SNOWFIRES

by Caroline Clemmons

  Trent returned to the kitchen, his arms laden with bath towels, socks and a pair of scuffed boots that he dropped beside her chair. The sudden sound caused the dog to yelp and the cat to scurry from the room. Quickly, Trent unfolded two pairs of socks and placed each on the open oven door to warm.

  "Apparently Mrs. Martin is a tiny woman because the women's shoes I found are little larger than a child's. You'll have to borrow from Mr. Martin." He pulled a chair facing her and placed a bath towel across his thighs.

  Holly chewed her lip. "It seems almost like stealing to use their things." She glanced to the stovetop and the pan simmering there. "The soaking beans and thawed meat would have ruined if we hadn't cooked them. This is different."

  "When I spoke to him on the phone, Martin insisted we use whatever we needed. Frankly, you have no idea how relieved he was to have us here to take care of things. Most of his income depends on the welfare of those animals."

  He patted the towel across his thighs. "Now let's take care of you. Place those frozen tootsies in my lap."

  Trent bound the towel about her feet, gently patting them dry. Then he wrapped the ends of the towel loosely about her left foot while he massaged the right. Gentle, circular motions with his callused fingers.

  Soon the pain diminished and warmth seeped into her foot, up her legs, throughout her body. She closed her eyes and reveled in the sensation. That such a gruff man could be so gentle and caring surprised her. For a time she forgot her hatred of him, her distrust, and saw him as only as a man trapped with her in this misadventure. When he switched to her other foot she sighed with pleasure.

  Blended with the remnants of barn smells stuck to their clothes, each time he leaned forward she caught Trent’s own scent. She’d noticed it at her grandparents’ and in the car. Not a strong perfume, but an almost wholesome aroma that reminded her of a pine forest on a sunny day.

  His touch mesmerized her, coaxing her into another world. On this new plane, Trent became a dashing pirate and she his captured prize. In her mind she saw him as he had stood on the patio of her grandparents' home that morning, and as he must have appeared aboard a ship.

  The wind molded his clothes to a long, lean body and he faced into the elements as if to challenge them. She wanted his touch to continue forever. Higher, she wanted his hands to travel higher to trace their magic onto every part of her body. Would he caress this gently in lovemaking? She imagined his kiss, gentle at first and then growing in intensity as it sent fire coursing through her.

  He changed technique, with one hand on each foot. The rhythm of his fingers against the muscles of her feet drew her deeper and deeper into his spell. Back and forth he massaged, back and forth. Holly melted into her chair.

  She visualized him using the same rhythm to enter her body, and she pulsed with passion at her core. Hot blood roared through her veins. A spiral of heat coiled in her abdomen and warm moisture seeped to the juncture of her thighs.

  His harsh voice shattered her fantasy world. "Damn, I should never have let you go with me to the barn. I should be shot for exposing you to these conditions."

  She blinked and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. Back in the present, she leaned forward. "It was my choice, remember? I knew how cold it was, but saw no alternative. Besides, you must have been just as cold."

  "No, I'm used to the outdoors, or was until a few months ago. Besides, I have on heavy boots and warm socks." With that he stretched toward the oven and snagged the socks. Just as gently as he had massaged, he rolled both pairs of the warmed woolen socks onto her feet. Pure bliss.

  "Do you think you can tolerate Martin's boots yet? You need to keep your feet warm."

  At her nod, he helped her slip into the oversized boots. Even with two pairs of socks, the boots were large.

  "Now let me see your hands."

  "They're fine now." In the wake of her traitorous fantasy, she couldn’t meet Trent's gaze.

  He reached for her hands and held them between his. Not only did this warm them, it sent a slow sizzle ricocheting through her body. How perfectly her hands fit in his, how right it seemed to have them there.

  For a few seconds he looked at their joined hands, then slowly raised his beautiful emerald eyes to gaze into hers. A current of shared awareness as strong as a bolt of lightning shot between them. He looked as shocked as she was.

