” she repeated again.
    â€œFar from fine, Samantha,” he corrected. His fingers brushed against her cheek, as if to test its substance. “The first thing is to get some food into you.” Rising, he held out a large flannel robe that he had dropped at the foot of the bed. “You’d probably feel better if you had something on.” His smile was gently mocking. “Can you manage to get into this by yourself?”
    â€œOf course.” Plucking it from him, she kept a cautious grip on the blankets. “I’m not an invalid.”
    â€œYou best think like one. Put that on, then get back in bed. I’ll bring you some breakfast.”
    â€œI don’t . . .”
    â€œDon’t argue.” The two words were swift and final. He was gone before she could say another word.
    He had shut the door, however, and grateful for the concession, Samantha tossed back the covers and slipped her arm into the robe. When she stood, the room swayed and spun around her. She sank back onto the bed and slipped her other arm into its sleeve, pulling the robe around her before attempting to stand again. Her limbs felt heavy and weak, and she noted with puzzlement that her ankle was throbbing lightly. Gripping one poster of the bed until the room steadied, she rolled up the sleeves of the robe several times until her hands became visible, then moved to the bathroom to study herself in the mirror.
    The sight of her own face caught at her breath. Her skin seemed nearly transparent, her eyes darker and larger in contrast. The breath of color that resulted when she pinched her cheeks faded instantly. She ran a hand through her hair falling on the shoulders of the dark green robe.
    It must be his, she realized, looking down at the sleeves, which swallowed her arms, and the hem, which fell nearly to her ankles. A strange sensation flowed over her as she felt the