by The Witness
The storm intensified into a raging blizzard as they picked their way down into the valley. The wind screamed like a banshee. Snow fell in a solid white curtain that shifted and swirled in the blow like a frenzied white dervish.
Sam struggled through the maelstrom with Lauren clamped to his side, cursing and blessing the storm at the same time. If it was snowing this hard on the other side of the pass he knew there was a good chance their pursuers had lost their trail. But even if they hadn't, he doubted that they had reached the pass summit as yet, which meant they would be forced to stop and wait out the storm in a makeshift shelter.
So would he and Lauren if they didn't find that cabin.
They had barely reached the bottom of the slope when the gloom faded to darkness, making the going much more difficult. Sam headed in the general direction of where he remembered seeing the cabin, silently praying that he wouldn't miss it in the darkness and swirling snow.
He was about to give up and build a shelter when he spotted the structure through the shifting snow. "Yes!"
When they reached the A-frame he propped Lauren against a porch post and unlaced her snowshoes, then his. Then he took a small tool from his wallet and squatted down on his haunches in front of the door to pick the lock.
"There. We're in."
Lauren blinked several times and struggled to focus her eyes. "G-good," she said through chattering teeth.
It was only slightly warmer inside the cabin and dark as a tomb. Sam dropped the duffle bag and backpack onto the floor and pulled out the flashlight and shined it around. The cabin was small—a main room, which contained a kitchen and eating area on one side and sitting room on the other, what appeared to be a bedroom and bath at the rear and a sleeping loft overlooking the main room. Sam was relieved when the beam of light revealed a good-size wood-burning stove in one corner of the main room and, next to it, an overflowing wood box.
"Great. I'll start a fire. Just hold on a little bit longer," he said to Lauren over his shoulder as he fed wood into the stove's firebox. "This place will warm up in no time."
Within minutes Sam had a good fire going. "There, that should do it," he announced, brushing off his hands as he rose. "These stoves put out a lot of heat You'll start to feel—"
Turning, he saw Lauren curled up in a ball on the sofa, sound asleep.
Not even the warm glow from the fire could disguise her pallor or the exhaustion in her face. As long as her lashes were, they couldn't completely hide the dark circles beneath her eyes. As Sam studied her he felt something shift and expand inside his chest.
He squatted down beside the sofa and trailed his fingers over her cheekbone and jaw, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Okay, little one. After the day you've had, I guess you're entitled," he whispered. Then his mouth quirked, and he gave a little snort "Day, hell. You've had a godawful week."
But she'd weathered it like a champ and done what she had to, he admitted. Better than a lot of strong men would have. And with only a minimum of complaint, which he also had to admit, was justifiable. For all her diminutive size and fragile appearance, Lauren Brownley was a strong, capable woman.
"Well, c'mon, little one. Tonight you're going to sleep in a real bed." Rising, Sam scooped her up into his arms and, flashlight in hand, carried her into the bedroom at the back of the cabin.
The cabin showed a woman's touch, he realized, shining the flashlight around—floral bedspread and matching curtains, a mountain of ruffled pillows piled against the head of the large brass bed, dried flower arrangements and candles all around. That meant there had to be some women's clothing somewhere.
With a sweep of his arm, he dispatched the mound of pillow to the floor. After laying Lauren down on the bed, he lit two candles and opened dresser drawers until he found one containing a stack of folded nightgowns. There was a nightgown in the duffle bag out in the main room but this was quicker.
The gown he'd grabbed was high-necked and long-sleeved, made of white flannel with tiny pink roses embroidered on the yoke and trimmed in pink satin ribbon. It looked like something his granny would wear and was about as sexy as a flour sack, but it would keep her warm.
With quick efficiency, Sam removed Lauren's parka, boots and socks, frowning at the blisters on her feet. Damn. Those had to hurt, yet she hadn't said a word. He shook his head and went to work on the sweatshirt, wool pants, then both sets of long johns. Through it all, she slept on without so much as stirring.
