Snowed In For Christmas: A Fun Feel-Good Holiday Romance Novel - Kimberly Krey Page 0,12

stack with a tarp. Good thing, since it was drenched with snow. Sheesh, that stack must weigh a ton. She lifted her gaze in time to see his eyes come alive with…fear?

“Ivy!”

Suddenly the door pushed open with a blustering growl and rammed her upside the head. She wasn’t sure which part she processed first, the pain, or the source of the pain. Whichever it was, it felt more like an axe than a door.

At once Easton, who stood before the fireplace, dropped the massive wood stack. Ivy felt the room spin as she moved a hand to her head.

“Are you okay?” He was right next to her now, Ivy knew that much, since she could feel his arms supporting her at either side. What she didn’t know was why his voice sounded so far away.

“Ivy?” Even more faint this time.

The light was fading too, and soon, everything went black.

Ivy woke up to a waft of warmth along the left side of her body. A cracking fire added to the ambiance, soothing all of her senses at once. She sucked in a deep breath, appreciating the smoky scent, and wondered how her gas fireplace was producing such effects. But then a face flashed through her mind, along with a name—Easton Sparks.

At once, her eyes popped open. She shot up into a sitting position and darted quick glances about the space. Yurt. She was in a yurt. There was the fire, there was the wood, but where was Easton? And why was her head throbbing?

Another quick scan had her coming up empty once more. A beat of panic tore through her. “Easton?”

“Right here,” he said, voice low and even. She shot a look over her shoulder to see him seated beside a wooden table in a rocking chair. Without a shirt. Holy muscles…

“How’s your head?” he asked, lowering his elbows onto his knees and scrutinizing her.

Ivy moved a quick hand to it—too quick. The thud against the covered wound felt like a knife stab. “Ouch…” Oh yeah, the door… She patted at the dressing. “Did you do this?”

He nodded, and a spot of warm appreciation seeped over her.

“Thanks.”

“You’ve got to twist the knob on the door to make it stick,” he said.

“Oh.” It was all she could think to say.

He continued to scrutinize her for a bit, then huffed out a sigh. “You’ll want to get out of those wet clothes.”

Ivy’s eyes widened. She patted at her coat and jeans. It seemed the left side had come close to drying, while the right side—the part further from the flames—was still drenched. “I don’t have my suitcase,” she realized.

“I have some thermals you can wear. They’ll be much too big for you, but I’ve got a trick for that.”

She furrowed her brows. “What kind of trick?”

“You know how the bottoms have those small snaps up the front?”

Ivy nodded.

“Instead of snapping them up, you tie them into a knot. It pulls the excess fabric and makes them fit more snug.”

“Huh.” Ivy did more nodding as she considered it. One glance at the impressive size of his figure had her wondering though. “What, did you have to borrow King Kong’s once?”

“Something like that,” he said with a laugh. But then he elaborated. “It’s a trick I discovered while helping my baby sister keep warm at night. She didn’t have any of her own and she was pretty little at the time.”

“How much younger is she than you?”

“Two and a half years,” he said.

She gave that some thought, her heart aching as she considered what his childhood might have been like. Was it simply lack of money that caused the strain, or had he and his sister been neglected? “Sounds like you were pretty young then too.”

Easton shrugged and pulled a duffle bag off the table. “Let’s get you some clothes. You can hang the wet ones next to mine along that rod, you see it?”

Ivy glanced up to see his sweater, a pair of khakis, and a very wrinkled tee shirt. As if he’d spent a long time trying to wring it out. “How’d your undershirt get the brunt of it?” she couldn’t help but ask, tearing her eyes off the sight.

Easton was still hovered over his bag, setting items atop the table while searching some more. “I used it to sop up the blood.”

A completely uninvited thrill rushed through her at his answer. Was he kidding? He’d actually ripped off his sweater, torn off his tee shirt, and used it to dab the blood