Snowflakes and Stetsons Read online

  That’s when she realized her arms were bare—and so was she! Well, except for her pantaloons and chemise. The gratitude she had yet to voice transformed into embarrassment and outrage in the time it took to blink.

  “What did you do to me?” she gasped, slapping away his hand.

  Her harsh voice brought the demon dog a step closer. It bared its teeth and growled down at her.

  “Easy, Dog, she’s female. No accounting for her sudden mood swing.” Lucas rose to fetch the two cups warming on the stove. “Coffee, Ms. Greer?”

  “You undressed me!” she all but yelled at him.

  “Yes, I did.” He pivoted with the cups in hand. A wry smile pursed his sensuous lips. “I asked you if you wanted to undress yourself but you didn’t reply. So I did what had to be done.”

  “I couldn’t reply,” she snapped indignantly. “I was unconscious and half-frozen.” She clutched the buffalo quilt, held it beneath her chin and glowered accusingly at him.

  Lucas felt the makings of another smile tugging at his lips. Whatever else Rosalie Greer was she was bursting at the seams with spirit and spunk. She’d made him laugh earlier, and now she had him smiling. Odd, he tried to remember the last time he’d smiled—and still couldn’t recall.

  “Lady, I just saved your life. You’re welcome,” he added with a sarcastic snort then ambled toward her.

  He was unwillingly intrigued by the way her curly silver-blond hair glimmered in the firelight. Her blue-violet eyes were as spellbinding as he remembered. That, combined with her creamy flesh and the alluring body he’d skimmed his hands over while undressing her and applying the poultice was enough to torment any man.

  Even Lucas, a man hardened and jaded by the atrocities humankind imposed on one another. Rosalie was not the kind of woman a man could successfully ignore. He could certainly attest to that!

  “You had no right to remove my clothes under any pretense!” she sputtered angrily, dragging his thoughts back to the present. “No man has ever seen me in my unmentionables, though there was—” She shut her mouth so quickly she winced when she bit her tongue.

  He wasn’t sure what she had decided not to say but he felt another smile grazing his lips. He leaned down to hand the coffee cup to her. “Then I suppose I should be honored, Ms. Greer.”

  “You should be ashamed of yourself is what you should be.” She accepted the cup and flashed him a blistering glare. “Just because you used to be a Texas Ranger doesn’t mean you can go around undressing women in the name of necessity. Now where are my clothes?”

  Lucas hitched his thumb toward the chairs serving as an improvised clothesline. “Not quite dry yet. The last thing a frostbite victim needs is wet clothing frozen to her skin. The Comanche liniment I used heats the skin and the buffalo blanket insulates your body to prevent a condition I’ve heard a doctor in Austin refer to as hypothermia. The Comanche have another name for it, but by any name it can prove deadly if a victim isn’t treated in time.”

  He stared directly at her, his expression turning somber. “You, Ms. Greer, are very lucky to be alive. If not for Dog, I would have unhitched your team of horses and taken them to my barn. Dog is the one that picked up your scent in the snowbank. Digging yourself into the drift to shield yourself from the wind likely saved your life. But you would be frozen solid by now if not for Dog.”

  Her indignation and embarrassment fizzled out, somewhat at least, when she realized she was lucky to be among the living. “Call me Rosa,” she mumbled.

  She reached out with her free hand to pet the shaggy-haired wolflike dog that looked as if it weighed one hundred thirty pounds. He bolted to his feet and growled at her. She reflexively snatched back her hand before he bit off a few fingers.

  “What’s his name?” she asked as the oversize dog took his place beside Lucas.

  “His name is Dog.”

  “How very original,” she said mockingly. “Not very friendly, is he? Shocking that he belongs to you.”

  She glanced pointedly at Lucas. She still hadn’t forgiven him for undressing her—whether it needed to be done or not. It left her feeling vulnerable and awkward. She hadn’t felt that way in eight years, since…

  Rosa squelched the thought. Past was past and that was where it would remain. Men were to be regarded with caution and mistrust. Even the ruggedly handsome specimen hunkered down in front of her couldn’t be trusted completely. Lucas was even more dangerous than most because she was physically attracted to him—even though it went against her better judgment and learned caution.

