She thought she heard him chuckle, deep in his throat, as he turned Buck toward home.
“Hang on,” he warned.
Amanda grabbed the saddle horn, even though there wasn’t any way she could have slid off, cushioned as she was by Jake’s body. The snow stung her cheeks. The cold numbed her fingers. But she had to close her eyes against the surprising warmth in her belly, the tight pleasure in her chest at the feeling of Jake hard against her.
“Why didn’t you drive a four-wheel up here?” she asked. The wind whipped her words away until she could hardly hear them. She should have thought more about wearing a hat, too. Her ears were red.
“Because a truck can’t smell the barn,” Jake informed her, his lips only millimeters from her left ear. His hat brushed her hair. Amanda could almost feel his stubbled jaw alongside hers.
She turned to challenge him. “He can’t smell the barn in this stuff.”
“Never been lost on him, yet,” he assured her. “Where are your gloves?”
She grimaced. “Boston.”
“Fine place for ‘em to be when the blizzard’s in Wyoming.”
“A blizzard?” she asked, her voice very small. “Really?”
Amanda could feel the force of his glare. “Good thing I thought to come for you. We would have found you along about Fourth of July with all the other dumb greenhorns.”
“I’m not a dumb greenhorn,” she protested, trying to hold on to the saddle horn, her dulcimer and the waterproof bag with her notes, floppy discs and underwear without bumping into Jake. “I can handle myself just fine. We just don’t have blizzards in West Virginia.”
“No kidding.”
They bumped along as Buck picked his way through the blinding snow.
“Here.”
He was tugging off his gloves, thick, leather gloves as beaten and worn as his boots.
Amanda closed her free hand over his. “No. Leave them on.”
“Don’t be stupid, Amanda. You’ll get frostbite.”
“And you’re immune? This is your horse, bud. Not mine. You can’t feel your hands anymore, and you’re not going to be able to steer. And then both of us’ll be found on the Fourth of July.”
“Buck knows the way better than I do. Now, take the gloves.”
“Is all your livestock in?”
He didn’t answer right away. The wind battered them, and the snow slithered down exposed collars to dampen shirts. Amanda had never been so miserable in her life. She would have sold rights to her next manuscript for those gloves. But she damn well wasn’t taking them from Jake Kendall.
“No,” she answered for him. “They’re not. So when we get back—” she couldn’t even say what she was thinking,ifwe get back “—I doubt sincerely that Clovis is going to want to see me out there herding cattle.”
“Horses.”
“Whatever. Keep the damn gloves.”
“What about your hat?”
“I’m not taking that, either, so shut up.”
“Are you always this pleasant to people who rescue you?”
Amanda couldn’t help a grin even as she did her best to bury herself more deeply into a wool coat that was much better suited for hailing taxis in New York than crossing frigid meadows in Wyoming. “Only if they were just as pleasant when I made sure they weren’t hurt too badly.”
He chuckled again, a rumble that felt almost like a purr against Amanda’s back. “Touché.” She felt him moving against her again. “All right, do this. At least take my scarf and wrap it around your head. My hat’ll protect me. Tie your bags to the saddle horn and stuff your hands up your sleeves. Don’t worry about holding on, I’ll hold on to you.”
