Snowed Under (3 page)

Dean suddenly felt a lot better, with something else to occupy his mind other than his complete exhaustion. The sex theory would explain the bare legs underneath a coat, the dress with buttons undone. Dean had been in a few of the finer whore houses in his travels, and he knew that women could pleasure each other, but it hadn’t occurred to him that it was something they’d do for their own benefit, and not simply for the entertainment of a man.

The girl in the blue dress appeared in his view, and Dean was embarrassed about his thoughts, but not quite enough to stop thinking them.

“Hi, I’m Nell—no, don’t get up,” she said as he tried to get to his feet. “You don’t need to be a gentleman when you’re frozen half to death, Mr Rook.” She smiled, and Dean admired her dark eyes and full lips.

Dean held out his hand. “Please,” he said, “call me Dean.”

Her hand disappeared in his, and she rubbed his in both of hers. “You’re hands are freezing, Dean.” She dropped his hand and reached for his heavy buffalo robe. “I’m sure this coat of yours saved you, but it’s soaked, let’s get it off and let the heat of the fire get to you.” She tugged at his sleeve and between the two of them they got the heavy, waterlogged fur off his shoulders. Nell spread it out on the hearth then added a couple of logs to the fire.

Dean watched her work, the thin material of her dress outlining her slender form and narrow hips. She wasn’t as curvy as the one with the Sharps, but she was lovely, and the view warmed him as quickly as the fire did.

Pots clattered on the woodstove behind him, and Dean jumped, wondering if he’d been caught staring or if it was his own guilt that made him nervous. He held his hands out to the flames again. They were starting to thaw, his fingertips tingling painfully.

“Here.” A large mug of soup was thrust into his hands, and Dean took it carefully in his stiff fingers. Both women hovered over him while he took his first sip. It was too hot and burnt his tongue, but it heated him right to his belly as well.

The first woman was older than Nell, but not a lot. She was still bare foot and bare legged and, Dean strongly suspected, bare underneath her heavy coat. He wished he’d had the presence of mind to look in the window before he’d started banging on the door, because he suspected he’d have got a show that would’ve warmed him up better than the hot soup. He lifted his mug in her direction. “Thank you…” He let his voice trail off, waiting for her to fill in the blank.

“I’m Ivy,” she said curtly. “Come along, Nell, we might as well eat too.”

Dean heard the chairs pull out from the table, their legs scraping against the floor, but he didn’t turn around to join them, too comfortable next to the fire and full of soup. He was nearly feeling human again. All he needed now was to sleep.

* * * *

“Dean.” A hand was on his shoulder, shaking him gently. “Dean, here, I made you a bed by the fire, you need to get out of the chair.”

“I fell asleep?” Dean said, then felt stupid. Obviously he’d fallen asleep, sitting up in the chair. He eyed the blankets on the floor, outlined with flickering firelight.

“Yes, and Ivy was going to let you sleep there in that chair all night, at least till you fell out, but I’m much nicer than her.” Nell winked.

“Thanks.” Dean tipped forward off the chair and crawled onto the makeshift bed, settling into the pillow.

“You’re welcome,” Nell said, “sweet dreams.” Her hands fluttered across his shoulder and hip as she spread a blanket over him, and it was probably Dean’s imagination that they lingered just a second longer than they needed to.

Dean watched the flames, enjoying the warmth on his face, the comfort of the pillow. He could hear the rustling as the women got ready for bed, and he wondered if they were undressing, but the memory of Ivy and the buffalo gun was enough to keep him from sneaking a peek. It didn’t stop him from listening though, and he strained his ears as he let his eyes drift closed and his exhausted muscles slowly relaxed.

The first whisper was too soft for him to hear, but the response was perfectly clear.

“No,” the voice whispered, “he’s right there.”

“He’s asleep.” She spoke louder this time, and Dean could identify the voice as Nell’s. “You saw the poor fellow, he was dead to the world in his chair. Now he’s warm and comfortable, he’s not going to wake up until morning, no matter what we do.”

Dean forced himself to continue breathing slowly and regularly, but his heart beat faster as he speculated as to what Nell wanted to do.

Ivy tried to interrupt, but Nell continued, “Besides, I don’t care if he does hear.”

“Nell!” Ivy sounded scandalised. Dean was intrigued.

