“Denny,” J.D. whispered, snuggling deeper into the couch. She wrapped her arms around him, giving him her warmth. He still shivered from the cold. She tried not to think about what could have happened if she hadn’t found him when she did. “I love you, Denny.”
“Sure you do,” she said, her voice breaking. She held him, wondering if it was the pain or the cold that was making him delirious. “I love you, too, J.D.,” she whispered, knowing he couldn’t hear her. A lock of his hair curled down over his forehead. She pushed it back and touched his forehead. Hot. The fire beside them murmured in hushed tones; outside, the storm canceled out any thought of escape.
Denver studied J.D.’s face in the firelight and felt a sudden chill of worry. What if the horn hunters found them here now, with J.D. so sick? She’d considered going for help, but couldn’t leave him alone. They were safe from the poachers as long as the storm continued, she assured herself. But once it let up, Cal would be looking for them again. Looking for her especially.
She pressed her lips to J.D.’s forehead; his heat seared them. If only his fever would pass. Then, if he could ski on his hurt ankle. If... There were too many ifs.
He sighed in his sleep. “...love you.”
Tears came to her eyes. “Oh, J.D.”
She slipped from his arms and knelt to tuck more blankets around him. In the cabin’s tiny kitchen, she rummaged through the cabinets and came up with an old can of coffee and some powdered milk. Not much, but better than nothing. Outside, she scooped up a pan full of snow, then set it on the wood stove to heat. She felt so tired. From fueling the fires all afternoon. From skiing for miles. From running. Running scared. She still felt scared. For J.D. For them both.
Denver leaned over the counter and watched the storm through a crack in the boarded-up window. Snow stacked silently higher; by morning everything would be obliterated. Through the chink she spotted an old shed. Hope fought back her exhaustion. She gulped down a cup of the horrible coffee, then pulled the pot to the edge of the stove. Quickly she threw on her coat and boots, picked up Cal’s rifle, took one last look at J.D. to be sure he was still covered, and left.
The snow was now knee-deep. Denver stumbled through it to the weathered shed only to find the door locked. With the butt of the rifle, she broke the padlock, promising herself she would find the owner of the cabin and pay him for all the damage she’d done. Then she pushed open the door of the shed and peered into the shadowy, frigid darkness. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she smiled.
The one thing that might save them hunkered in the back of the shed, big, old and ugly—an ancient Ski-Doo snowmobile, much like one Max used to have. But what made it such a welcome sight was that it didn’t require a key, only mixed fuel. She found a gas can, half-full, and several quarts of oil.
Denver wanted to start the snowmobile to make sure it ran, but knew that wouldn’t be smart. If Cal and his friends were anywhere near, they’d hear it. No, she’d have to wait until the storm broke and just hope it would get her and J.D. to the highway. She mixed some fuel in one of the gas cans and filled the vehicle’s tank, then left, closing the door firmly behind her. She and J.D. stood a chance. If the snowmobile still worked.
Trudging through the snow to the cabin, Denver held the rifle, ready for the slightest movement from out of the storm. All the way back, she expected Cal or Lester to appear. Smoke curled up from the chimney to blend with the grayness of the storm. On the porch, she took one last look out into the falling snow, then slipped inside.
J.D. had drifted off to sleep, no longer shivering. After checking the door to make sure it was bolted and the shutter was firmly nailed back over the broken window, Denver curled up on the couch beside J.D., Cal’s rifle on the floor next to her, and waited for sleep to take her. She didn’t have to wait long.
* * *
J.D. woke to find a fire blazing in the fireplace and Denny asleep beside him on the couch. The heat made his eyelids heavy and he started to drift back into the fairyland of sleep. A flash of memory—skiing, the whiteout, Denny—forced his eyes open again. He pushed himself up on one arm and looked down at her. Strands of hair had come loose from her braid. They curled around her face, fiery red in the firelight. He brushed one back with his finger and glanced down to see that she’d found them both dry clothes. His fit better than the large old T-shirt and baggy jeans she’d scavenged up for herself. He thought about her undressing him and felt a heat that had nothing to do with the fire. Through a crack in the boarded-up windows, he could see the snow that still fell into the night.
