The Passionate Lover. Carole Mortimer

contents of the tins in the cupboards over and under the sink.

      ‘I can cook, Kyle—–’ She snapped her resentment at his assumption that she didn't know one end of a kitchen from the other.

      ‘Thank God for small mercies.’ He gave her a look that implied he thought she was good for little else.

      Shelby was well aware of how she must appear to him. A little over five feet in height, with gleaming red-gold hair just past her shoulders, a beautiful face dominated by thickly lashed green eyes, her slender figure shown to perfection in the dark green cashmere sweater and tightly fitting denims, he must be cursing the day she had walked into his life, must wish he hadn't come looking for her either!

      ‘Kyle, about Kenny—–'

      ‘He was on his way to see Wendy when I last saw him,’ he dismissed with cruel honesty.

      Wendy Seymore was Kenny's old childhood sweetheart, Shelby knew that, she had even met the other girl on one occasion, an embarrassingly awkward time when Wendy had made no secret of her dislike of Shelby. In the circumstances she hadn't been able to blame the other girl, but she found it hard to believe that Kenny had left her out in the blizzard while he went to visit the other girl on her father's neighbouring ranch. It didn't sound like the Kenny she knew and loved. There had to be a logical explanation for his behaviour. If only she could think of one!

      ‘Look at this practically, Shelby.’ Surprisingly Kyle's voice had softened a little as he noticed her pained preoccupation. ‘You've had a free two-week holiday in Montana. It's more return than a lot of Women get.'

      Her mouth firmed. ‘If you're implying what I think you are, Mr Whitney,’ the formality seemed perfectly fitting in the circumstances! ‘I can assure you that I haven't been paid for services rendered!’ Two angry spots of colour darkened her cheeks.

      His calculating gaze moved over her with slow thoroughness, from the tip of her gleaming head to the boots on her feet, his eyes darkening as they encountered the latter. ‘You should have taken those off,’ he bit out accusingly. ‘They're wet through! I bet your denims are too,’ he added questioningly. ‘It's a little difficult to tell when they already fit so—snugly,’ he said derisively.

      She knew the disparaging comment was warranted, but when she had done her shopping for this trip back in London these clothes had seemed ideal for the climate while still remaining feminine. She had only realised the absurdity of them when the denims were too tight for her to sit astride the horse Kenny had persuaded her to ride, the boots too high-heeled for her to walk with any degree of composure over the uneven ground of the Double K yards.

      But Kyle was right about the denims being damp, the snow having been up to her thighs in places. Although what he expected her to do about the situation she didn't know. He must be as wet as she was, and neither of them had a change of clothes available. He soon had an answer to that!

      ‘I suggest you take off your clothes before you catch pneumonia,’ he continued at her silence.

      ‘Certainly not!'

      ‘And wrap up in a blanket until they dry,’ he added over her outraged comment.

      ‘There aren't any blankets,’ she told him with almost triumphant spite.

      With a pitying glance in her direction he moved to the chests that stood beneath the two lower bunks, pulling them out to display more quilts like the one he had placed over her earlier, and also blankets and sheets, enough for all four of the bunk beds.

      ‘Help yourself,’ he stood up. ‘But for God's sake hurry up and get out of those wet clothes.'

      ‘You're as wet as I am!’ The way his own denims clung to the lean length of his muscular legs hadn't escaped her notice.

      ‘And I intend doing something about it as soon as I have you sorted out.'

      ‘I'm not a child—–'

      ‘Then quit acting like one!’ he suddenly exploded with temper, running one lean hand through the thickness of his dark hair. ‘Look, we're both tired, after being out in that how could we be anything else! I for one am too tired to argue with you about something as trivial as wet clothing. I'm also hungry, and when I'm hungry my temper gets frayed.'

      ‘You can say that again!’ she snapped, wishing he would stop talking down to her all the time.

      ‘And, obviously, so does yours,’ he added with pointed sarcasm.

      She had the grace to look abashed. ‘I am a little damp,’ she admitted softly. ‘Hungry too.'

      ‘Then the sooner you undress the sooner we can eat,’ Kyle wasn't prepared to give an inch. ‘I'll make up the fire, you can change here,’ he added impatiently as she made no effort to move while he stood there watching her, striding across the room to begin throwing logs on the fire, his back firmly turned towards her, rigid with displeasure.

      ‘Er—–'

      ‘What is it now?’ His impatience was coming to boiling point as he turned to glare at her.

      ‘The bathroom,’ she explained reluctantly, embarrassed at having to ask him about something so personal.

      ‘There isn't one,’ he derided.

      ‘I know that,’ she flushed as he deliberately misunderstood her. God, she wasn't stupid enough to think there would actually be a bathroom out here! ‘I don't want a bath, I'm asking where the—–'

      ‘It's outside,’ he finally took pity on her discomfort. ‘At the side of the cabin. This place wasn't built to be used as a winter home,’ he told her without apology for the fact that she had to go out in the cold once again. ‘It's used for a few weeks in the spring and summer, there's no reason to have the bathroom inside. The food is kept in stock here just in case,’ he added grimly.

      ‘In case some irresponsible woman goes and gets herself lost,’ Shelby finished tersely, knowing that was what he had been implying.

      ‘Exactly,’ he nodded abruptly. ‘Take one of the lamps with you,’ he instructed. ‘I'd hate you to wander off and get lost again.'

      She bit back the angry retort that hovered on the edge of her lips, knowing that anything she had to say would only give him the opportunity to make yet another blistering condemnation of her. Besides, her very real need for the bathroom was more important at the moment, and after pulling on her hat, jacket and gloves she picked up the lamp to leave.

      ‘It's to the right,’ Kyle suddenly told her, when he had appeared to be taking no notice of her.

      Shelby flashed him a grateful look, almost knocked back inside by the freezing cold wind that hit her as soon as she opened the door. The snow may have stopped falling for the moment but the wind howled on like a demented demon, driving her back as she fought her way to the small wooden building next to the cabin. By the time she had battled her way there and then back again she was beginning to wonder if it was worth it, feeling more exhausted than ever.

      Kyle was still sitting where she had left him when she turned from forcing the door closed, although he frowned as he looked up at her. ‘Did you fall?’ he rasped, standing up.

      The way he was moving towards her made her back up against the door, her eyes wide.

      ‘For God's sake,’ he bit out harshly. ‘I'm not so desperate that I would resort to forcing myself on a woman who, at the moment, resembles the attractions of a drowned rat!’ His eyes glittered dangerously. ‘You have a cut on your head, I merely wanted to take a look at it.'

      Shelby felt very young and very stupid at that moment. Which was ridiculous! She was a very capable and successful busineswoman in London, her age and widowed status precluding her being young. But she would be the first to admit that she was out of her element in this situation, that although she disliked Kyle Whitney intensely, hated the way he constantly reminded her how stupid she had been to get lost in the way that she had, she was very grateful that he was here. But she knew he