When Sam had purchased clothes for Lauren four days prior he had deliberately chosen cotton briefs, the kind that old ladies wore, and plain, serviceable bras. He had assumed that just imagining her in them would be a turnoff, but when he had her stripped down to nothing but those uninspiring undies his breath caught. He stared, mesmerized. He had seen women in bikinis who didn't appeal to him this much. She was so small and dainty and so beautifully curved.
Muttering a string of oaths, Sam rolled her onto her side and unhooked her bra. He tried not to look directly at her breasts, but even an oblique glimpse of those small, perfect mounds made his mouth go dry for a second.
Then he noticed the angry red marks on top of her shoulders and others encircling her torso. After four days of constant wearing, the bra had chafed her skin, he realized.
Grim-faced, Sam snatched up the afghan from the foot of the bed and tossed it over her, then picked up a candle and stomped into the adjacent bathroom, where he rummaged around until he unearthed a first-aid kit. He returned to the bedroom and applied the antibiotic cream to her blisters and red marks with as much detachment as he could muster. Then he put the nightgown on her and tucked her into the bed beneath the pile of thick quilts. Lauren sighed and burrowed her cheek deeper into the pillow.
Sam stared down at her, his chest so tight it felt as though it were being squeezed in a vise. What the hell was the matter with him?
Annoyed with himself, he turned abruptly and strode back into the main room. After stoking the fire he checked the window and door locks and for good measure stacked canned goods from the kitchen in front of both front and back doors and hung pots and pans by strings from the curtain rods in front of each window.
He discovered that there were two double beds in the loft. Good, he told himself. He would sleep there. For tonight, at least, there was no reason for them to share a bed. Even if the impossible happened and those three goons managed to get this far in the storm, at the first sound of forced entry he could be down the stairs in seconds, ready to protect her. They both needed some space, anyway.
Yet, when Sam finished setting up the security measures, he stripped down to his skivvies and crawled into bed beside Lauren, and when she sighed and turned to him in her sleep he put his arms around her and pulled her close.
Sam rested his chin against the top of Lauren's head and stared into the darkness. He was beat, but his troubled thoughts wouldn't let him sleep. From the moment he set eyes on this woman he had been fighting the inexplicable attraction he felt for her. He had tried to dislike her and had treated her with deliberate contempt and rudeness, but the gut-wrenching feelings refused to fade. Even when he'd believed that she was Giovessi's plaything, he'd still wanted her— and not merely sexually. There was something about her that made him itch to hold her in his arms and claim her for his own. He'd never felt that way about any woman before, and it brought a flutter of panic to his chest.
He'd lusted after many women, had bedded his share of them. He was, after all, a healthy, thirty-seven-year-old man. However, his past encounters had been purely physical. His feelings for those women had been pleasant and in some cases there had been affection, however fleeting. Still, he'd never before felt this strong sense of...of...connection and rightness, this unrelenting desire.
Sam huffed out a disgusted snort. Hell, Rawlins, you might as well admit it. Where this woman is concerned, you've lost the battle. But then, how could he not have?
He had expected her to be a spoiled, useless, not too bright bit of f
luff, to whine and complain and be helpless—in general be a royal pain in the butt.
He should have known better. From the beginning, when she'd been an unsuspecting witness to murder she'd kept her head and shown surprising intelligence and resourcefulness in the way she'd escaped Carlo and his thugs.
Since then she'd continued to surprise him. She was not only bright, she was quick to learn and adaptable. If she didn't know how to do something, she watched him intently and absorbed the lesson. And if her efforts were less than perfect, she doggedly kept right on trying. In all the ways that mattered, she pulled her own weight and shared in the chores without prompting.
That, he supposed, he could chalk up to her determination to stand on her own two feet and depend on no one else, and he could certainly understand and respect that. He'd been a loner most of his life, himself.
But there was more to Lauren than that. For the last two days she'd gamely followed him over some rough terrain without a word of protest. Sam's mouth twitched again. Well...unless you counted the walleyed fits she had after the plane crash and again after climbing up that sheer cliff-face. Apparently her way of dealing with stress was to let off steam in one burst.