He glanced around the sparsely furnished room, trying to put the scattered pieces of memory together. The handcrafted log furniture gave him the eerie impression that he’d been dropped into another time. The old couch frame was built of slim lodgepole pines, stripped of bark and coated with varnish to a yellowed sheen. Even the rocking chair by the fireplace was handmade. An old guitar leaned against the wall by the fireplace. Behind him, a wall divided the cabin, but he could smell coffee and knew the kitchen was on the other side.
He slipped from the couch, careful not to wake Denny. The moment he put his left foot to the floor, he remembered his ankle. Swollen and bruised, it balked at holding his weight. Denver had wrapped it. He glanced down at her again, touched by her strength and courage. And her tenderness toward him. A man who had done nothing but hurt her. He took one of the fire tools and limped his way into the kitchen.
He poured himself a cup of coffee and looked at his watch, wondering if he’d lost hours or days. It wasn’t even nine at night. But what night? Then he remembered what had woken him. A song. It played on the edge of his memory. He dug through the kitchen drawers until he found a pencil and some scratch paper. Taking his coffee with him, he went back into the living room and sat down on the hearth in front of the fire.
It took only a moment to tune the old guitar. He ran his fingers across the worn wood, wondering who owned it. Then he softly strummed a few chords, the song he’d heard in his dream coming back. He strummed some more, then scribbled notes hurriedly, afraid the music would escape.
* * *
Denver woke to music, soft and sweet as the warm flicker of the fire. She remained perfectly still, watching J.D. Completely lost in the music, he didn’t notice. As he began to sing softly, Denver let the sound lull her. The words, as gentle as a caress, brought tears to her eyes. Did he really mean the lyrics he sang? Would he truly give up everything just to be with her? She pushed herself up on one elbow to watch him play.
He stopped abruptly, killing the sound with his hand across the strings, when he realized she was awake.
“You wrote a new song,” she whispered into the quiet that followed.
He nodded, his gaze polished silver as he put down the guitar and came to kneel beside her. “It’s about you. It’s called ‘On My Way Back to Denver.’”
Her heart jitterbugged. “You’re feeling better?”
“Yes.” His look heated her face hotter than the fire.
“You were delirious earlier.” From the way he was staring at her, she wondered if he still wasn’t. “Talking crazy.”
He grinned. “Was I? What did I say?”
She looked away. “Not much.”
His hand cupped her chin and turned her face to his. “Did I say I loved you?” The firelight caught in his eyes. “When I was in the middle of that storm, I realized—”
She touched a finger to his lips. “Don’t say anything you’ll regret later.”
He smiled sadly. “Oh, Denny, I already have so many regrets. I can’t stand to add another one. I love you.” He cradled her face in his hands. “I love you, Denver McCallahan. I’ve always loved you in some way. But now...”
Tears filled her eyes to overflowing. She pulled away, getting up to go stand in front of the fireplace. Behind her, she heard J.D. sigh. She picked up her hairbrush from the hearth where she’d left it earlier and stared down at it. “We’ve been through a lot the past few days. This kind of danger sometimes makes people—”
He laughed softly. “Face how they really feel about each other?”
“‘Confused,’ is the word I would have chosen.” She turned. Just the sight of him made her weak.
“Come here, Denny.”
The fire burned hot, radiating heat across the room. She stood before the flames, her braid partially undone, her hair curled around her face. Firelight shone through the thin, worn T-shirt. She breathed raggedly, her eyes dark, her face in shadow.
J.D. caught a glimpse of the expression on her face and fought for breath. “Come here, Denny,” he said again, sliding up to sit on the couch.
She took an unsteady step toward him, his name on her lips, and dropped to the floor to kneel at his feet. He touched her hair, soft and warm. Slowly he began to unbraid it. The strands parted beneath his fingers, silken and smooth. He freed them and took the hairbrush from her hand. She turned her back to him and he began to brush the shimmering auburn waves in long, slow strokes. Again and again he ran the bristles from her scalp through the dark crimson tapestry to where her back curved to jeaned bottom. He heard her moan or maybe it was the sound of his own desire.
She leaned back into him with each stroke. Her hair fanned across his thighs; his fingers ran through the strands of liquid fire. “Denny,” he whispered. She arched back to look at him; her breasts stretched against the thin cotton T-shirt. Nipples hardened into dark points beneath the cloth. He buried his hand in her hair and pulled her head back. His mouth dropped to hers, first tentatively tasting the wetness between her lips, then plunging into the warm, moist darkness. He felt heat where the back of her head rested and told himself he should stop. As much as he loved her, he didn’t know what would happen to them tomorrow. He wanted to promise her happiness with him, but he couldn’t. He didn’t know what his own future held.