  “Look, lady—”

  “Rosa,” she corrected him.

  “Look, Rosa, you can hiss and spit at me all you want. I’ve dealt with insults and sarcasm half my life because of my mixed heritage,” he growled, reminding her a lot of Dog. “But the fact remains that you wouldn’t have survived to see Christmas if not for Dog and me.”

  His glare was hard enough to peel paint. “You were unconscious and half-frozen and the wolves had picked up your scent. Your flimsy jacket and fancy gown were caked with snow and I peeled them off so I could cover you with the warmest blanket I have in the house. Then I applied the ointment, in hopes that it would prevent you from losing your toes and fingers. The very least you could do is say ‘thank you very much’!” he practically shouted at her.

  She watched him rise agilely to his feet. He set aside his cup then shed the long black coat. Against her will, her admiring gaze traveled from the top of his shiny raven head, across his broad shoulders and down to his lean waist. Double holsters hung low on his lips. Slim-fitting breeches encased his horseman thighs and black boots extended from knees to toes.

  No question, Lucas Burnett was six-foot-three inches of power-packed masculinity. He reminded her of the wild mustangs he had captured and bred with Appaloosa stallions before establishing the ranch land he’d been granted as a veteran and ex-Ranger who had honorably served his state and country.

  Rosa blinked, amazed at how much she knew about Lucas Burnett, though they hadn’t been formally introduced. She had also heard that he was deadly with knives, pistols, rifles and hand-to-hand combat. She wondered what his life had been like in the Comanche camp and how much family he had left to share the holiday season with him.

  “Now, if you will excuse me, blondie,” he said, his voice dripping sarcasm, “I’ll change out of my damp clothes. They got wet while I was checking your injured horse and leading the team back to my barn to warm up. I treated the bay’s swollen leg and he should be fine in a couple of weeks, if you care.”

  He glanced stonily at her and added, “The poultice is an old Comanche remedy. Because after all, that’s what I am at heart. None of your kind wants to spend much time around a mixed breed like me so I’ll keep to myself for your benefit. Besides, most of the folks I’ve dealt with in the past have been murderers, rustlers, rapists and thieves, and so the so-called members of respectable society figure it takes one to catch one…right? That’s what they whisper behind my back when they think I’m not listening.”

  “Lucas, I didn’t mean—”

  “I’ll get you back to town as soon as the storm lets up so none of my bad habits rub off on you,” he cut in sharply. “Until then, you’ll have to tolerate Dog and me.”

  Lucas slammed the door with enough force to rattle the hinges. He blew out a frustrated breath and asked himself why he had lost his temper like that. He usually didn’t react to taunts because they had lost their zing years back. And why Rosalie Greer’s opinion of him mattered, he couldn’t imagine. Why should he care what she thought of him?

  They obviously came from two contrasting backgrounds and he was sure she would be embarrassed to be seen in public with him. Still, it would have been nice to have one friend on the respectable side of Cahill Crossing. One who didn’t veer out of his path and avoid his gaze when he ventured into town to gather supplies.

  Muttering to himself, Lucas tossed aside his shirt and grabbed a clean one. His wardrobe consis
ted of a few practical garments but he would bet the ranch that Rosa had a closet full of fancy dresses and frilly undergarments…

  The thought made him gnash his teeth. The last thing he needed was to dwell on the erotic vision of her soft, frilly drawers and the lush feminine body inside them. Not if he planned to keep from driving himself loco before the storm blew over and he could get her out of his house.

  Ah, hell! Why couldn’t she be someone else’s problem?

  Rosa mentally kicked herself up one side and down the other for allowing the bad experience from her past to affect her association with the man who had saved her life. She had struck out at Lucas in embarrassment and outrage. He was right. He had done what needed to be done to save her and she should be thanking him, repeatedly, for venturing out in the hellish storm to rescue her. He had placed himself at risk and she had sounded like a peevish, ungrateful shrew. She would still be chilled to the bone if not for him and Dog.