Anyway, he could hardly blame her. Both situations had been dicey as hell.
Absently he ran his hand up and down her back. He knew she was terrified of the assassins on their trail, yet she'd held herself together and kept her head when others would have fallen apart.
Lauren shifted and released a long, shuddering sigh. Once again, a hint of a smile tugged at one corner of Sam's mouth, and he stroked her back again. For such a tiny package, there was one hell of a lot of grit in this woman.
Thirteen
Lauren arched her back and stretched. Slowly she opened her eyes, blinked to focus—then jackknifed to a sitting position.
Her gaze darted around the unfamiliar room, her heart knocking against her rib cage. Where was she? Puzzled, she looked down at the flannel nightgown she wore and frowned as she realized that she had nothing on underneath it but her panties. How...?
She looked around at the big, comfortable bed. When her gaze landed on the dented pillow beside her own, she frowned.
A small noise from the next room made her jump and brought her gaze snapping around to the doorway. Cautiously she tossed back the quilts and climbed out of bed. She looked around for a weapon, then tiptoed barefoot across the hardwood floor to the dresser, picked up a heavy pottery vase by its neck and held it like a club.
Two things occurred to her as she crept toward the open doorway. First, wherever she was the place was blessedly warm. Second, the delicious smells drifting from the next room were making her stomach growl.
At the bedroom door she stopped and peeked around the frame, and caught her breath. A strange man stood in the kitchen, stirring something on the stove.
She must have made a small sound, because he looked up and spotted her. "Morning. I was beginning to think you were going to sleep the clock around."
Lauren's jaw dropped. "Sam?" She stepped around the door frame and into the main room. "Oh, my goodness, you shaved! I didn't recognize you."
It was the first time she'd seen him without at least a three-day growth of whiskers, and she was stunned by how attractive he was. He wasn't exactly handsome, but his rough-hewn face had the sort of sharp-edged masculinity that was far more appealing than mere conventional good looks. Just the sight of him did strange things to her insides.
"Yeah, well, it seemed like the thing to do. Who knows when I'll get another chance."
He glanced at the vase in her upraised hand and cocked one eyebrow. "I hope you're not planning to bash my head in with that thing."
"What? Oh." She quickly jerked her hand down and felt her cheeks pinken. She was so rattled by her reaction to him she had forgotten she had the vase. The almost teasing tone of his voice added to her confusion.
"I, uh...when I woke up I...I didn't know where I was, and I couldn't remember how I got here. I still don't."
"I'm not surprised. You were asleep on your feet when we found this place."
"I'll, uh...I'll just go put this back," she announced self-consciously, and darted back into the bedroom. She took a moment to compose herself, taking several deep breaths and willing her nerves to settle. What on earth was the matter with her? It was just Sam. They had been stranded alone together for days. They'd even slept in the same sleeping bag. Sharing a bed with him was no different. She glanced at the dented pillow and rumpled bed again. Somehow, though, it was.
All because of those kisses he'd given her. She frowned at her reflection in the mirror above the dresser and raked her fingers through her tangled hair. Or had he kissed her? Had she been so delirious with fatigue she had imagined that?
Lauren shook her head. No. No, he had definitely kissed her. Twice.
But so what, she told herself. It hadn't meant anything, after all. People do all kinds of things under stress that they wouldn't normally do. It would be foolish to read too much into a couple of kisses.
Squaring her shoulders, she went to join Sam. "Please tell me that's coffee I smell," she said, sniffing the air.
"Yeah. Want a cup?"
"Are you kidding? I'd kill for a cup of coffee." Actually she was dying to make a trip outside, but she hadn't had a cup of coffee in five days, and the aroma was just too tempting to resist.
"The mugs are in the cabinet and the pot's on the stove," Sam said, tipping his head toward the counter to his left as he continued to stir the contents of the skillet.