He lifted his lips from hers. Her eyes closed; she moaned softly and reached for him. Reason evaded him. He bent to take one nipple in his mouth. His tongue moistened the thin cloth. He captured the nipple gently between his teeth.
Her body jerked, making his heart pound like beats on a drum. He pulled away to look into her eyes. The fire that had been simmering in his groin burst into flame. If he was going to stop, he’d better stop now. If he slid the T-shirt up over her breasts, if his mouth touched her bare skin, he would never be able to.
“Damn, you’re so beautiful, so desirable,” he murmured. The wanting in her eyes mirrored his own and they begged him not to stop. Slowly he inched the T-shirt up over her firm, flat stomach, then over the smooth, rounded breasts, nipples silhouetted rosy pink in the firelight. He tossed the T-shirt aside and pulled her into his arms. Her hair spilled out like a dark red river across the icy whiteness of her shoulder to her breasts. He buried his hands in it and tilted her head as he pulled her down into a kiss.
Denver opened her mouth for J.D.’s demanding kiss and moaned as his lips devoured hers. She reached for the buttons on his shirt, wanting desperately to feel his chest against her naked breasts. He groaned as she began unbuttoning his shirt.
She freed the last button and slid the shirt off his shoulders. He pulled her to him. Her breasts pressed against his warm chest, setting her skin on fire as his mouth savored hers again. He dropped a kiss at a time to her neck, then her breast. She shuddered as his mouth closed over her nipple.
His eyes flamed in the firelight; her body glistened from his kisses. “Please, J.D.,” she cried, needing him inside her, needing to feel his body on hers.
“Oh, Denny, you’re so beautiful,” he whispered as he covered her mouth with his, her body with his.
With a cry, she felt him fill her. He came to her like the storm, slowly at first, like tentative snowflakes drifting earthward from the swollen clouds above. Kisses fevered and wet-slick. Bodies burning, slithering touches, cries and caresses. Then stronger, a pulsating need, a pressing and probing like the wind at the windows. The clouds opened. She rose with him, again and again, a gale of sensations wracking her body.
“J.D., oh, J.D.,” she moaned. The storm swept her along in a blinding whiteout until she cried out beneath him, felt his body pulse and tremble with the first shock of their combined passion and thought she would burst from the joy of loving him.
Bodies gleaming in the firelight, the snowstorm raging outside the cabin, she reached the zenith of another storm, heard the thunder within her. She wrapped her arms around him and held her to him as the storm subsided. He smiled down at her; her heart filled like a helium balloon.
“Never in my life have I felt anything like this,” he whispered at her temple. He raised his head to press a kiss to her swollen lips. “Never,” he said, locking onto her gaze. “I love you, Denny.”
She pulled him down to her again, smiling as she kissed him, leisurely exploring his mouth.
“You knew that day at the fire tower, didn’t you?” he asked, trailing his fingers across her skin.
“That I loved you and would never love another man the way I did you?” She smiled. “Yes.”
He shook his head, his eyes dark with his need for her. “I thought for so many years that all I needed was my music. But something was missing. I just didn’t know what it was until I saw you again.”
She lay in his arms, more contented than she’d ever thought possible. His skin felt warm and smooth against hers. She glanced toward the window, wishing they never had to leave this cabin. The snow still fell thick and white against the darkness.
“We’re safe here,” he said, caressing the silken skin at the base of her throat.
“Until the snow stops.”
The fire popped softly. Shadows danced across the ceiling to a music Denver had never heard before, but had unknowingly longed for. She looked up at him, her eyes soft and dark. He smiled as he bent to kiss her. This time the music started slowly, then caught time with the beat of her heart as she came to him again.
Later, they lay wrapped in each other’s arms as the fire died down. J.D. stared up at the shadowy darkness, listening to Denny breathing gently beside him, trying not to think about poachers or murderers. Instead, he closed his eyes and concentrated on the soft, warm feel of her skin against his, rather than on what they would have to do once the sun rose over the mountains and the storm ended.