Snowed Under Read Free Page A

bare all the way up.
    The second thing he saw was the unwavering muzzle of a .56 Sharps, which diminished his enjoyment of the legs significantly.
    “Who are you?” The owner of the legs asked again, her tone indicating that if he didn’t answer, it might be the Sharps that spoke next.
    “Dean Rook.”
    “And what are you doing here, Mr Rook?”
    “I got lost in the storm, ma’am, sure am glad to find shelter.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was all that he planned to share with a stranger holding a gun on him.
    She watched him, her eyes narrowed, but not so much that he couldn’t make out their clear blue colour. “You look half frozen. Come in and close the door, but leave your guns outside.” She backed off to give him some space, and he watched the legs walk away for a second before he struggled to his feet. Dean didn’t think the she would take too kindly to his ogling. He shucked his pistol with numb fingers and dropped it out in the snow reluctantly, but he figured there was no one else on this mountain to come steal it, and besides, with the way the snow was falling, it’d be well hidden in no time at all.
    Closing the door was a bit trickier, as the drift that had blown up against it had fallen in with Dean. He kicked the worst of it out of the way and leaned his weight into it to get it to latch. The door rattled with the wind, and he slid the bar into place to hold it. No wonder it hadn’t opened beneath his shoulder—with that bar, no one was getting in unless they were invited.
    He sat on the wooden floor, heedless of the snow that still covered the floorboards. It had been a very long, cold walk up the mountain. He flexed his fingers experimentally. They were stiff, still numb. He peered at the fingertips and found at least three had the raised, white welts of frostbite. That was probably going to hurt when it thawed out.
    “You better get close to the fire.”
    Dean jumped as a second voice addressed him, and he shoved the hair out of his eyes to look around the room. She stood near the fire in a blue dress that seemed to be missing a couple of buttons. He could see a patch of creamy skin on her belly and he tried not to stare. “Thanks,” he muttered. He leaned on the wall to lever himself to his feet then shuffled to the fireside, and the second girl slid a chair close to the flames for him.
    Dean collapsed into the chair and held his frozen hands close to the flames. “I sure do appreciate you ladies opening the door for me. I couldn’t have gone any farther, think I’d have cashed in if I hadn’t stumbled upon your cabin here.”
    He heard the rifle being set down in the corner, and the scrape of the barrel as it settled against the wall, but he didn’t turn to look. It was just too much effort. He’d just have to trust that these two women wouldn’t murder him in his sleep, because that’s what he was planning on doing next. Sleeping.
    “Nell, you help him get out of his wet things, he’ll warm up quicker that way. I’ll get the soup made.”
    There was a pause, and Dean had the feeling that a silent discussion was going on over his head. There was probably a lot going on here that he didn’t understand—for instance, what were these two women doing out here, all on their own?—but he didn’t have the energy to worry about it now.
    Soup did sound good though. His stomach rumbled at the thought, and he wondered without any real direction how long it had been since he’d eaten. He didn’t know — certainly before he’d started running, and in this storm, he had no idea how long he’d been travelling, no concept of time as he’d just tried to put one foot in front of the other, to survive long enough to get someplace warm.
    And he’d made it. He took a deep breath of warm air, and it smelt like wood smoke, hot soup and sex.
    That couldn’t be right. He breathed in again, trying not to be obvious about it, but the women were still furiously discussing something