  With a gasp, he placed her hands in her lap and picked up the towels and pan of water. "Well, um, you should sit there a few minutes before you try to walk. I'll just clean up this mess, and, um, feed the cat and dog."

  She experienced a tearing loss as he broke physical contact and wanted to call him back. Searching for anything to recover from the intimacy of his look, his touch or the sound of his voice, Holly seized on the subject of the animals. "That poor dog would have frozen if we hadn't come when we did."

  He answered without looking at her. "Yeah, for a watchdog, he seemed awfully glad to see us. His name is Blue and the cat is Socks."

  She rose and tested her feet. Far less than normal, especially in the awkward-sized boots, but she clomped over to check their dinner simmering on the stove. Curiosity caused her to push the issue he avoided earlier.

  "You must have lived on a farm at one time." Her eyes accused him. "You knew how to take care of all those animals, even how to mix that feed."

  "Yeah. You could say I lived on a farm." His mouth formed a grim line, his jaw clenched.

  "Did your parents own a farm?" She knew he wanted to drop the subject of his past, but couldn't stop herself.

  He shrugged. "I have no idea. Never knew them."

  How sad, she thought. Perhaps his grandparents raised him. Her own Grayson grandparents certainly eased her life, especially since the death of her mother. "But you must have lived on a farm with someone."

  "Humph. Slaved is a more appropriate term for the time I spent on a farm. For four years I mucked out barns and chicken sheds, fed animals, harvested feed, did the work of two men."

  "Oh. That’s why you knew what to do. I see." No wonder he never talked about his personal life. She’d intruded when all she intended was conversation. No, she admitted, to be honest she wanted more than conversation. She wanted to know everything about this man who so fascinated yet repelled her.

  "Do you?" He shook his head. "I doubt it. Since you persist in asking, I bounced from foster home to foster home, some in town and some on farms. When I was twelve I landed with an oh-so-kind family who needed a farm hand. In fact, they needed two farm hands, so I was allowed to fill both positions."

  "No wonder you hate farm work. So, when you were sixteen, you what?"

  "I left. I was tall even then. Although the food was scarce and poorly prepared, the heavy farm work muscled me up. I hitched, sometimes walked, and did odd jobs along the way from Iowa to New Jersey. I could, and did, pass for eighteen when I joined the crew of a ship."

  He turned to challenge her, an eyebrow raised. "Curiosity satisfied?"

  She flushed, unable to break eye contact with him. "I was just making conversation. I didn't mean to pry."

  "Yes, you did." He shrugged as if it were no longer important, and turned. "Now how about dishing us up some dinner while I clean myself up?" With that, he left her pondering these few tidbits of his past while he strode toward the bathroom.

  ***

  With dinner over and cleared away, Trent let Blue out for one more run before bedtime. Nature called Holly also, and she sought the bathroom, grateful the small heater kept the room warm enough for her to remove her coat. While there, she attended to minor grooming, picking off bits of hay and stray feathers.

  Less than half the size of her clothes closet at home, the tiny bathroom included only a shower stall and a free-standing sink across from the toilet. At present, the heater made up for any other deficiencies in the room, at least from her viewpoint. When she’d finished, she slung her coat around her and left the only truly warm spot in the house.

  Their absent host
s' tiny living room contained only a few tables near two armchairs facing a television set, a playpen, and other assorted children's paraphernalia. Weary beyond caring for her safety, Holly wanted to sink onto one of the chairs and rest. The floor furnace provided sparse heat to keep the house habitable, if far less than comfortable.

  Coat draped around her shoulders, she walked into the bedroom. Although Holly had passed the door several times on her way to the bathroom, she had not examined the room closely until now.

  Oh my. One very small bedroom, one double-sized bed and two baby cribs. Those and two chests left only a narrow walking space in the room.

  She sat down and gave a test jiggle. Her hips sank into the soft mattress and her body tilted toward the bed’s sagging middle.

  Holly looked up.

  Trent stood in the doorway, hands braced on each side of the doorframe. "So, which side of the bed do you want?"

  CHAPTER THREE

  She gasped. "Surely you don't intend to sleep here? A gentleman would take one of the chairs in the living area."

