Footprints in the Snow Read online

  He tapped a cigarette from the pack, flipped open a Zippo lighter and lit up. Though she hated the tobacco smell, she was pleased. The fact that he had at least one disgusting habit was proof that he wasn’t perfect. Not the right guy for me.

  When he stood, she realized how tall he was—at least four inches over six feet. His body was lean but muscular with square shoulders, and he was obviously in excellent condition. Even in his poorly fitted fatigues, his muscular thighs bulged.

  “I should thank you again,” she said. “You saved my life.”

  “My pleasure.” He went to the potbellied stove, opened the latched door and laid another piece of wood on the fire.

  His pleasure? A shiver of awareness rippled through her. Beneath the quilts and blankets on the bed, she wore nothing but an oversize olive-drab T-shirt. Near the door, she saw her ski pants and her turtleneck hung up to dry. But she didn’t remember getting undressed. Her fingers plucked at the cotton fabric of T-shirt. “Is this yours?”

  “I had to strip off those wet clothes so you could warm up. But don’t worry. I kept my eyes closed.”

  Stripped naked by a stranger. She should have been humiliated, wildly embarrassed. Kept his eyes closed? Yeah, right.

  When she gazed accusingly into his coolly assessing blue eyes, she saw a hint of approval. Then he grinned. Apparently, he’d been pleased by what he’d seen when he changed her clothes.

  In normal circumstances, she would have lashed out, making it very clear that he would never ever see her naked again. Instead, a lovely warmth blossomed inside her. She could do a lot worse than being swept off her feet by Luke Rawlins. “I’ll have that aspirin now.”

  He tossed her a small glass bottle and returned to the chair where he sat and stretched out his long legs. Leaning back, he took a puff on his cigarette and exhaled a cloud of blue smoke.

  Slightly mesmerized, she watched. He even made smoking look sexy. Quickly, she gulped down three aspirin. She really ought to get out of here before she did something she’d regret. Like throwing herself into his arms. Or ripping off her T-shirt. Or, better yet, tearing off his clothes piece by piece. “I should go now. I’ve already imposed too much on your hospitality.”

  “It’s late, Shana. Almost dark. You’re going nowhere tonight.”

  She peered through the frost-rimed glass of the only window in the cabin. Outside, it was heavy and gray but the blizzard seemed to have stopped. She was aware of the wind whistling through the branches of the pine trees and sweeping against the log walls of the cabin. “Do you have a car? Or a snowmobile? Some kind of transportation?”

  “Just my skis.”

  “Maybe I could call for help. Do you have my pack?”

  He went toward the door, picked up her pack and set it on the bed beside her. She sifted through the contents until she found her cell phone, which was totally dead. “Broken. I must have landed on it when I fell.”

  She was stranded. Tucked away in a cozy, warm cabin with the sexiest man she’d ever seen. This felt like a fantasy. A dream. But he was here and real—far too potent to vanish when she blinked her eyes.

  Needing to assess the situation, she threw off the blankets and climbed out of the bed. In a few strides, she crossed to the door and pulled it open. A blast of cold hit her bare legs. Though the snow had stopped, a drift came all the way up to the cabin’s door and trickled inside. They were in the forest at the edge of a clearing. She saw no sign of other houses. No lights. No roads. Nothing but complete isolation.

  Luke came up behind her and shoved the door closed. “You’re here for the night.”

  When she looked up into his face, she didn’t want to leave. Wearing only his T-shirt, she should have been cold. Instead, a glowing heat churned through her veins. Strange. She was light-headed, oddly disconnected.

  He touched her forehead. “You’re hot.”

  “So are you,” she said. “If we rub together, maybe we’ll start a forest fire.”

  A smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “I meant to say that you might have a fever.”

  “But I don’t feel sick. Not really sick.” But not herself. Her common sense seemed to have vanished, whisked away by the swirling snows on the mountain. She’d been transported to a magical place where normal concerns and hesitations did not apply.

  Reaching out, she placed her palm flat against his chest. Through his army fatigues, she felt the steady, strong beating of his heart. The rhythm echoed through her and synchronized perfectly with her own pulse—two hearts beating as one. She was a part of him. Inseparable and needing a deeper connection.

  She tilted her chin up. Her lips parted.

  When he kissed her, he took his time. She tasted whiskey on his mouth. Slowly, he deepened the kiss.

  His arms surrounded her, supporting her. His body pressed against hers. She seemed to rise off the floor, floating on a cloud. A spiral of tingling sensation unfurled and spread from her head to her heart to every intimate part of her.

  When his lips left hers, she gazed up at his ruggedly handsome face. Her vision went hazy. Her headache became a steady pulse. Throbbing, but not painful.

  She couldn’t believe this was really happening. A strong, gorgeous man had appeared from nowhere to sweep her into his arms and rescue her from certain death. He was her knight in shining ski gear.

  Though she barely had the strength to stand, she knew his strong arms would never let her fall. Dazed and in shock, she abandoned herself to this swirling fantasy.