  She sat upright and glanced at the furry creature that watched her closely. “Thank you, Dog. I owe you and Lucas my life.”

  Dog just stared at her. Obviously, he didn’t like her any better than Lucas did.

  Sparing several cautious glances at the bedroom door Lucas had slammed behind him, Rosa limped over to fetch her gown. It was still wet so she donned the canvas duster coat Lucas had draped over the handmade chair and footstool. The garment swallowed her and dragged on the floor. Lucas’s scent—which was extremely tantalizing, she had to admit—clung to the garment.

  Rosa squared her shoulders and raked away from her face the wild tangle of hair that had somehow come undone during her ordeal. Then she hobbled to the bedroom door. Anxious to voice her apology, she breezed into the room, and then stopped in her tracks when Lucas whirled toward her—bare-chested and snapping his pistol into firing position with lightning speed.

  Rosa’s jaw dropped open wide enough for a Christmas goose to nest. She found herself admiring the rippling muscles on his chest, his washboarded belly…while he leveled the business end of his Colt .45 at her.

  The stony-faced ex-Ranger surveyed the duster coat she wore then stared her squarely in the eye. “You should have knocked,” he said brusquely.

  She felt heat rushing to her cheeks but she couldn’t drag her admiring gaze away from him. He was sleek, powerful-looking and oozing sexuality. “I’m sorry.”

  “Something else I can do for you, Ms. Greer?” he asked with stiff politeness.

  “Rosa,” she corrected him again, and then limped around the brawny obstacle that was Lucas Burnett to survey the rustic bedroom and handmade wooden headboard. Flickering lantern light filled the homey confines of the room and she smiled appreciatively. So…this was the lion’s den. It seemed more welcoming than her upstairs apartment that was filled with expensive furnishings imported from the East.

  “You’re limping,” he said, sounding surprised.

  She flicked her wrist dismissively, still admiring the walls that were decorated with bead-and-silver mementos that represented his life with the Comanche. They obviously meant a great deal to him, but he kept them hidden from the world. Just like he kept himself hidden from society.

  “What happened to your leg?” he demanded to know.

  “When the wagon slid into the ditch, the bay reared up, fell off balance and slammed into me while I was trying to lead the brainless creatures through the storm. Both horses had been acting up since the wolves commenced howling—”

  Her voice dried up when he abruptly scooped her up in his arms and placed her on his bed. She yelped and raised both arms to fend off the anticipated attack.

  Rejection flashed in his onyx eyes as he quickly withdrew. His reaction crumbled one corner of her heart.

  “I’m not going to hurt you, Rosa,” he assured her as his expression transformed into a carefully blank stare. “I only want to get you off that injured leg so I can see how bad it is.”

  “I’m sorry,” she gushed out. “I’m much too defensive.” She clutched the oversize coat around her modestly. “A woman alone has to be careful, you know. Not every man in Cahill Crossing is a respectable gentleman and I’m on constant lookout.”

  She inhaled a bolstering breath then stared up at Lucas. “I apologize sincerely for sounding ungrateful. You saved me from certain death. In fact, you are my guardian angel and I shall never forget what you have done for me.”

  He expelled a snort. “If you knew what I’ve seen and done in the line of duty and in the name of justice you wouldn’t call me an angel. Let’s get that settled here and now.”

  “In my eyes you are an angel and a knight all rolled into one,” she declared.

  She suddenly realized that she meant exactly what she’d said. Lucas Burnett, a man she had secretly admired from afar since the first day she saw him striding past the pane-glass window of her shop, intrigued her. Wary of the fascination though she had been, she had found the nerve to walk into his bedroom—and she had seen him half-naked, which made them even. She had also gained insights about him when she noticed the mementos of his previous life with the Indians and the framed commendations of his heroic service with the military and the Rangers.

  He was a loner who had been labeled dangerous and different. He was obviously cynical of a society that had used him for its protection then cast him aside when he decided to resign his position. She couldn’t fault him for his pessimism.

  After all, she harbored a lingering pessimism of her own.