“Well, it’s his fault I’ve been walking around half dressed, wound tighter than a spring. I was this close when he knocked on the door.”

“I know,” Ivy said, her tone soothing, “I know, but—”

Nell cut her off. “Maybe I should wake him up and make him finish the job.”

Dean’s eyes snapped open, but he managed not to move, staring into the flames.

“All right,” Ivy said, “All right, but you’re going to have to be quiet.”

Dean heard the distinctive sound of a kiss.

“Me!” Nell giggled and Ivy shushed her. “You’re the screamer.”

Dean got the distinct impression that Ivy had shut her up with a kiss. He heard the slide of bodies on blankets, the soft, wet sounds of lips on skin, a catch of breath. He watched the fire as their breathing grew louder, more erratic, movements faster, more urgent, and Dean felt his body tighten in response. Someone said, “Yes,” on a breath, then there was a long, whispered moan that made Dean twitch, his cock uncomfortably hard in the confines of his trousers.

“Feeling better?” Ivy asked, and Nell giggled again.

“Much better.” There was the sound of blankets and the shuffle of bodies before Nell continued, “Are you sure we shouldn’t invite him over here to play too?”

Say yes,
Dean thought desperately, shifting his hips to try and relieve the pressure.
Please say yes.

“Go to sleep, Nell,” Ivy said, and they settled down, their breathing gradually slowing to the evenness of deep sleep.

Dean watched the flames. He was wide awake, hard and aching, but at least he wasn’t cold anymore.

Chapter Three

“I still think we should’ve made Dean do the heavy lifting in bed last night,” Nell said, forking feed down to the cow while Ivy milked.

“We don’t know anything about him,” Ivy said, not looking up, her forehead against the warm flank of the cow. “And besides, you’d only be disappointed if you had.”

Nell slid down the ladder, skipping most of the rungs. “I don’t know about that.” She scooped up the egg basket and started hunting eggs. “Just because Chuck was a brute doesn’t mean all men are. I think we should give this one a test run. After all, it isn’t as though any of us are going anywhere for a while.” Nell found an egg in a wooden bucket, placed it in the basket then kept searching. Eggs were few and far between in the winter, and she definitely didn’t want to miss any.

“We still don’t know what he’s even doing here, Nell.” Ivy got up from the stool, carefully lifting the pail of steaming milk. “I think perhaps we’d better find out how he ended up on our mountain before you start ripping his clothes off.” She untied the cow and gave her a pat. “In fact, I think we’d best be getting back into the house, makes me nervous leaving him in there all alone.”

Nell spotted two more eggs tucked in the corner. “And now I have three eggs, so we can each have one for breakfast!” She held up the egg basket triumphantly.

Ivy unlatched the barn door and the wind blew it open, narrowly missing her as it hit the wall with a bang. The chickens squawked and fluttered away from the noise and the windblown snow.

“It’s not letting up, is it?” Nell raised her voice over the howl of the wind and followed Ivy out into the storm. She heaved on the barn door, grateful that it latched behind her the first time. Whatever else you could say about Ivy’s husband, Chuck, he certainly built a solid barn, and Nell was as grateful for that as she was that he’d disappeared.

Nell tucked her chin into her collar and tipped her head into the wind, attempting to keep her face away from the blowing snow. She hugged the basket to her chest to protect it and followed Ivy towards the house, lifting her knees high to clear the drifts. The swirling blizzard made it hard to see, and Nell was grateful they didn’t have far to go to get to the house—any farther and it would’ve been easy to get lost, to walk past the warm and safe cabin and wander helplessly in the storm. It really was a miracle that Dean had managed to find them.

In front of her, Ivy shoved open the door and ducked inside. Nell followed, nearly falling sideways as the wind she’d been braced against disappeared when she crossed the threshold. Ivy hurried to set the milk pail on the table and Nell struggled with the door, before finally putting the eggs on the floor to free up her hands and put the bar into place.

Nell leaned against the door and froze.

Dean stood at the sideboard. He’d taken of his shirt, and his trousers sat low on his lean hips, the braces hanging. Nell hadn’t seen all that many shirtless men, but she was relatively certain they didn’t all have such broad shoulders, or so many muscles.

“What are you doing?” Nell asked, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Ivy turn away from the table, the milk strainer in her hand.

