"Now it's a bet," he said.

8

"How's it going?" Cash asked.

Mariah looked up from the last fish that remained to be cleaned. "Better for me than for the trout."

He laughed and watched as she prepared the fish for the frying pan with inexpert but nonetheless effective swipes of his filleting knife.

Cash had expected Mariah to balk at paying off the bet, or at the very least to sulk over it. Instead, she had attacked the fish with the same lack of complaint she had shown for sleeping on the shack's cold, drafty floor. Only her unconscious sigh of relief as she rinsed the last fish – and her hands – in the icy stream told Cash how little she had liked the chore.

"I'll do the dishes," he said as she finished.

"Not a chance. It's the only way I'll get the smell of fish off my hands."

Cash grabbed one of Mariah's hands, held it under his nose and inhaled dramatically. "Smells fine to me."

"You must be hungry."

"How did you guess?"

"You're alive," she said, laughing up at him.

Smiling widely, Cash grabbed the tin plate of fish in one hand. The other still held Mariah's water-chilled fingers. He pulled her to her feet with ease.

"Lady, you have the coldest hands of any woman I've ever known."

"Try me after I've done the dishes," she retorted.

He smiled down at her. "Okay."

Mariah's stomach gave a tiny little flip that became a definite flutter when Cash pulled her fingers up his body and tucked them against the warm curve of his neck. Whether it was his body heat or the increased beating of her own heart, Mariah's fingers warmed up very quickly. She slanted brief, sideways glances at Cash as they walked toward the line shack, but he apparently felt that warming her cold hands on his body was in the same category as helping her over rough spots in the trail – no big deal. Certainly it wasn't something for him to go all breathless over.

But Mariah was. Breathless. Each time Cash touched her she felt strange, almost shaky, yet the sensations shimmering through her body were very sweet. Even as she wondered if Cash felt the same, she discarded the idea. He was so matter-of-fact about any physical contact that it made her response to it look foolish.

"Listen," Cash said, stopping suddenly.

Mariah froze. From the direction of Devil's Peak came a low, fluid, rushing sound, as though there were a river racing by just out of sight. Yet she knew there wasn't.

"What is it?" she whispered.

"Wind. See? It's bending the evergreens on the slope like an invisible hand stroking fur. The rain is about a quarter mile behind."

Mariah followed the direction of his pointing finger and saw that Cash was right. Heralded by a fierce, transparent cataract of wind, a storm was sweeping rapidly toward them across the slope of Devil's Peak.

"Unless you want the coldest shower you ever took," Cash said, "stretch those long legs."

A crack of thunder underlined Cash's words. He grabbed the plate of fish from Mariah and pushed her in the direction of the cabin.

"Run for it!"

"What about you?"

"Move, lady!"

Mariah bolted for the cabin, still feeling the imprint of Cash's hand on her bottom, where he had emphasized his command with a definite smack. She barely beat the speeding storm back to the line shack's uncertain shelter.

Cash, who had the plate of slippery fish to balance, couldn't move as quickly as Mariah. The difference in reaching shelter was only a minute or two, but it was enough. He got soaked. Swearing at the icy rain, Cash bolted through the line shack's open door and kicked it shut behind him. Water ran off his big body and puddled around his feet.

"Put all the stuff that has to stay dry over there," Cash said loudly, trying to be heard over the hammering of rain on the roof.

Mariah grabbed bedding, clothes and dry food and started stacking them haphazardly in the corner Cash had indicated. He set aside the fish and disappeared outside again. Moments later he returned, his arms piled high with firewood. The wood dripped as much as he did, adding to the puddles that were appearing magically on the floor in every area of the cabin but one – the corner where Mariah was frantically storing things. Cash dumped the firewood near the hearth and went back outside again. Almost instantly he reappeared, arms loaded with wood once more. With swift, efficient motions he began stacking the wood according to size.

"Don't forget the kindling," he said without looking up.

Quickly Mariah rescued a burlap sack of dry pine needles and kindling from the long tongue of water that was creeping across the floor. Before the puddle could reach the dry corner, gaps in the wooden planks of the floor drained the water away.

"At least it leaks on the bottom, too," Mariah said.

"Damn good thing. Otherwise we'd drown."

Thunder cracked and rolled down from the peak in an avalanche of sound.

"What about the horses?" Mariah asked.

"They'll get wet just like they would at the home corral."

Cash stood up and shook his head, spraying cold drops everywhere.

"We had a dog that used to do that," Mariah said. "We kept him outside when it rained. In Seattle, that was most of the time."

She started to say something else, then forgot what it was. Cash was peeling off his flannel shirt and arranging it on a series of nails over the hearth. The naked reality of his strength fascinated her. Every twist of his body, every motion, every breath, shifted the masculine pattern of bone and muscle, sinew and tendon, making new arrangements of light and shadow, strength and grace.

"Is something wrong?" Cash said, both amused and aroused by the admiration in Mariah's golden eyes.

"Er… you're steaming."

"What?"

"You're steaming."

Cash held out his arms and laughed as he saw that Mariah was right. Heat curled visibly up from his body in the line shack's chilly air.

"I'll get you a shirt before you freeze," Mariah said, turning back to the haphazard mound she had piled in the corner. She rummaged about until she came up with a midnight-blue shirt that was the color of Cash's eyes in the stormy light. "I knew it was here."

"Thanks. Can you find some jeans, too?"

The voice came from so close to Mariah that she was startled. She glanced around and saw bare feet not eight inches away. Bare calves, too. And knees. And thighs. And – hastily she looked back at the pile of dry goods, hoping Cash couldn't see the sudden color burning on her cheeks or the clumsiness of her hands.

But Cash saw both the heat in Mariah's cheeks and the trembling of her fingers as she handed him dry jeans without looking around.

"Sorry," he said, taking the jeans from her and stepping into them. "In these days of co-ed dorms, I didn't think the sight of a man in underwear would embarrass you."

"There's rather a lot of you," Mariah said in an elaborately casual voice, then put her face in her hands. "I didn't mean it the way it sounded. It's just that you're bigger than most men and… and…"

"Taller, too," Cash said blandly.

Mariah made a muffled sound behind her hands, and then another.

"You're laughing at me," he said.

"No, I'm strangling on my feet."

"Try putting them in your mouth only one at a time. It always works for me."

Mariah gave up and laughed out loud. Smiling, Cash listened to her laughter glittering through the drumroll of rain on the roof. He was still smiling when he went down on one knee in front of the fire and stirred it into life.."

"What do you say to an early dinner and a game of cards?" Cash asked.

"Sure." What kind of game?"

"Poker." Is there any other kind?"

"Zillions. Canasta and gin and Fish and Old Maid and-"