  "Princess, no one ever accused me of being a gentleman.” He straightened and moved into the crowded room. “Look, Holly, I'm dead tired. I've had far more than enough trouble for one day."

  He draped his jacket across the foot of the bed before he unbuttoned his shirt. "I'll take the side nearest the windows since that’s bound to be colder."

  Holly catapulted off the bed to repeat her question. "You expect us to sleep together?"

  He nodded. "It seems the only logical solution. You know, shared body heat?"

  "Sh-shared...?" She stared at him in horror, her mouth open.

  She might not have a wide range of sexual experience, but she was no prissy prude. But this man emanated sex and danger. The day moved right up to a ten on the disaster scale with alarms ringing full tilt.

  "Stop looking as if I said I intend to eat you. I only bite by invitation." He flashed his teeth in a mocking leer. "While you made certain each dish went back into precisely the proper place in the cupboards, I checked the closets for extra bedding. This is a very Spartan household."

  It was then Holly noticed the irregular ripples under the spread. She turned back the coverlet and revealed only a few layers of thin blankets. The bedding seemed pitiful compared to the severity of the room's chill.

  Trent slipped off his boots and spread his shirt across the bed. His eyes met hers. How dare this fiend have such exquisite green eyes? She forced herself to break eye contact and concentrated her gaze on the bedspread as he continued.

  "The Martins must be part Eskimo. There aren't enough blankets for us to split up, even using the crib blankets. I piled everything I could find onto the bed for warmth."

  Though she tried to avert her eyes, she stared as if she were mesmerized. He unfastened his jeans and stepped out of them as casually as if he were alone. Standing in only his underwear and socks, he carefully folded his jeans and laid them across the bed. Had he no idea the effect the sight of his body wreaked on her? Of course he did.

  She tried again to turn away, but her body refused to obey. Her traitorous eyes inventoried him. The jagged scar on his chest worried her, bringing to mind the vivid image of him aboard ship, cutlass in hand as he faced another pirate. Was the rumor true then? Had he been a pirate or merely a seaman? She easily pictured him braced on deck, wielding a cutlass to defend a maiden.

  Defend? Ha. More likely to capture her. All he lacked was a patch over his eye and the black flag of skull and crossed bones waving over his head.

  His muscles rippled with each movement. Dark hair spread across his chest and she followed the vee that furrowed toward his waist and into his skin-tight briefs. This man didn’t need a rolled up sock to fill out his underwear. Dry cotton lined her mouth and she couldn’t swallow. She licked her scorched lips and a ball of heat curled in her abdomen.

  Once again her thoughts returned to the fantasy his touch had evoked before dinner. In her mind she relived the pleasure of his hands against her skin, the electric shock of his touch as their gaze met.

  He slipped between the sheets and patted the bed beside him. "Now that you’ve memorized all my parts, don't forget to turn off the overhead light before you join me."

  The words jerked her back to the reality of their situation. How could she let her imagination carry on so? What must he think of her for staring at him? She’d show him.

  "Hell will freeze over before I sleep with you." Holly flipped off the light switch as she left. Let him freeze alone. At least she’d be in the room with the lousy furnace.

  She grabbed a stuffed bear from the playpen to use as a pillow. With her coat draped across her, she chose the overstuffed chair nearest the furnace grate. The coat’s wet hem sent an icy chill down her legs. She shifted until the soggy fabric hung over the edge of the chair.

  In the other chair, the cat lay curled into a rounded mound. "Some help you are. Socks. You could at least offer to climb on my lap and help keep me warm."

  One feline eye opened, regarded her, and closed again. Holly shifted her weight and curled to pull her feet up under her coat, determined to sleep in the chair. She tucked the bear under her head and closed her eyes.

  From the kitchen she heard the soft snuffling snore of the dog asleep on the ragged old blanket Trent had folded into a makeshift dog bed. Holly almost begrudged the dog his cushion.

  The squeak of springs came from the bedroom as Trent shifted his weight. Damn the man! She definitely begrudged him the bed.