Dean held up a razor and grinned, showing dimples. Nell hadn’t noticed the dimples the night before, but then he hadn’t smiled the night before, at least, not like that. “Just thought I’d clean up for you ladies, I hope you don’t mind me using the wash basin.”

Nell didn’t answer, having just noticed the smattering of dark hair that trailed down his belly, disappearing in his trousers.

“Of course,” Ivy answered for her. “You’re looking much revived this morning, Mr Rook.”

“Please, call me Dean.” He flashed Ivy his dimples, and Nell’s face felt hot, all memory of the blizzard erased from her cheeks. “It must’ve been your fine soup, Miss Ivy, as I am feeling like my own self again.”

Ivy set the strainer down and began stripping off her outside clothes, apparently unaffected by Dean and his dimples and his muscles. Nell didn’t see how she could carry on like there wasn’t a half-naked man in their home, but then, she’d had more experience with half-naked—or entirely naked—men than Nell had.

Nell watched Dean resume his ablutions, scraping the straight blade along the strong edge of his jaw with skill and confidence. His hands were big and strong, with wide fingers and broad palms, and Nell wondered what they’d feel like touching her, tangling in her hair, cupping her breasts. She started unwinding her scarf. Suddenly, it was too warm in there to be wearing all her outside clothes.

“So,” Dean said, making Nell jump and forcing her mind away from the things he could be doing with his hands. “How is it that you ladies find yourselves all alone so far up this mountain?”

“We’re not alone,” Ivy said shortly, setting the milk in a cupboard to let the cream separate. “We live here together, and we are quite capable of looking after ourselves.”

Dean’s eyes flickered to Ivy’s Sharps, back on its rack near the door. “I don’t doubt that for a moment,” he said, “but there was a man here, once.” He held up the razor. “Or you probably wouldn’t have had this.”

Ivy didn’t look up, rattling through the cupboards in search of something, Nell wasn’t sure what. “My husband’s,” she said when she surfaced, the skillet in her hands. “He’s gone.”

When Ivy used that tone of voice, Nell knew that it meant she wasn’t interested in allowing any further questions, but Dean had no such experience to draw on. “Gone where?”

“Just gone.” Ivy sighed and turned to face him, one hand on her hip. “He went last summer on a short trip for supplies. He never returned. When I went to find him, he’d never arrived in town. On that same trip, I met Nell, and she was in a bad spot and needed a place to stay. We came home, found we were quite…compatible.” She gave Nell a half smile, one that fell off her face as she addressed Dean again. “My husband has been gone for a year and a half now, and Nell and I are doing very well up here on our mountain. Does that answer all your questions?”

Dean tipped his head to one side. “Most of them.”

“Good. Now then.” Ivy leaned against the edge of the table. “How is it you found yourself on our doorstep last night?”

Dean reached for his shirt, much to Nell’s disappointment. “That’s a pretty long story.”

Ivy gestured at the snow blowing past the window, obscuring everything but the swirling white. “I believe we have plenty of time. Besides, I told you a story, it’s only fair that you return the favour.”

Dean’s gaze darted between them so quickly that if Nell hadn’t been watching—all right, staring—she’d have missed it. “I got lost in the blizzard.”

“I believe last night you said that you were on the run,” Ivy said, turning back and setting the skillet on the stove top.

“Did I?” Dean buttoned his shirt, his brow furrowed. Nell admired the way his dark hair fell across his forehead. “I must’ve been more out of it than I thought.”

“You did indeed,” Ivy said. “Nell, would you bring me those eggs?”

“Eggs?” Dean asked. “You got real live eggs way up here?”

Nell held out the basket. “From real live chickens.” She handed them to Ivy. “They’re few and far between this time of year though, we’re lucky to get one each this morning.”

Dean strode across the room to peer over Ivy’s shoulder as she cracked the eggs into the pan. “I can’t remember the last time I had a fresh egg.”

“This is your lucky day then, Mr Rook, for you shall have an egg for breakfast.” Ivy held a wooden spoon under his nose. “Assuming, of course, that you tell us what you’re really doing here.”

Dean chuckled, and Nell enjoyed the deep, warm sound. “Bribery?”

“We’ll try that first,” Ivy said, turning her back to him. “If that doesn’t work we’ll try something else.”

“I’m intrigued.” Dean’s gaze drifted down Ivy’s body. “Coercion, maybe?”