One Bride for Five Mountain Men

“Well, I certainly didn’t mean to intrude,” I mumble, relaxing against the blanket again. The heat of the fireplace seeps through, warming my sore muscles.

He doesn’t say anything, just stares out the window for a few minutes. I can see the ripples of his muscles underneath the tight, cotton knit shirt that covers his broad shoulders. He seems so sturdy, so totally unlike the other men I’ve been running into. I bet he could push Chad right off the mountain without even trying.

“You should get some rest,” he finally growls, then stomps out of the room to some other part of the cabin. I want to object, but my body has already decided that he is right and I find myself slipping, slipping, into a dark and dreamless place.

Chapter 7

Jake

For the fifteenth time, I pick the blanket up off the floorboards and drape it back over her sleeping body. Is she doing this to me on purpose? Every few minutes, she kicks at it, supposedly in her sleep, revealing her soft, white, pale skin. Nearly all of it.

I would dress her again in her ski clothes if I thought she would sleep through it.

But she’s just barely dozing. Her body has gone into a protective mode, forcing itself to heal by shutting down everything else. I can just imagine that ligament in her ankle with the swelling around it as a small army reinforcing its battlements. The inflammation keeps the tender parts safe while her body seeks to repair itself. It’s really an amazing process, I think.

The sedative has long worn off, so her sleep now is just a protective response. The last time that I dared press my palm against her forehead, she wasn’t even hot anymore. I reached out slowly, so as not to startle her, crouching beside the cot. Strangely nervous, I listened to her breathing for a while to make sure she really was dozing before holding my hand over her face. It seemed as though I could feel her before I even touched her. Like there was an electric current running between us, connecting us. When my skin brushed against hers, I felt something almost like relief, like two magnets finally snapping together.

She shifted slightly, almost nuzzling against my hand, making soft animal mewling noises. But she didn’t wake up. And I was happy to note that she wasn’t feverish.

That’s good.

But now what am I supposed to do? The snow seems to be tapering off. All through the night the winds howled. I could hear the tree branches crashing against each other high above us. Periodically one of the security monitors would flicker on, displaying nothing more than infrared pictures of underbrush tossed in the wind, with the occasional darting form of wildlife.

Which means that she really did come alone.

At first I thought someone would come

looking for her. If she had sought me out on her own, she probably would have been more of the outdoorsy type. She looks like one of those Sacramento girls who just comes up to Tahoe to swim in the lake or ski among the other beautiful people. She’s not suited for really hiking up and down the mountains, looking for me.

In that way, her story about a skiing mishap holds water. But why here? A dilettante skier wouldn’t come all the way out to the side of the lake, certainly not to this trail. It would take somebody who really knew their way around to even get close.

Was she with someone else? Maybe she broke off from a group?

But with the storm, if anybody came looking for her they would have been turned back within hours. The squall came up suddenly, though the weather service had been warning us about it all morning.

Like so many other times the question is: stupid or ingenious? Evil plot or simple twist of fate?

I guess I’ll have to wait until she wakes up to try asking her again.

I’m barely settled again in my easy chair when she twists, shifting to turn over and then wincing against her ankle in her sleep again, finally kicking the blanket to the floor. It falls in a heap with a soft whooshing noise and she lets her knees fall open in her sleep, her body completely relaxed, unaware of my presence.

I swallow, hard.

I need to get her dressed.

Throwing one arm up over her head, she sighs again and stretches. The tiny triangles of fabric that cover her swelling breasts are dislodged, revealing candy-pink areolas. The skin is so soft, not taut as it would be under my fingers if I were teasing her, stimulating her with my touch. Instead, her nipples are smooth, like a rose petal. Utterly relaxed.

My mouth begins to water as I imagine the way her skin would change, the way the color would darken. I bet she’s very sensitive. With her auburn hair and fair skin, she looks like she would be trembling under my hands, delicate as a porcelain doll. Begging me to handle every bit of her.

And I really would like to. It’s been so long—years, in fact—since I held a woman in my arms. Generally I try not to even think about it. There’s just so much danger that comes along with any kind of entanglement, it doesn’t seem worth it.

Right?

Yeah, I should definitely keep telling myself that.

But here she is, right in front of me. Diabolical plot or stroke of luck? Auburn… My favorite. Green-eyed, if I’m remembering right. Freckled. I’ll bet she’s a knockout in an evening dress. And mouthy, too. I know I was gruff with her, and I sort of like that smart mouth that talked back to me with such attitude. I’ll take a sassy broad over some shrinking violet any day of the week…

Who am I kidding? I’m not taking her anywhere.