  Rosa didn’t know what had come over her. Maybe it was the burst of emotion prompted by her brush with death. Maybe it was that brief flash of rejection she had noticed in Lucas’s midnight-black eyes before he masked the hurt she’d unintentionally caused him. Perhaps it was the secret infatuation she had refused to act upon after she’d lost all faith in men eight years earlier. Whatever the cause she had the impulsive, uncontrollable urge to hug the stuffing out of her bare-chested guardian angel.

  “Ooofff…” Lucas grunted uncomfortably when, out of the blue, Rosa surged off the bed, injured leg and all, and looped her arms around his neck. Then she kissed him right smack-dab on the lips. The feel of her shapely body meshed familiarly to his turned surprise into instant lust.

  Double damn! He had never encountered a woman who could set off so many emotions inside him at once. She inflamed his temper and set his body on fire in the blink of an eye.

  His arms closed around her, holding her off the floor to compensate for the noticeable difference in their height. He forgot to apply the self-discipline he’d spent a decade perfecting while he held her close. The feel of her soft lips against his was like a long-awaited feast for a starving man.

  Unruly hunger clenched inside him as he made more of her kiss of gratitude than he knew she offered. He plunged his tongue into her mouth to sample the sweetness within, wishing for more intimacy than a devouring kiss. A kiss that left him throbbing with the kind of aching need that only wild reckless passion—or a long walk in the snow—could alleviate.

  When Lucas finally broke the kiss Rosa swore her eyes had crossed and she had lost the ability to think rationally. Worse, he had robbed her of breath and made her burn with the kind of desire she hadn’t realized existed. Something fragile and unfamiliar burst to life inside her. She tilted her head back to peer into his ruggedly handsome face, wishing he’d kiss her like that again, but he didn’t.

  She started to curl her arms around his neck and initiate another kiss, but the voice of caution said, Get ahold of yourself, woman, before you look like a fool!

  Behave yourself or she will think you are a heathen! the noble voice of conscience railed at Lucas. He set Rosa onto her feet and immediately stepped a respectable distance away. When she wobbled unsteadily, he scooped her up and set her on the edge of the bed once again.

  He noticed she was breathing as hard as he was. He also noticed Dog standing in the doorway, staring at him as if he had taken leave of the good sense he had spent thirty-two years cultivatin
g.

  “Let me take a look at your leg,” Lucas said more gruffly than he intended.

  She didn’t look at him directly but she poked her injured leg from beneath his duster coat. Then she reached down to roll up her lacy pantaloons. Lucas sighed inwardly. He’d really wanted to do that himself.

  He noticed the swelling on her shinbone and the puffy bruise the same size as a hoofprint. The injury hadn’t shown up until she began to thaw out, he decided, for he hadn’t noticed it while applying warming poultice to her extremities while she was unconscious.

  “I’m going to use the same healing liniment I used on your bay horse,” he said, rising to his feet.

  “Those bean-brain creatures aren’t mine,” she informed him. “I rented the rig and the team from the livery stable…”

  He frowned curiously when her voice drifted off and her amethyst-colored eyes widened in alarm.

  “The wagon!” she gasped. “Where are my supplies?”

  “Stuck in the snowdrift and they’ll stay there until I hitch up a team of four horses to pull it out.” He watched her closely. “Unless there is something valuable that I need to fetch immediately. Is there?”

  She squirmed uneasily then pasted on a smile. “No, I’m sure my cargo will be fine where it is for now.”

  Her strange behavior made him suspicious but he didn’t fire more questions at her, just focused on retrieving the salve and treating her injured leg.

  “I really am grateful to you. In fact, I am eternally indebted,” she added as he rubbed the ointment on her leg. “I intend to repay you for your heroic deed.”

  For some reason her eternal gratitude annoyed him. Maybe because what he wanted from this alluring blonde was acceptance, a degree of affection and respect…and something far more intimate. And he shouldn’t be thinking any such thing. He was agitated with himself for wanting what he knew he couldn’t have and aggravated with her for being so damn tempting and appealing to him. And hell, he was stuck with temptation until the storm blew over. That was bound to test his self-mastery to its very limits.