The Cowboy's Gift-Wrapped Bride. Victoria Pade

a hand to help her down, and before she’d considered whether or not it was wise to take it, Jenn did.

      But that physical contact didn’t help her already jumbled thoughts because the moment her hand connected with his much larger, callused one, more of that odd tingling sensation began, shooting all the way up her arm this time.

      The reaction didn’t make any more sense to her now than it had when she’d experienced it as a result of nothing more than his gaze. The only conclusion she could come to to explain it was that something purely elemental, something perfectly primitive, was afoot.

      But why now and not when he’d placed a steadying hand to her shoulder at his brother’s office when she’d tried to sit up and felt faint?

      In the office there hadn’t been bare skin against bare skin the way there was now…?.

      Jenn was tempted to indulge in the feeling, to let her hand stay nestled within his, to go on letting the heat of that naked flesh seep into every pore.

      But the temptation—along with the pleasure that was skittering all through her—was also very alarming. After all, this man was a stranger to her and certainly the circumstances they were currently in—or at least the circumstances she was currently in—were not conducive to any kind of attraction between them.

      So the moment her feet were firmly planted on the ground she pulled her hand out of his as if she’d just been singed by hot coals. For surely it seemed as if she was just as likely to get burned.

      If Matt noticed anything amiss in her withdrawal, he didn’t show it. He just stepped around her and grabbed her suitcase and purse from the truck’s bench seat.

      Then he closed the door, turned to face the house and said, “Ladies first,” in a friendly way that held no hint that he’d had the same response to her that she’d had to him.

      But then, why would something as innocuous as their hands touching affect him the way it had affected her? It was only things in her head that were haywire.

      Accepting that as a fact she couldn’t do anything about at the moment, Jenn opted for ignoring it and took the lead to the house, being careful not to slip on the walkway that had been shoveled at some point but was once again covered in snow.

      When they reached the double front doors with their elaborate ovals of stained glass in the top halves, Matt went ahead of her to open one for her.

      “There you go,” he said to urge her inside.

      Jenn stepped into a big brightly lit foyer and felt a blast of heat that chased the chill back outside before Matt closed the door.

      “We’ve missed supper by now,” he said then. “So how about I show you to your room and give you half an hour to settle in? Then we can meet in the kitchen and I’ll rustle us up something to eat.”

      There were voices coming from somewhere toward the rear of the house and what sounded like post-meal cleanup. No one was in sight but Jenn was having another of those informational blips about who those voices likely belonged to.

      Not that they seemed familiar, but for some reason she had a pretty good idea of who lived in this house.

      She opted for keeping it to herself though and merely said, “That sounds good.”

      Matt pointed his dimpled chin to the left where Jenn was reasonably certain a hallway that matched the one on the right would take her to the left wing she’d seen from outside. “I’ll put you up in the room next to mine. It’s straight down there, the third door.”

      Again he waited for her to precede him.

      Old-fashioned cowboy courtesy, Jenn thought.

      It was nice. And as she once more took the lead down the hall, she wondered if he was this way with all women and if he was, why someone hadn’t snapped him up for herself by now so they could be treated like royalty all the time.

      “Each one of these is a private suite,” Matt said as he opened the third door for her. “We—that is, my grandfather and all my siblings—use the kitchen, dining room, living room and rec room—they’re communal. But we each have a suite with a bedroom and a private bath, along with a sitting room so we can hole up in our own space if we’ve a mind to. There are even doors from the suites out to the porch if anybody wants to come and go that way, too.”

      Jenn entered the sitting room portion of her newly appointed rooms. A pale blue overstuffed couch and chair and an oval coffee table monopolized the space, positioned to face a stone fireplace on the outside wall where French doors did indeed lead to that wraparound porch.

      It was a cozy room, especially with the window on the other side of the fireplace framing a view of a huge oak tree whose branches were all snow-kissed.

      “The bedroom’s in here,” Matt said, taking her suitcase through another door that connected a large room furnished with a queen-size bed covered in a downy blue checked quilt. There was also a desk and dressing table, a large bureau with a mirror above it, and another full-length mirror on the opposite door that apparently led to that bathroom he’d mentioned.

      “Make yourself at home,” Matt said after he’d set her suitcase and purse on the bed. “Will you be okay on your own for a while?”

      “I’ll be fine.” She marveled at the stroke of luck it had been that someone like Matt McDermot had found her on the side of the road. She really wasn’t clearheaded enough to have fended for herself and another person might have taken advantage rather than looked after her so conscientiously and generously.

      But before she could tell him how much she appreciated all he was doing for her, he said, “You can get to the kitchen by going the rest of the way down that hallway we just used. You’ll pass the rec room and then you can’t miss the kitchen. I’ll be there when you’re ready.”

      He left and Jenn felt a little like Alice after she’d gone through the looking glass.

      Trying to get past how dazed she still felt, she took off her coat and stared down at her clothes, realizing for the first time that there were blood spatters on her white blouse and gray slacks—blood spatters that matched those on her coat—from where her head had been cut open in the accident.

      She certainly didn’t want to stay in stained clothing so she slipped off her black loafers and intended to shed the rest of her soiled garments when she suddenly wondered what she looked like. Because now that she thought about it, she didn’t have a clear image in her mind of even that.

      So she crossed to the full-length mirror on the bathroom door for a look.

      She wasn’t tall—that was the first thing that registered. Probably about five-four if she stood straight. She was just about average weight. Except that her feet were somewhat on the large side and her breasts weren’t.

      Her skin was clear and not so pale that it had a bluish tinge the way the skin of some redheads did. But still she was pretty fair. Her complexion was clear though, which pleased her. And her features were devoid of any enormous flaws. Well, maybe the cheekbones were on the high side, but that was good.

      Her eyes were a nice shade of dark blue. With lashes that were long enough to be notable.

      Probably the thing she liked best in her assessment of herself was her hair. It fell a few inches past her shoulders in a thick, wavy mass of burnished red that had a richness to it rather than an orange tint.

      Of course at that moment it was kind of a mess, between the accident, the blood from the cut that had matted it just inside her hairline and then the haphazard washing it had taken at the doctor’s office.

      She would have liked to shampoo her whole head before she went out to see Matt again but that couldn’t be done in half an hour so she decided it would just have to be brushed well and pulled back.

      With that—and getting a change of clothes—in mind, she went to open her suitcase where Matt had left it on the bed.

      While