Mountain Midwife. Cassie Miles
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with another woman, and she’d heard him tell this leggy blond stranger that she—the blond bimbo—was his baby doll.
Even now, ten years later, that memory set Rachel’s blood boiling. Before she’d departed from motorcycle man’s house, she’d gone into his garage, dumped gasoline on her leather jacket and set it on fire.
After that ride on the wild side, she should have learned. Instead, she’d gone through a series of edgy boyfriends—daredevils, rock musicians, soldiers of fortune. Like an addict, she was drawn to their intensity.
Cole was one of those guys.
True, he had risked his life to rescue her and Goldie. He wasn’t evil. But he wasn’t somebody she wanted to know better.
Using a dish towel, she wiped around the lid of the container before she opened the powdered formula. There was food for Goldie, but what about them? Searching the kitchen, she found a supply of canned food and an opened box of crackers. There was also flour and sugar and olive oil. If they got snowed in for a day or two, they wouldn’t starve to death. A day or two? The idea of being trapped with Cole both worried and excited her.
One-handed and still holding the fidgeting baby, she measured and mixed the formula. “Almost done,” she murmured to Goldie. “You’ll feel better after you eat.”
One of the reasons Rachel had moved to the mountains was to get away from sexy bad boys who would ultimately hurt her. As a midwife, she didn’t come into contact with many single men and hadn’t had a date in months. Fine with me! She preferred the calm warmth of celibacy to a fiery affair that would leave her with nothing but a handful of ashes.
Bottle in hand, she returned to the living room just as Cole stepped out of the bathroom, drying his dark blond hair with a towel. He’d changed into a sweatshirt and gray sweatpants that were too short, leaving his ankles exposed. On his feet, he wore wool socks.
“Did you take a shower?” she asked.
“A hot shower. They have one of those wall-hanging propane water heaters.”
She gazed longingly toward the bathroom. “Hot water?”
He held out his arms. “Give me the baby. I’ll feed her while you shower and change out of those wet jeans. There are clothes in the bedroom.”
That was all it took to convince her. She nodded toward the rocking chair. “Sit. Do you know how to feed an infant?”
“How hard can it be?”
“You haven’t been around babies much, have you?”
“I was an only child.”
Another piece of personal information she didn’t need to know. “Here’s how it’s done. Don’t force the nipple into her mouth. Let her take it. She’s tired and will probably drop off before she gets enough nourishment. Gently nudge with the nipple. That stimulates the sucking reflex.”
She placed Goldie in his arms and watched him. His rugged hands balanced the clear plastic bottle with a touching clumsiness. When Goldie latched onto the nipple, Cole looked up at her and grinned triumphantly. He really was trying to be helpful. She had to give him credit.
“What did you find when you went outside?” she asked. “Is it safe for us to stay here?”
“The men who were after us must have turned back. If they were still on our trail, they would have busted in here by now.”
“The blizzard saved us.”
“They won’t stop looking. Tomorrow, we’ll need to move on.”
She turned on her heel and went into the bedroom. There was only one thing she needed Cole for: survival. The sooner he was out of her life, the better.
Like the rest of the cabin, the bathroom was well-equipped and efficient. Quickly, she shed her clothes and turned on the steaming water. As soon as the hot spray hit her skin, a soothing warmth spread through her body, easing her tension. She ducked her head under the hot water. One of the benefits of short hair was not worrying about getting it wet. She would have liked to stand here for hours but wasn’t sure what sort of water system the cabin had. So she kept it quick.
As soon as she was out of the shower and wrapped in a yellow bath towel that matched the plastic shower curtain, Rachel realized her logistical dilemma. No way did she want to get back into her damp clothes. But she didn’t want to give Cole a free show by scampering from the bathroom to the bedroom wearing nothing but a towel.
Her hand rested on the doorknob. I can’t hide in here. Rachel prided herself on being a decisive woman. No nonsense. She did what was necessary without false modesty or complaint. And so she yanked open the bathroom door and strode forth, decisively. She had nothing to be ashamed of.
As she walked the few paces in her bare feet, she boldly gazed at him. In his amber eyes, she saw a flash of interest. His mouth curved in a grin.
She challenged him. “What are you staring at?”
“You.”
Her bravado collapsed. She felt very, very naked. He seemed to be looking through the towel, and she had the distinct impression that he liked the view.
Despite her determination not to scamper, she dashed into the bedroom, closed the door and leaned against it. Her heart beat fast. The warmth from the shower was replaced by an internal flush of embarrassment that rose from her throat to her cheeks. If he could decimate her composure with a single glance, what would happen if he actually touched her?
In spite of the burning inside her, she realized that the temperature in the bedroom, away from the propane fireplace, was considerably cooler than in the front room. The double bed was piled high with comforters and blankets. Would she sleep in that bed with Cole tonight? As soon as the question formed in her mind, she banished it. Sleeping with the enemy had no place on her agenda.
Inside a five-drawer bureau, she found clothing—mostly long underwear and sweats—in several sizes. It was easy to imagine a family coming to this weekend retreat for cross-country skiing or ice skating or snowmobiling. When this was over, Rachel fully intended to reimburse the cabin owners and thank them for saving her life.
After she slipped into warm sweats and socks, she eyed the bedroom door. Cole was out there, waiting. Physically, she couldn’t avoid him. But she could maintain an emotional distance. She remembered motorcycle man and the flaming leather jacket. Any involvement with Cole would lead inevitably to that same conclusion.
She straightened her shoulders. I can control myself. I will control my emotions.
She opened the door and entered the front room. Cole was still sitting in the rocking chair. Without looking up, he said, “I think Goldie’s had enough milk.”
“How many ounces are left in the bottle?”
He held it up to look through the clear plastic. “Just a little bit at the bottom.”
“Did you burp her?”
“I do that by putting her on my shoulder, right?”
“Give me the baby,” she said.
When he transferred the swaddled infant to her, their hands touched. An electric thrill raced up her arm, and she tensed her muscles to cancel the effect.
He took a step back. His baggy gray sweatsuit didn’t hide the breadth of his shoulders, his slim torso or long legs. His gaze assessed her as though deciding how to proceed. Instead of speaking, he went to the front window and peered through the gap in the green-and-blue plaid curtains. “It’s still snowing hard.”
“This morning they predicted at least a foot of new snow.” A weather report wasn’t really what was on her mind.
“It’s mesmerizing. I didn’t actually see snow falling from the sky until I was nine years old.”
“Not so pretty when you’re