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with him.
    Thank goodness he’d passed out. She could just imagine his reaction when he awoke to discover it was Mad Mag he’d been kissing in that bed.
    Her hands paused on his back, the thought of facing his scorn twisting her stomach into a painful knot. She hadn’t just allowed him to kiss her, she’d reveled in the bursts of pleasing sensation, the shocking intimacy of his deep kiss.
    Shame washed through her. Good God. What would he think of her?
    Same as everyone else, she supposed. Tears stung her eyes, a reaction that stunned her.
    This time she’d finally earned the moniker Mad Mag.

Chapter Four
    G arret woke to the aroma of stewed meat and the telltale bubbling of something simmering on the stove. He blinked several times, and still he stared up at a high stone ceiling. His gaze swept over rock walls, a black stove to his right…none of it the slightest bit familiar.
    His stomach growled, the tantalizing scent drawing his gaze back to the bubbling kettle. Licking his dry lips he glanced at the wood front of what appeared to be someone’s home. A lamp to his right and another beyond the foot of the bed created soft circles of light, brightening the dank surroundings.
    Where the hell am I?
    He pushed up onto his elbows and had to stifle a groan. His body ached as though he hadn’t moved in ages. Pain pulsed through his skull, radiating from the left side. He reached up and touched a tender spot above his forehead and discovered a small lump and what felt like a gash beneath his hair. The movement wafted him with a clean, sweet scent. He paused and sniffed his arm.
    “Wildflowers?”
    Sapphire eyes and black hair against delicate ivory skin surfaced in his mind.
    The woman. She’d stayed nearby, stroking his skin, encouraging him to drink.
    Rest, Garret. You have a fever.
    The soft, husky voice tantalized his memory with the alluring scent of her skin, her silky softness beneath his lips.
    “A dream,” he muttered. The only safe place to love a woman.
    He pushed the wool blanket aside and froze, surprise prickling through him. He wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing. His gaze skated around the room, searching every shadowed corner. He was alone. In the corner beside the stove was a rumpled blanket and tooth-scrapped bone. Wherever his caretaker had gone, she’d taken his dog. Why was he here? If he was sick, why wasn’t he in his own bed? And yet…he didn’t recall getting sick. For all he knew some woman had knocked him from his saddle and dragged him to her bed.
    Her delicate feminine features surfaced in his mind.
    A man could suffer a worse fate.
    Another glance around the rough rock walls snuffed that thought. He doubted the delicate creature of his dreams would live in such desolate surroundings. Had he dreamed up her pretty face to match the soothing voice and gentle hands that had been caring for him?
    He shifted his feet to the floor with silent caution. His bare toes touched down on a cold, smooth surface.
    Polished wood? He glanced again at the tidy space, noting the canisters, boxes and stacked dishes lined up all nicelike on the wide-set shelves, the stack of blankets folded at the foot of the bed. He’d known a couple of miners who’d carved out similar dwellings—but he’d never known any miner to be quite so tidy. Every breath drew in a clean floral scent and the mouthwatering aroma of stew.
    How the hell had he gotten here? He closed his eyes, trying to remember. Last he could recall he’d been riding range…he’d ridden home at noon and— Duce. He’d been looking forDuce. His business partner hadn’t made it in for the noontime meal. The way the countryside had been strewn with violence and mishaps lately, too many ranchers turning up dead and a storm rolling in…
    Chills prickled his skin as he recalled the cold, whipping rain washing out horse tracks he’d followed into the hills—old panic clenched his chest.
    He hadn’t found Duce.
    Garret shot to his feet, pulling