Chase Wheeler's Woman Read Free Page A

hoping he’d made the right decision. The shack had no fireplace, no place to sit, and was almost as cold inside as the stormy day had become outside. Fencing supplies lined the walls, as well as several sacks of oats for the horses.
    “Well, here we are,” he said, carefully setting the woman down on her feet. She clung to him, not as a ploy, he believed, but from sheer fatigue.
    Her body trembled uncontrollably. “I h-hate the c-cold.”
    “You’re gonna hate this even more,” he said evenly. “Take off your dress.”
    Her head shot up, her blue eyes sparking with indignation. “No.”
    “Fine then. Sit down on that sack of oats and freeze. Ever see a body die from pneumonia? They cough so fiercely, blood spurts out, their chest feelslike it’s being crushed by a half-ton longhorn and then, after days of suffering, they feel nothing at all.”
    Chase turned his back on her and removed his rain-soaked shirt. He twisted it into one long length and wrung out about a pint of water, then hung it up on a peg on the wall.
    “How w-will taking my d-dress off keep me w-warm?” she asked. He noticed her lips had changed color, going from rosy pink to pale, icy blue.
    “It won’t. I will. Body heat.”
    She sucked in a breath, then bit down on her blue lip. “You mean, me and you?”
    He wasn’t going to think about her naked in his arms. Thankfully for both of them the shack was in short supply of daylight. There were no windows and only a dim light worked its way in through the slats of the rough plank walls.
    The cold wasn’t so bad for him; he’d endured much worse. But she was a delicate woman who’d probably freeze to death without his help. “That’s what I mean. Unless you can think of another way to get warm?”
    She looked helplessly around the small supply shack. Already, puddles were developing under their feet from their dripping clothes. “D-do I h-have your word…” She lifted wary eyes his way.
    He nodded. “Nothing’s gonna happen, except you’ll get warm.”
    An idea struck him, and he quickly turned around, noting the size of the large grain sacks. Taking a knife out of his boot, he sliced through one sack and poured the oats into the only bucket he found until it overflowedonto the floor. “Don’t suppose Joellen is gonna mind the waste, being as I’m saving your modesty.”
    He was left with a rough, but dry rectangle of cloth. He worked his knife through it, cutting a few holes, then, once satisfied with his creation, handed the garment to her. “Here. It’s dry. Now, you’d best get out of those wet clothes and into this.”
    She grabbed the empty sack, realizing his obvious intent, and nodded. “Turn around.”
    He turned his back on her to arrange the rest of the sacks of grain as a makeshift bed. Then he lay down, waiting. She came to stand before him.
    He groaned inwardly, cursing his bad luck. At any other time, with any other woman, he’d relish the situation he was in. A woman wearing nothing but a flimsy piece of material cinched in at the waist by a length of rope and barely covering her female essentials—a woman needing his body warmth for survival—wasn’t a bad place to be.
    But this woman was too beautiful, too much trouble, and worst of all, she was Joellen’s daughter. He’d never do a thing to dishonor Joellen Withers Brody.
    “Lie down here.” He patted a spot in front of him.
    “Which way?” Letty Sue asked timidly.
    Either way would cause him havoc. If he faced her, their bodies would press intimately from the front, and the other alternative didn’t make for a better selection. He’d be rubbing against her backside.
    Hell.
    “Your choice. Just get down here. Your skin’s turning to gooseflesh.”
    She lay down and turned away from him. He brought his body close, meshing his chest with her back, and began rubbing her cold arms. She trembled under his fingertips.
    “You’ll be warm in a few minutes. Close your eyes.”
    “Why are you doing