distance. A couple must live there, she told herself. Surely they wouldn’t turn away anyone on a night like this!
It was almost daylight by now. She was just a few steps away from the front porch of the cabin when her body finally gave out. She fell into the snowdrift with a faint little cry, lost in the howling wind.
* * *
Inside the cabin, Butch Matthews was just turning off the television. It was late. He didn’t sleep much. Memories of the war in Iraq, where he’d lost an arm to a mortar attack, still haunted him. He had nightmares. He was all alone here in this cabin on the outskirts of Benton. He’d been engaged once, but she’d gone back to an old boyfriend because, as she put it, she couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping with a one-armed man.
He sure could pick them, he thought bitterly. Well, he had a good job with the state wildlife division, and he was a licensed rehabilitator. He looked down at his companion, a three-legged wolf named Two-Toes, who was old and almost blind.
“At least I’ve got you for company, old man,” he sighed, tugging at the neck of his blue-checked flannel shirt. “Damn, it’s getting cold in here. I guess I’d better get in a little more wood before it all freezes.”
He patted the wolf, ran a hand through his own thick, short black hair. His dark eyes went to the sheepskin coat hanging by the front door. He wasn’t a handsome man, but he had regular features at least. He was tall and fit, despite losing part of his arm up until just below the elbow. He had jet-black hair and dark brown eyes, and big hands and feet. He also had an inner strength and an oversized dose of compassion. Everyone liked him, but he didn’t mix well, though, and he kept to himself. The loneliness got to him once in a while. It got to him tonight. He was more alone than he’d felt in his life. Both his parents were long dead. His fiancée had bailed on him. There wasn’t anybody else. Not even a cousin . . .
He opened the door and his eyes widened. There, in the snow, was a body. It had blond hair and a fur jacket.
“Good God!” he exclaimed. He ran to her, turned her over gently. She was beautiful. Perfect complexion, long blond hair, pretty mouth. And unconscious.
“At least you’re a lightweight,” he murmured as he shifted her so that he could get her over one shoulder in a fireman’s lift.
He carried her quickly into the house and eased her down on the leather sofa. “Don’t eat her,” he told Two-Toes firmly.
The old wolf sat on its haunches and panted.
Butch closed the front door and found an afghan that he’d bought at a summer festival in Benton. He eased the woman out of the fur jacket and winced. She was wearing a very thin silk blouse. No wonder she was almost frozen. And what was she doing out in the middle of nowhere, without a suitcase? He noted the hem of her slacks as he wrapped her up. Something dark had stained them. Blood?
He wrapped her in the afghan and went into the kitchen to make coffee. While it perked, he got down an extra mug. Something hot might help. He wondered if he should call an ambulance. Hopefully, she’d only fainted. He’d have to check her pulse and breathing. He’d had basic first aid courses as part of his army training, and later, forest service training, so he knew how to handle emergencies.
He poured coffee, turned off the pot, and carried the mugs to the coffee table.
He sat down beside the woman and shook her gently by the shoulder.
She opened her eyes. They were blue. Pale blue. She looked up at him, disoriented. “I passed out,” she said in a soft, sweet voice.
He smiled. “Yes, you did.”
She blinked and looked around her. “This is the cabin. I saw it from the road . . .” She’d have to make up some excuse for being here, and she wasn’t good at lying. If he tossed her out, she didn’t know what she’d do. On the other hand, what if he was like Darrin? Faint fear narrowed her eyes.
There was an odd growling sound nearby. A dog, maybe? She loved dogs. If this man had pets, he must be nice. But her heart was pounding with mingled fear and worry and grief.
“It’s