Montana Daddy. Charlotte Maclay

eyes as she came apart in his arms. An experience that transcended anything she had imagined could pass between a man and a woman.

      She uttered a low, throaty moan.

      “Something wrong?”

      Oh, yes, everything was wrong—starting with her visit to Grass Valley that fateful summer. She’d only been a vacation fling to him. He’d been so much more to her.

      “How do I turn off this blasted radio?” she asked in panicky retreat.

      His laughter careened around her, and her eyes fluttered closed against the deep ache that filled her chest.

      Another big mistake, she realized as her snow-mobile plowed its way out of the rut Rory’s machine had cut through the snow and she nearly stalled the engine before wrenching herself back onto the track.

      She needed to concentrate, both on where she was going and on her life. Rory wasn’t a part of that picture except as a temporary guide to the Durfee cabin. A medical emergency had brought her out here, not the urge for a romantic interlude.

      By not returning her phone calls, he’d chosen to not become involved with her. He’d found another woman. Yes, Kristi felt guilty about not telling Rory about her pregnancy—about his son. But dammit, she’d tried! And her guilty conscience—and her grandmother’s injured ankle—had forced her to confront what she feared most. Rory’s rejection of her and her son, and the possibility of a custody battle.

      She had a lot at stake here, and her damn reawakened libido had better learn to behave itself.

      Determined, she adjusted her position on the snow-mobile to ease the pressure and tightened her grip on the throttle. This time there’d be no burning up the sheets; she would stay in control of her emotions.

      THE SNOWMOBILE SURGED beneath Rory’s legs and so did hot blood through his veins.

      Had he imagined Kristi’s heated response to his teasing words? Did her low, throaty sigh mean she was remembering, too? Did she still want him as much as he wanted her?

      The snow blew horizontally toward him, reducing his visibility to almost nothing. He let his instincts guide him, keep him on course. The feel of the terrain. A clue from a fleeting glimpse of cuts in a hillside that had been made when the old dirt road was laid out. The hundreds of hours he’d spent tramping through pine forests and exploring prairie grasslands gave him a sense of the land.

      Navigating through a blizzard was a helluva lot easier than knowing what Kristi was thinking. One mistake with her and he’d be over the side of the road in an instant, his second chance lost.

      But did he really have a second chance with a self-proclaimed city girl? Maybe Grass Valley wouldn’t be enough for her now.

      Maybe he’d never been enough for her and that’s why she’d never written. Never called.

      Clearing the negative thoughts from his mind, he spoke into his helmet microphone. “How are your feet doing?”

      “What feet?”

      His lips quirked. Despite the cold she was hanging on to her sense of humor. “I’m going to look for a place out of the wind to pull over. We need to get our circulation back.”

      “Wonderful. Maybe there’s a four-star hotel over the next hill.”

      He chuckled. “I’ll check my tour book.”

      Within a quarter mile they rounded a bend in the road that was edged with a sheltered stand of pines heavily laden with snow. He eased the snowmobile in that direction and pulled to a halt, turning off the engine. Kristi followed him into the copse of trees.

      Dismounting, he shrugged out of his backpack. In order to get at the contents, he had to shed his heavy snow gloves.

      “Stomp your feet and walk around some,” he directed Kristi as she climbed off her shiny blue vehicle. Encased in the thick garb of a recreational snowmobiler, she looked like a delectable snowlady who’d had a helmet plopped on her head. Rory had the urge to uncover what was beneath those layers of fabric and insulation, garment by garment. Probably not a good idea with the temperature about twenty-five degrees and the windchill factor around zero.

      He uncapped the thermos he’d taken from his backpack. “Hot chocolate whenever you’re ready,” he announced. “It’ll warm you from the inside out.”

      She shifted her helmet toward the back of her head and reached for the thermos top he’d filled with the steaming beverage. “My insides aren’t the problem, but I could use a hot tub to stick my feet in.”

      “Hot tubs are good. You still like to swim naked? Or have you become the modest type?”

      Her head snapped up, and she sloshed hot chocolate over her gloved hand. “Since I’ve never been in a hot tub, I have no idea how I would like it.”

      “Too bad we aren’t closer to Yellowstone. We could slip into one of those bubbling pools—”

      “I think the Durfees would be happier if we just did what we came to do and get Everett to a hospital as soon as we can.”

      He lifted one shoulder in an indolent shrug that was a sham. He cared too much about Kristi to be unaffected by her brusque tone. “A guy can dream, can’t he?”

      “Not when the life of someone else is at stake. Or their future.”

      Rory sensed she was talking about something besides the current medical crisis, but he wasn’t all that good at reading women. In college he hadn’t had much time for dating; he’d been lashed to the books with only a faint hope he would manage to finish the rigorous training to become a vet. Since then, living in Grass Valley, the selection of females had been limited. Granted, he’d dated a few women but none of them had clicked.

      No woman could compare to his memories of Kristi.

      She drained the cup and passed it back to him. “Thanks.”

      “You’re welcome.” Their words sounded too formal, considering all that they had once shared together.

      He filled the cup again and sipped while keeping his gaze on Kristi. Her cheeks were flushed with the cold, twin spots the color of a summer rose. Her eyes were almost midnight blue under the cloudy sky, and their depths held both question and pride. “Don’t mess with me” radiated from the way she held her shoulders so rigidly.

      “Should we be moving on?” she asked.

      “Can you feel your feet again?”

      “Warm as toast.”

      He didn’t believe that for a moment but he didn’t see any point in arguing.

      Returning the capped thermos to the backpack, he risked unzipping his heavy jacket long enough to pull out his cell phone.

      “Who are you calling?”

      “Thought I’d get a weather report from my brother.” He flipped open the phone, switched it on and waited for something to happen. Nada.

      “You can’t get a connection?”

      “Nope. This far north the coverage is inconsistent under the best of circumstances. With this storm, I didn’t think there’d be much of a chance. We’ll have to wait till we get to the Durfees’ radio.”

      “My best guess is that the report calls for continued snow and intermittent freezing toes. I think we’d better keep going.” She pulled her helmet down again, tapped the visor into place, turned and walked back to her snowmobile.

      Intermittent was right, as far as her reactions to him were concerned. One minute she was bright, witty or moaning into the radio headset in her helmet. The next thing he knew, she was all bristle like a porcupine under attack.

      God, he’d never understand women!

      THE CLOUDS BEGAN to lift and with them the snow turned to big, fluffy flakes, falling more gently to the ground.