Footprints in the Snow. Cassie Miles

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СКАЧАТЬ She winced. Though she desperately wanted to stay alert, her eyelids drooped. “Making love,” she murmured. “Not a problem.”

      “You need to rest. You’re already half-unconscious. I won’t take advantage of you.”

      “Rest.” That sounded good. “Sleep.”

      He leaned her back, laid her down on the pillow. Though she still had the urge to make love, her body was limp. So tired.

      As she closed her eyes, she felt Luke lightly kiss her forehead. He was moving away from her. Yet, in her mind, she could feel his strong arms wrapped tightly around her. The heat of his body permeated her flesh.

      She might be dreaming, but this was the most realistic fantasy she’d ever had. She could smell him. Her nostrils flared. A musky scent.

      Their clothing melted away, and she experienced the amazing moment when their naked bodies met. The hair on his chest rubbed against her breasts, and her nipples tightened. She groaned with anticipation.

      If she opened her eyes, she was certain to see his smile. His firm, stubborn jaw. The shining, intoxicating blue of his eyes.

      She was ready for him. Her legs parted, welcoming him. Needing him. She never wanted to wake up. Being with Luke was the right thing. The only thing. She had to have this man. This snow-driven, crystalline fantasy was her destiny.

      THE NEXT MORNING, sunlight poured through the window of the small cabin and slanted across the blankets that covered Shana on the narrow bed. Her body ached from injuries she suffered when she crashed down the slope, but she wasn’t complaining. Last night had been fantastic, even if it was only a dream. She lay very still, not really wanting to face the reality of a new day.

      Slowly, she opened her eyelids and saw Luke, fully dressed and tending to the fire in the potbellied stove. Though he was the same handsome man who had rescued her, she sensed that today was far different from yesterday and last night. Also, her headache had returned.

      “Aspirin,” she croaked.

      At the sound of her voice, he turned toward her. His smile was polite but wary. “Aspirin and water are on the chair beside the bed.”

      She wasn’t exactly sure what she expected him to say, but that wasn’t it. Vaguely irritated, she reached for the mug, downed three aspirin and lay back on the pillows. Beneath the sheets she was naked and terribly aware of her vulnerability.

      “Are you hungry?” he asked.

      Last night, she’d been starving…but not for food. She craved him. Of course, that wasn’t what he was talking about. “I could eat something.”

      “My supplies are sparse.” He reached up to a high shelf and grabbed an opened cardboard box that he placed on the table. “I’ve got a couple of K rations I swiped from the quartermaster.”

      “K rations?”

      “Survival food to carry in combat. If the enemy doesn’t kill you, this stuff will.”

      “You’re talking about an MRE, meal ready to eat. When I was in Kuwait, some of the soldiers had them.”

      When he placed the box on the bed in front of her, she wrinkled her nose in disgust. The prepackaged energy food had all the appeal of eating tree bark, but she needed to build her strength if she hoped to ski back to civilization. After peeling off the wrapper, she forced herself to bite into the square chunk of tasteless calories. It crumbled in her mouth like sand.

      “How about coffee?” Luke asked.

      “Oh, yes.”

      He went to the potbellied stove. Using a dish towel, he lifted a metal pot from the burner and poured steaming liquid into a mug that looked like vintage Fiestaware. A quaint touch, she thought. These mountain huts had been built in the 1940s and the crockery matched that era. So did the furniture. The Formica table with aluminum legs and matching chairs looked almost new thanks to the retro craze.

      When he handed her the mug, there was no spark of electricity. No special thrill. They were strangers again. So that’s the way it’s going to be. Well, fine.

      With a dispassionate gaze, she studied him. Still gorgeous, but there was something odd about the way he was dressed. His fatigues were the old-fashioned army drab instead of the usual beige or green camouflage. The fabric seemed stiff and heavy. “You mentioned that you were in the army.”

      “Stationed at Camp Hale. Or Camp Hell, as we like to call it.”

      “From the 10th Mountain Division.”

      He pointed to the crossed sword insignia on the sleeve of his white parka, which hung from a peg near the door. “We climb to conquer.”

      Shana took a sip of the bitter coffee, which was nothing like the thick, rich espresso she’d grown to adore while in Kuwait. “Tell me about Camp Hale.”

      “Construction started in 1942 under Charles Minnie Dole who started the 10th to train for cold weather warfare. At the high point, there were ten thousand men stationed here. Now, most everybody has shipped out.”

      She was no World War II buff, but Shana was certain that Camp Hale no longer existed. In the hotel where she was staying in Leadville, there were several black-and-white photos of the historic Camp Hale site and the famous troops who had fought bravely in Europe at the end of the war. A long time ago. “What are you doing here?”

      “Me and a skeleton crew pulled guard duty for a government project.” He checked his wristwatch. “I need to report back real soon.”

      “You’re leaving me here?”

      “The rest will do you good,” he said. “I’ll come back this afternoon and help you get into town.”

      She tasted disappointment with her coffee. Last night, he’d been clear about making no promises that they’d be together. But she expected more from him. Something. Anything.

      She glanced toward the cabin door. Her short metallic skis were propped against the wall beside his long wood skis. Hickory skis with old-fashioned cable bindings? The laminated wood shafts of his ski poles were equally antiquated with a twisted bamboo basket.

      A rifle also stood near the door. “What kind of gun is that?”

      “A .30 caliber Garand with an eight round clip. Standard issue.”

      “Not really.” In the Middle East, she’d become familiar with the weaponry used by U.S. troops. “What about the M16? Or the M4 Carbine? The .50 caliber sniper rifle?”

      “A .50 caliber?” He scoffed. “There’s no such thing.”

      “Every soldier in Iraq carries at least one of those weapons.”

      “Iraq?” His eyebrows lifted. “Yeah, I remember now. You were in Kuwait. The Middle East.”

      “I know a little bit about military equipment.”

      “So you’re an expert.”

      “I didn’t say that.” Why was he so cranky? “I СКАЧАТЬ