Fugitive Hearts. Ingrid Weaver

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СКАЧАТЬ line to get repaired so soon. She probably should have taken her sister’s advice and purchased a cell phone as a backup for her stay here. At least the resort’s electricity had a backup generator, so she wouldn’t have to worry about being without power.

      But she hadn’t been expecting a situation like this to occur. How could anyone? When she had talked her cousin into letting her stay at Half Moon Bay, finding a frozen stranger on her doorstep hadn’t been among the possibilities they had discussed. The resort was closed for the winter. The only problems she was likely to face in her role as caretaker were leaky pipes or too much snow on the roof.

      “Mrrrow?”

      At the indignant sound, Dana turned toward the kitchen.

      Morty padded through the doorway, evidently fresh from his nap in the laundry basket. He yawned, extending his front legs in a bowing stretch, then arched forward and delicately shook out his back paws. His ears swiveled as he regarded the heap of blankets on the floor.

      “No, you can’t use them,” Dana said.

      Ignoring her warning, Morty picked his way past the puddles of melting snow and went to investigate. He sniffed lightly at the stranger’s face, jumping backward to avoid a droplet of ice water that was dislodged by the man’s shivering.

      “Good point,” Dana said. She retrieved a towel from the bathroom and squatted down to pat the man’s face dry. The snow and ice that had clung to his hair had all melted now. His hair wasn’t black as she had first thought but a deep, rich brown. It was long enough for the ends to brush his shoulders and curl against the sides of his neck. His mustache was thick and extended past the edges of his mouth, giving him the appearance of an old-fashioned desperado.

      Dana paused. Desperado? Where had that thought come from? Sure, he was big and well muscled, and his hair was a touch too long, and his mustache looked like something out of an old Western, but he was unconscious and helpless on her floor. He was as far from dangerous as anyone could get.

      On the other hand, she was three miles from her nearest neighbor, cut off from the outside world by a blizzard, completely alone with a very large, strange man. Maybe she should have thought about that before she dragged him inside the cabin…

      No, that was ridiculous, she told herself, dabbing at his wet hair. What did she think, that ax murderers made a habit of wandering around in snowstorms and this one just happened to choose her doorstep to collapse on? He was probably some poor soul who had gone off the road in the snow. Appearances weren’t always a reliable gauge of character.

      Take Morty. When she had found him huddled in that alley behind her apartment building, he’d looked like a ragged toy that someone had knocked the stuffing out of. All he had needed was a bath, food and some affection and he’d turned out to be a wonderful companion.

      Of course, she wasn’t comparing this situation to taking in a stray cat. And she wasn’t looking for a companion. Besides, this man was probably in need of a lot more than just a bath, food and affection.

      Dana wished she knew more about first aid. So far all she had done for him, getting him out of the cold and warming him up, was simply common sense. What if she was missing something important, something vital? It could be hours before she could get him medical help. What if his unconsciousness was due to more than the cold?

      She pushed aside his hair to lay her fingertips over the thin skin at the side of his neck. In spite of his continued shivering, she found the throb of his pulse. To her relief, it was strong and steady. She ran her hands carefully over his head, sliding her fingers into his thick hair to check his scalp for lumps or gashes, but found none. She hadn’t noticed any injuries when she had removed his clothes, but she lifted the blanket and looked, just to be sure.

      There didn’t appear to be anything wrong with his body. In fact, he was about as close to perfect looking as a man could get.

      She quickly replaced the blankets and sat back on her heels. All right, now what? she asked herself for the second time.

      Morty, evidently finished with his investigation of the stranger and satisfied that all was in order, leaped onto the blanket that covered the man’s chest and curled up in a contented half circle.

      Dana stared, her mouth going slack. Like most cats, Morty usually showed a regal disdain for strangers. Even if they coaxed him with food, he seldom approached. “Morty,” she said. “Get off there.”

      He regarded her through half-closed eyes and didn’t budge.

      “Morty, he probably has enough trouble breathing without you sitting on his chest,” she said, giving the cat a gentle shove. “Go back to the laundry basket.”

      Morty dug his claws into the blanket.

      “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Dana muttered, making a grab for the cat. She picked him up, detached his claws from the blanket and set him back on the floor.

      His tail raised in offended feline dignity, Morty stalked over to plunk down at the man’s feet.

      Dana shook her head, bemused. “Okay, you can stay there,” she said. “The extra heat will probably do him good.”

      A violent spasm shook the man’s frame. His teeth began to chatter.

      Not knowing what else to do, Dana reached beneath the blanket and caught one of his hands. It dwarfed hers as she pressed it between her palms. For the first time, she noticed the lumpy outline of calluses at the base of his fingers.

      Evidently he worked with his hands. That detail made sense, considering his muscled arms. But if he did manual labor for a living, why was he wearing kid gloves and an expensive coat that would have been more suited to an accountant?

      And why would anyone head up the road to the resort in a blizzard in the first place?

      Speculation was pointless, Dana thought, pushing the questions to the back of her mind. He was alive; that was the most important thing. “Hang on,” she said, squeezing his fingers. “You’re safe now. Everything’s going to be fine.”

      You’re safe now. Everything’s going to be fine.

      Remy heard the voice from a long way off. It pounded at the ice that encased his brain, chipping away at the weakness that held his body.

      You’re safe now.

      Was it true? No, not yet. He couldn’t afford to rest. He had to keep moving. He couldn’t let them find him.

      But where was he? Why was he so cold? What was that clattering noise?

      He forced his senses back to awareness. Pain shot up his arms from his fingertips, as if someone held a blowtorch to his frozen flesh.

      Frozen. Cold. Images kaleidoscoped through his head. The storm, the snow. The fading light.

      The resort. The cabin. Had he reached it?

      He caught the aroma of woodsmoke. It mixed with the tang of wet wool and old wood and…lilies.

      Lilies?

      Someone was holding his hand. That’s where the heat was coming from. Not a blowtorch. Fingers. Small fingers. But they hurt like hell. He tried to move away.

      The СКАЧАТЬ