Lauren scooted around him in the small kitchen and retrieved a mug and poured herself some coffee. Leaning back against the counter, she took a sip and closed her eyes and sighed. "Oh my, this is wonderful."
Sam cast her a quick look, a ghost of a smile twitching his mouth, but he said nothing.
Lauren sipped the coffee in silence for a few minutes, but the niggling discomfort wouldn't leave her alone. She cleared her throat. "Like I said, I don't remember much about last night. Did you, um...that is..." She pinched the flannel nightgown between her thumb and forefinger and held it away from her body. "Are you responsible for this?"
"If you're asking, did I strip you and put the nightgown on you, then the answer is yes."
The reply was so blunt and matter-of-fact she didn't know how to respond. Before she could think of anything he went on.
"I thought you'd be more comfortable out of those clothes."
"Yes, I'm sure I was, but...well..."
Sam turned his head and pinned her with one of his searing looks. "I've seen naked women before, Lauren."
She felt hot color surge up her neck and spread over her face. "I'm sure you have. Still..."
"You have a beautiful body," he said in a low voice that sent a shiver up her spine. "I'd have to be dead, blind or a eunuch not to have noticed that. But if you're worried that I ogled you or took advantage of you in any way, don't. That's not my style. I like my women responsive. Anyway, you were too exhausted to undress yourself, and since I wanted you to be comfortable and get the rest you needed, I did it for you. No big deal."
Maybe not for you, she thought, but the idea of him seeing her naked—or as good as—made her feel odd. Still, if he'd done it out of concern for her she could hardly complain.
But neither could she let it go. "You, uh...you slept in the bed with me last night, didn't you?"
"So?"
"Well...it's just that..." She glanced up at the loft and the beds that were clearly visible there.
"I thought it best. If I'd miscalculated, and those goons caught up with us here, I didn't want us to be separated."
Lauren's gaze flew to the front door. "Is there a chance—?"
"Relax." He turned his attention back to the skillet and started stirring the contents again. "It's blowing a blizzard out there. If they're smart, they're hunkered down somewhere, waiting for the storm to pass. If not, they're dead. Either way, they're no threat to us right now."
Expelling a relieved breath, Lauren leaned back against the counter and took another sip of coffee. Then the delicious aroma filling the cabin drew her attention. "I know it's impossible, but that looks and smells like ham and potatoes."
"It is. With a little onion thrown in. Whoever owns this cabin keeps his larder well stocked. There's a root cellar and an old-fashioned icebox on the service porch out back, both brim full. Under the circumstances, I don't think they'll mind that we helped ourselves. I'll leave them a note and enough cash to cover the costs, but for as long as we're here we're going to have real food."
"Mmm, that'll be nice."
Lauren studied Sam. Not only had he shaved, he'd changed his clothes.
She became suddenly aware of how awful she must look. Her hair was mussed from sleep and two days without being brushed. She probably had circles under her eyes, she hadn't had a bath or a shampoo in...what?...four—or was it five days now? A fastidious little shudder rippled through her, and immediately her gaze wandered around the great room.
"If you're looking for the duffle bag, it's in the bathroom."
Lauren's gaze whipped back to Sam. "This cabin has a bathroom? An honest to goodness bathroom?"
"Uh-huh. Nothing fancy, mind you, but it has all the required fixtures. In fact, you're in for a real treat. This place is self-contained. There's a generator out back for electricity, though I won't bother to fire that up for no longer than we'll be here. There are plenty of candles and a couple of kerosene lamps that we can use for light. The gas for the cookstove is propane and the water is piped in from a hot spring out back. There's a shower and a big soaking tub in the bathroom."
Lauren's mug hit the counter with a thunk. "Why didn't you tell me?" She rushed out of the kitchen, but halfway across the living room she stopped and looked back at him. "Is it safe here? I mean...do I have time for a bath? What if the storm lets up and those men come?"
"Relax." Sam nodded toward the front window. "It's a complete whiteout out there, and according to the weather forecaster, this storm is going to be with us until midday tomorrow."