  She awoke cramped and freezing. Every muscle in her body ached. Fluff from the darned bear stuck to her mouth and eye. She wiggled her numbed feet before she stood.

  Okay, so far no one had died.

  So far no one had starved.

  So far no one had frozen . . . but Holly felt well on the way to becoming a human ice cube. Surely, by now, even hell had frozen over.

  With a resigned sigh, she removed the confiscated boots and tiptoed into the bedroom. She spread her coat across the bed before she slipped from her outer clothes and distributed them among his then she crawled between the sheets.

  * * *

  When he heard the rustle from the next room as she approached, Trent glanced at the electric clock on the nightstand. Two hours. She’d lasted longer camped in that chair than he had expected.

  He lay with his back to the door, cursing fate and a certain beautiful woman. No longer did he think of hell as a fiery place. His personal hades became the frozen plains of Texas stranded with a woman he in turn wanted to choke or kiss senseless while he worried himself sick over his missed meeting.

  Her lithe body slid across the sagging mattress into him. For a moment he thought her ready to bolt from bed and return to the frigid safety of the chair. Although he heard her gasp as their bodies touched, he made no sound, no movement to indicate he knew of her presence.

  His every sense heightened and he gave thanks the overly soft mattress was like a marshmallow hammock. He smelled her hair, almost identified the shampoo she used. Her floral scent mixed with the smells of the hay she had fed the cattle earlier. He imagined how she would taste, visualizing her warm mouth molded perfectly to his.

  Gradually the rigidity left her body as she loosened her grip on the edge of the mattress and relaxed against him. Cold satin skin nestled against his heat. Try as he might, he couldn’t rein in his lustful thoughts with her this near.

  Feigning sleep, he turned and spooned himself to her. His hand brushed against silk, lace, and her skin. He wondered what color underwear she wore and his blood boiled.

  She gasped again and reached for the edge of the mattress. "What do you think you’re doing? I know very well you're not asleep, Trent Macleod."

  "How could I sleep with your popsicle toes touching my legs?” That was the truth even if she weren’t the tastiest morsel of woman he’d met in a long time. Like ever.

  He figured he’d better reassure her or he’d never get any sleep. “Look, this is
a six foot bed. You may have noticed that I’m several inches longer than the mattress. I don't intend to have my feet dangling out in the cold. If I sleep diagonally, that won't leave you any room. Either we sleep spooned with your back against my chest and our knees bent, or we sleep with my back against your, um, chest with our knees bent."

  “You’d better not try anything or I swear I’ll make sure you sing soprano.”

  "Hey, don’t blame me for the cold, the lousy mattress, or the situation. I told you we'll be much warmer if we share body heat, remember?"

  She shivered. "That's the only reason I'm here. I've never been so cold in my life."

  "And here I thought it was because hell had frozen over." He nuzzled her neck and pulled her close. "Right? Put those little popsicles toes between my legs to thaw."

  She nudged the tips of her feet between his calves.

  Hell, her feet were icicles. "You've had quite a day, Princess. Damn, I never thought I would see you feeding cattle and chickens."

  He chuckled again, this time at the memory of her swathed in cashmere and suede boots working in a barn. "What kind of nut would wave a muffler at a steer to stop him? Haven't you seen how a bull fighter riles the bull?"

  She elbowed him in the ribs. "You find that funny? All I can think of is that we almost died today. If we hadn't found this house we would have frozen to death." She shivered and snuggled closer into him. "We're not that far from it now."

  "Give me a little more credit than that. I know you don't approve of my management style, but you surely don't think I would let us freeze to death in a stranded car?"

  "It's happened to people before. You hear of it almost every winter. Years ago Grandpa’s cousin froze when his car slid off the road on his way home from work.”

  “Did he just wait in the car or go for help?”

  “He started walking, but froze. We’re in ranch country and sometimes there are ten or fifteen miles between houses out here, too far to walk for help. This is the worst blizzard I can remember. I'm sure it's setting some sort of record that has nothing to do with your management style. Don't even get me started on that."