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Mitchell trudged through the piling snow, bemoaning the loss of his solitude for the next few days. Given the weather and the distance between his cabin and the nearest towns of Billings and Willow Springs, it looked like he would have a guest for the next few days. He wasn’t happy about that; the month of February was still difficult for him two years following his wife, Abbie’s lost battle with cancer. This was his first winter in Montana, and he’d been looking forward to these few days away from his new practice as the encroaching memories pushed the heartache he kept tucked away to the surface.
Tabling his irritation, he breathed a sigh of relief for the break in heavy snowfall as he emerged from the woods and sloughed through the already several feet of cold accumulation toward the stranded car still puffing out exhaust from the running engine. The lull wouldn’t last, so it was imperative he get the occupants back to his place as quickly as possible.
The driver’s side door creaked open as he reached the back end, his annoyance with the woman struggling to release her seatbelt dropping away when he eyed her pale, bruised face. The car hadn’t landed buried in the snow wall with enough impact to open the airbag, and the snug fit of the seatbelt would have prevented those injuries from happening just now.
Mitchell got to the open door as she emerged, her gasp of pain as she bent over with an arm wrapped around her upper waist prompting him to reach for her sweater-covered arm. “Sit down. You are not going to get sick or pass out.” He pressed on her shoulder until her butt returned to the seat, her booted feet buried up to her calves in the snow. She was alone in the car, which made it easier on him to have to deal with only one unwelcome guest.
To his surprise, she glared up at him out of dark purple eyes, shaking her cloud of deep auburn hair out of h
er face as she snapped, “Says who?”
I’m not only stuck with a houseguest, but one with attitude, yet another pesky irritation. “Me.” Squatting in front of her to block the wind, he cupped her chin with a gloved hand and held her still as he examined her black eye, swollen face and cut mouth, his hand tightening at the obvious signs of abuse. “Let me guess. You walked into a door,” he drawled, figuring she would skirt the truth like most abused women.
She jerked her head and he released her to keep from causing her more stress. Her lips curled in derision as she replied, “Yeah, a door with fists.”
Her honesty surprised Mitchell and earned her brownie points despite the sarcasm. He nodded, the hot ball of anger coiling in his gut the same response he’d experienced with every case of abuse admitted into the trauma center in Denver he had headed for five years. Pushing to his feet, he curtailed the desire to question her and searched for a coat among the belongings piled on the back seat. “I can check you over at my cabin, just through the woods. Can you make it that far?”
She frowned, her eyes turning wary as she cast a look around at their desolate surroundings. “I can if I have to, but it would be foolish to follow a stranger to a secluded cabin in the woods.”
“And it wasn’t foolish to drive in this weather in a vehicle ill-equipped to handle it without ending up like this?” he returned dryly. “I’m cold and the heavy shit will start up again any moment. I’ll give you two minutes to talk to the sheriff in Willow Springs and then I’m hauling ass back to my place, with or without you.” Digging his satellite phone out of the heavy coat pocket, he punched in Grayson Monroe’s direct number, praying he caught him in. When he answered, he gave his friend a quick rundown and then thrust the phone toward her, swearing as he noticed the blue tinge to her lips despite the heat blowing inside the still idling car and his position blocking the wind. “Make it fast.”
Chapter 2
Lillian worked at concentrating on the deep voice resonating through the satellite phone her reluctant rescuer handed her, but it continued to be his gruff but concerned tone bouncing around in her head. His stern, quiet insistence she would not get sick had irritated her since he couldn’t possibly expect the nauseous bile in her throat to subside simply because he insisted. Only it had, and that was just as annoying.
“You’ll be fine with Dr. Hoffstetter, a lot better off than where you’re at now. Go with him and I’ll get a tow truck out there as soon as possible.”
Great, I have no choice but to trust a cop and doctor. What were the freaking odds of that irony? Closing her eyes, Lillian fought to get herself under control. The sheriff clicked off, leaving her no doubt he expected her to believe him and that he was about as happy with her circumstances as the tall, rugged cowboy doctor staring down at her with impatience stamped on his face. She couldn’t see his eyes shielded by the lowered brim of his hat, but there was no mistaking his taut jaw. The salt and pepper goatee framing his mouth drew her eyes to the tight press of his lips.
Left with no choice, she handed him the phone and nodded. “I can make it to your cabin. Thank you.”
“I’ll grab your coat,” he replied, working the back door open. “Anything else will have to wait a few hours, or maybe until morning.”
Lillian picked up the bank bag, sucked in a deep breath and pushed to her feet, the throbbing tenderness of her ribs making itself known again. Holding out her hip-length, all-weather coat, the astute doctor asked, “He got you in the ribs also, didn’t he?”
“Yes, but I’m okay.” Shrugging on the coat, she zipped it up, feeling warmer already.
“Let’s hope so.” Closing the car door, he took her arm and steered her toward the trees. “Walk in my path. It’ll be easier for you.”
She did, keeping her eyes down and placing her feet in the deep prints left from his trek to the car. The woods offered a small break from the cold wind and they emerged a few minutes later into a clearing. She was so cold and miserable, not to mention aching from head to toe that not even a five-star hotel could look as inviting as the rustic cabin with smoke billowing from the chimney. The doctor’s calm silence, towering height and large frame offered a comfort she didn’t think she’d needed.
Ushering her inside, he shut the door just as the heavy snowfall returned with near whiteout intensity. “Sit down and let me look at your ribs.”
So much for the comfort she’d been experiencing. His brusque, no-nonsense manner rubbed her wrong – she’d had enough of bossy men in the past month to last her a lifetime. “I appreciate your rescue,” she forced herself to say in a neutral tone, “but as I’ve said, I’m fine.”
Turning from her, he hung his coat and hat on hooks by the door, peeled off his gloves and tossed them on the table and then faced her again with his fists going to his lean hips. At five-eight, Lillian had never considered herself short, but she’d never had to crane her head back to look so far up at someone before. His thick hair matched his goatee in color, mostly silver with hints of black interspersed, and was worn long enough to curl around the collar of his dark green flannel shirt. She’d assumed his bulky coat accounted for the breadth of his shoulders, but she was wrong. His height made him appear on the lean side, but there was no mistaking the ripped, bulging muscles in his thighs as he stepped in front of her or along his hair-sprinkled forearms as he shoved up his sleeves to just below his elbows.
Cupping her chin in his warm palm, she wasn’t prepared for the jolt his tightened hold gave her. “Have you been checked out by a medical professional?”
No, I just ran from the painful heartbreak. Lillian realized the physical distance she had put between her and Salt Lake City did nothing to help her escape from the agonizing sorrow of Liana’s passing followed by the harrowing distress of Brad’s possessive temper. His point-blank question left her no room for evasion, and she wouldn’t lie. All she wanted from him right now was a few moments to lie down and gather her thoughts.
“No, I haven’t had time, but…”
“Then sit down and lift your sweater so I can check you over. Sheriff Monroe told you I’m a doctor.” Before she could blink, he divested her of her coat and pressed her shoulders until she landed on the edge of the double bed, the only piece of furniture in the miniscule cabin other than the small table, two chairs and a recliner facing the fireplace. “I’m Mitchell Hoffstetter. What’s your name?”
“Lillian, and this isn’t necessary. I’m breathing fine.” Maybe a little heavier than usual, she puzzled over as he reached for the hem of her sweater and her breathing sped up. She must be more tired than she thought if she could get flustered by this polite, but not so welcoming stranger.
Ignoring her, he remained every inch the professional as he pushed her sweater above her chest and picked up her right hand to place on the bunched-up top. “Hold it up while I unwrap you. Did you do this, or did someone help you?”
