Just A Little Bit Dangerous. Linda Castillo

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ the blood in her brain did a quick downward spiral. “W-what do you think you’re doing?” she cried.

      He looked at her over his shoulder as he stepped into a pair of jeans and jerked them up quickly over his hips. “Getting into some dry clothes. Thanks to you, I’ve spent the past two hours in wet pants.”

      “I know that, but why are you…why did you…”

      “You didn’t think I was going to change my pants outside in the blizzard, did you?”

      “I didn’t think you were going to strip right in front of me!”

      “Your back was turned.” He faced her, and Abby’s mouth went dry. “I didn’t think you’d peek.”

      “I…didn’t.”

      “I guess that’s why you’re blushing.”

      “I’m not blushing.” The heat in her cheeks didn’t even come close to a blush; it was more like a forest fire.

      “Whatever you say.”

      His jeans were well-worn and hugged his lean hips like a pair of snakeskin gloves. His heavy flannel shirt hung open, revealing a muscled chest covered with a sprinkling of black hair that arrowed down to his waistband and disappeared. Abby swallowed hard and tried not to notice that he hadn’t bothered with the top button of those jeans.

      Oh, my.

      Scooping his wet jeans and long johns off the floor, he started toward her. “What’s your name, anyway?” he asked.

      “M-my name?”

      “Or do you prefer Blondie? That’s fine by me. A lot of convicts go by aliases.”

      “Don’t call me a convict,” she snapped.

      He shrugged. “Just making conversation.”

      “My name is Abby. Abby Nichols.”

      “I’m Jake.”

      Jake. The name fit him, she realized. Almost as well as those jeans.

      “It looks like we might be stuck here together for a while, Abby. I figured we ought to be on a first-name basis.”

      She stepped back and watched him hang the jeans and long johns he’d been wearing neatly above the stone hearth.

      “How are those meals coming?” he asked.

      She looked down at the two unopened containers in her hand. At some point in the last five minutes her appetite had vanished. Maybe about the time when she’d looked over and seen… Mercy, she didn’t want to think about what she’d seen. “I wasn’t sure how to…activate the heat.”

      Coming up beside her, he took one of the meals and proceeded to tear off the foil label. “Like this. See?”

      He moved with the self-assurance of a man who was comfortable with himself and didn’t necessarily give a damn what the rest of the world thought. Abby watched, fascinated by his hands as the steaming food came into view.

      “I hope you like chicken and broccoli.” He handed one of the containers to her. “I’m partial to beef myself.”

      “I’d eat nails if they were cooked and warm.” Abby took her food to the hearth.

      He walked over to the saddlebag, removed two plastic forks and two containers of water, then met her at the hearth. “The floor’s cold. You can sit on the bedroll if you want.” He handed her water in a collapsible cup.

      Abby accepted it and drank deeply. Slipping off the duster, she unrolled the bedroll—an insulated sleeping bag—then settled onto it with her legs crossed. Jake did the same and soon they were forking chicken chunks and broccoli from their instant meals.

      They ate in silence, the only sound coming from the raging wind outside, the patter of driving snow against the windows and the occasional crackling of wood as the fire consumed it.

      The chicken was surprisingly good, and Abby savored every bite with the fervor of a woman who didn’t know when or where she’d get her next meal. She was going to need her strength in the coming days. As long as she stayed calm and kept her head, she could still get out of this. Jake Madigan might be an armed lawman, but he wasn’t the kind of man who could shoot a woman in the back if she took off on him. All she needed was the opportunity and a little luck.

      The warmth from the fire was relaxing her. Abby snuggled deeper into the sleeping bag and drifted. Her tummy was full. She could feel her cold-stiffened muscles beginning to unwind. Her hands no longer ached. She could feel her feet again. Sleepiness was starting to descend like a lavender mist clouding her brain one micro-droplet at a time.

      She was aware of Jake moving around the cabin. She heard the door open. Felt the draft of cold air against her face. The clanging of metal against metal.

      She opened her eyes to find him kneeling at the hearth, setting a large, scarred kettle over the embers. He looked at her intently, then turned back to the kettle. “I’m melting snow so we can wash up,” he said.

      Sitting up, she looked around. The windows were dark now, the interior of the cabin illuminated only by the fire. Outside, the wind howled like an angry banshee. Abby could still hear the snow blasting against the glass on the north side. Jake had taken their empty food containers into the kitchen. She must have fallen asleep.

      “What time is it?” she asked.

      “You got somewhere to go?”

      “No, I’m just wondering.”

      “A little after seven.”

      Early evening. It felt like the middle of the night. With the storm waging all-out war on the cabin, it seemed as if they were the only two people on earth. The thought should have disturbed her, but it didn’t. In fact, as she sat on the bedroll and looked around the cabin, a strange and comforting warmth encompassed her. The storm might be an inconvenience, but it would buy her some time. Besides, she’d much rather be stuck in this cabin than in a prison cell. At least here there was the hope of escape.

      The water in the kettle was steaming. Abby watched Jake use one of his leather gloves to take it from the fire and carry it to the kitchen where he dumped the hot water into a larger pail of snow. She swallowed hard when he turned his back to her and proceeded to strip off his shirt.

      Broad shoulders rounded with muscle came into view as he draped the shirt neatly over the back of a chair. The faded jeans he wore rode low on his narrow hips. Jeans that left no doubt about Jake Madigan’s masculinity. Abby tried not to stare, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from him. The man was built like Adonis. The fire cast yellow light over the room, turning his skin to bronze, his muscled shoulders and back to a sculpted work of art. His biceps flexed as he leaned forward and splashed water onto his face. His wet skin glistened when he dipped a small rag into the water and brought it to his neck and chest, then lower.

      Abby turned abruptly away and stared into the hearth, watching the flames leap over the dry wood. Her face felt hot. But she knew it had nothing to do with the fire, and everything to do with the man. She could hear the СКАЧАТЬ