  Chapter Two

  Shana stumbled off balance. Her back rested against the cabin wall. The cold from outside crept through the logs and chilled her spine, contrasting the fire that burned inside her—an intense heat generated by his kiss.

  “Shana,” he whispered, “are you all right?”

  She wanted to say yes, but her head was spinning and her knees were weak. “I need to sit down.”

  He guided her the few paces to the narrow bed and helped tuck her bare legs under the covers.

  Stretched out on the bed, she looked up at him. So handsome. So gentle. This man had saved her life. He was her real-live hero, and he kissed like an expert.

  She wanted more kisses, a lot more. This was crazy. Making love to a total stranger? Shana knew better. Years of working in the field, mostly with men, had taught her self-control. But she wasn’t at a job site. This cabin, tucked away in the mountains, was a different reality. Regular rules and restrictions did not apply.

  When he started to rise from the bed, she sat up and caught hold of his arm. “Don’t go.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Do you need something?”

  You. I need you. She wanted him to stay close beside her, to kiss her again.

  “This doesn’t seem fair,” she said. “I’m nearly naked, and you’re wearing all those clothes.”

  She raised her arm and stroked the bristly stubble on his jaw. With a fingertip, she traced a line from his mouth to his chin and down his throat. Aware that her behavior was utterly inappropriate, she began to unbutton his shirt. The effort took all her concentration. Her fingers lacked dexterity.

  “Shana, I don’t think this is—”

  “Don’t think.” Never before had she been so bold. She must be delirious. “I want this shirt off.”

  “Let me.”

  He unfastened the buttons and slipped off his shirt, then he pulled his T-shirt over his head. His arms and shoulders were lean yet muscular. A sprinkle of dark hair coated his chest. Below his collarbone, she saw a ragged scar. The suturing had been rushed, clumsy. Another scar crossed his rib cage.

  She ran her thumb across the mark on his chest. “What happened?”

  “The war happened.”

  He’d been injured in battle. He really was a hero. That fact jolted her back toward reality, reminding her that there was a real world outside this cabin. “I’m sorry, Luke.”

  “Don’t cry for me. I survived.”

  He wasn’t being macho. Just stating a
fact.

  She held the dog tags that hung around his neck. “Name, rank and serial number,” she said. “Blood type O negative. You’re a universal donor.”

  “That’s right.”

  “What does the P stand for?”

  “Protestant.”

  “Or maybe,” she said, “the P stands for Perfect.”

  “If you knew me better, you wouldn’t say that.”

  “What’s your fatal flaw?”

  “Right now? I’m thinking how good it would be to make love to you.”

  She nodded, and her brain rattled painfully. 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 was just noticing that you have some old-fashioned equipment. Like those wood skis.”

  He fired a glare in her direction but said nothing. If she’d been smart, Shana would have followed his example and kept her mouth shut, but she continued, “I didn’t even know they made bindings like that anymore.”

  “Now you’re an expert on ski equipment.” He looked down at her from his towering height. “I should have guessed from your skill on the slopes when you slid halfway down the mountain on your butt.”

  “That wasn’t my fault. How could I know a blizzard was coming?”

  “A sky full of snow clouds should have been a clue.”

  “I get your point.” She adjusted the blankets around her. “I wasn’t being careful. Maybe because of the altitude sickness.”

  “Ma
ybe,” he conceded.

  “I’m usually a rational, logical person.” At her new assignment in Rifle, she’d be the project manager. “I’m very responsible.”

  When she stared directly into his intense blue eyes, she saw a brief spark. A flicker of memory from last night?

  “I guess,” he drawled, “I’ll have to take your word about being responsible.”

  While she groped in her mind for a snappy comeback, he pulled his snow pants over his fatigues and sat on the chair to lace up his boots, which were also old-fashioned in design. She tried to imagine why Luke—who was obviously an experienced skier—would be using such antiquated equipment.

  “I know,” she said. “You’re doing some kind of historical reenactment. Something about the early days of the 10th Mountain Division. Am I right?”

  “I don’t have time to play games, and the 10th isn’t history.” He frowned. “Are you feeling okay? You sound a little Looney Tunes this morning.”

  “I’m fine,” she snapped. “As soon as possible, I’m out of here.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  Wrong! He was supposed to tell her that he’d enjoyed their kiss last night. At the very least, he should offer a couple of light compliments. “I know you enjoyed it. Last night was every man’s fantasy. Being trapped in a cabin with a naked woman.”

  “Depends on the woman,” he said.

  “Are you telling me I’m not your type?” If she hadn’t still been nearly naked, she would have leaped from the bed and smacked him. “I suppose you prefer brainless blondes.”

  “Not really. I wouldn’t kick Betty Grable out of the sack, but Rita Hayworth is my pinup. You’d look a little bit like her if you’d—”

  “Stop it,” she snapped. “Rita Hayworth. Camp Hale. Wood skis. Exactly what year do you think it is?”

  He slipped on his parka, grabbed his skis and opened the cabin door. “It’s 1945.”

  Her jaw dropped. “What?”

  “I’ll be back this afternoon. Rest easy, Shana.”

  The door closed firmly behind him.