"Take the black truck. Take extra supplies. Take anything you need to get the job done right, including time. For once we're not shorthanded. In other words, don't hurry back."

Sensing the buried amusement in Ten's voice, Nevada watched closely as his brother disappeared up the stairway, carrying the utterly relaxed child.

Abruptly Nevada turned away and went to the bunkhouse. He packed what he would need, set his mental alarm clock for five hours of sleep and crawled into his cold bunk, trying not to remember what it had been like to hold Eden for just a few moments in his arms in an isolated cabin when she had been disturbed by his dark, unremembered dreams.

Nevada slept quickly. deeply, and he did not remember his dreams. Five hours later he awakened, dressed, and went to the black pickup truck. When he opened the door, a mйlange of fragrances greeted him – Carla's chocolate chip cookies and Mariah's fudge brownies, a sack of freshly baked biscuits and a kettle of hearty beef stew that would feed him for several days.

The corner of Nevada's mouth turned up as Ten's words came back to him: Don't tell that to the Rocking M women. Luke, Cash and I would hate like hell to give up our ration of cuddling!

Something told Nevada that the women enjoyed it, too.

*

By the time Nevada had negotiated the final washout on the abandoned logging road, he was beginning to wonder how Eden had managed the trip in the first place. If it hadn't been for the signs of her vehicle tracks, he would have sworn that no one had been over the road since the logging operation had been shut down a decade ago. In an emergency, it would be impossible to get to the cabin quickly – or to get away from it.

The anxiety that had been gnawing at Nevada ever since he had left Eden increased as the truck bumped and labored over the rutted, slushy track. He told himself there was no reason for him to be concerned about Eden's welfare. There had been no new storms, no word of strangers in the high country, nothing to set his mind to worrying. Even if there had been, Baby was a formidable bodyguard and Eden had been very much at home in the wild. Rationally, Nevada knew he didn't need to worry about her.

But he wasn't feeling very rational at the moment.

Eden haunted him like an echo down a lonely canyon, touching hidden places that even the sun couldn't reach. Nevada knew he wouldn't have any peace of mind until he assured himself that Eden was all right.

Impatient with himself for his own foolishness, Nevada braked to a stop in front of the isolated cabin. Beyond the cabin, the open, sparse forest began. Even before he turned off the engine, the anxiety that had been driving him intensified. There was smoke rising from the chimney but no one was coming out to greet him. Light green eyes noted every detail of the cabin. Though the weather had been clear, the only tracks Nevada could see in the melting snow went from the cabin around to the outhouse in back, with a single set of tracks detouring to the woodpile.

Eden hadn't left the cabin for anything but absolute necessities.

I knew it. Damn it, I never should have left her alone. Accidents happen. Hell, one happened to me!

Nevada left the truck and reached the cabin door in three long strides. He opened the door and automatically shut it behind him. Baby whined and rumbled a greeting.

"Hi," Eden said, then coughed before continuing in a raspy voice. "Baby told me company was coming, but he didn't say who."

Dressed in the long, scarlet ski underwear she used as pajamas, Eden was kneeling in front of the hearth, raking up the coals of last night's fire. Her hair was tangled and her normally luminous skin was the color of chalk except for the fever flags flying across her high cheekbones. With less than her usual ease, Eden pushed herself slowly to her feet.

"Sit down," she said, gesturing toward a camp chair. "It will be a few minutes until the coffee is ready."

"You're sick," Nevada said flatly, starting toward her.

"It's just-"

Eden's explanation ended in a startled sound as Nevada lifted her off her feet and returned her to her mattress and bedding without so much as a word of warning. Gently, implacably, he stuffed her under the covers. Against the dullness of her skin, her eyes appeared unnaturally brilliant.

"Nevada, what-"

Again Eden's words ended in a startled sound. Nevada's hands were beneath her ears, moving below her chin line and down her neck, probing gently, checking for swollen glands.

"Tender?" he asked curtly.

Wordlessly Eden shook her head. Nevada's eyes were so close, so intent, so beautiful in their concern. Her breath came in raggedly and she shivered at the feel of his hands touching her. Two long, elegantly masculine fingers settled over the pulse in her throat and pressed gently.

"Strong but much too fast," Nevada said.

Eden remembered taking Nevada's pulse and feeling it accelerate at her touch. She smiled crookedly and began to give his words back to him.

"If you were a woman-" she began.

"I'm not," he cut in.

"Yes. Definitely. There's a direct correlation between your masculinity and my pulse rate."

For a moment Eden would have sworn that Nevada was surprised. If he was, he recovered instantly.

"Feeling sassy, are we?" he asked in a dry voice.

"I can't speak for you, but in my case any sassiness is temporary."

"I'm glad you realize it. If your temperature isn't about a hundred and two, I'll eat that bedroll."

Eden let out a shaky breath. "Please don't. Even with Baby as a bunkmate I'd get awfully cold."

At the sound of his name, Baby came over, stuck his outrageously cold nose against Eden's neck and whimpered softly. She lifted her hands and rubbed the wolf's big head. Nevada felt a chill condense along his spine when he saw the trembling of her fingers. The pressure of her hands barely dented the wolf's thick fur.

"Damn it, Eden, you're as weak as a baby."

Eyes closed, she shook her head and smiled in Nevada's general direction. "It's just flu. I've survived much worse."

"Not when you were living alone in a cold cabin at the butt end of nowhere," Nevada said harshly.

"Wrong," she said, sighing, no longer fighting her exhaustion. "The last time I was sick I was living in a Yukon cabin that could teach cold to a glacier."

"What?"

"Mom and Dad were Alaskan homesteaders who believed in doing things the hard way."

"They left you alone when you were sick?" Nevada asked in disbelief.

"Dad was working the trap line and Mom was helping Mrs. Thompson with her new baby. Besides, it was just a cold and Mark was there, too. Then Mark's ski-doo went through the river ice in front of the cabin…"

Eden's voice faded into a yawn. When she spoke again Nevada had to lean down to hear her slow words.

"By the time I helped him home… got his arm splinted… We were pretty sorry puppies for a day or two." She yawned again. "But we made it just fine."

"Splinted his arm?" Nevada asked.

Eden mumbled something that Nevada couldn't understand. Then she shivered and rolled onto her side, wrapping covers around herself.

With a few quick movements Nevada peeled off his heavy shearling coat and put it over her. Then he went to work on the fire. A few minutes later burnished orange flames leaped above the wood, sending heat into the room. With the competence of a man who has spent a lot of time cooking over open fires, Nevada went to work putting together a rich soup.

When Nevada turned back to Eden, she had drifted into a feverish sleep. Frowning, Nevada sat on his heels next to her, watching her intently. Though Eden's skin and lips were dry, she showed no sign of real dehydration. And while her color was chalky, it had none of the ash-gray or yellow tones of serious illness.