SNOWFIRES Read Online Free PDF Page A

veins. A spiral of heat coiled in her abdomen
and warm moisture seeped to the juncture of her thighs.
    His harsh voice shattered her fantasy world.
"Damn, I should never have let you go with me to the barn. I should
be shot for exposing you to these conditions."
    She blinked and took a deep breath, exhaling
slowly. Back in the present, she leaned forward. "It was my choice,
remember? I knew how cold it was, but saw no alternative. Besides,
you must have been just as cold."
    "No, I'm used to the outdoors, or was until a
few months ago. Besides, I have on heavy boots and warm socks."
With that he stretched toward the oven and snagged the socks. Just
as gently as he had massaged, he rolled both pairs of the warmed
woolen socks onto her feet. Pure bliss.
    "Do you think you can tolerate Martin's boots
yet? You need to keep your feet warm."
    At her nod, he helped her slip into the
oversized boots. Even with two pairs of socks, the boots were
large.
    "Now let me see your hands."
    "They're fine now." In the wake of her
traitorous fantasy, she couldn’t meet Trent's gaze.
    He reached for her hands and held them
between his. Not only did this warm them, it sent a slow sizzle
ricocheting through her body. How perfectly her hands fit in his,
how right it seemed to have them there.
    For a few seconds he looked at their joined
hands, then slowly raised his beautiful emerald eyes to gaze into
hers. A current of shared awareness as strong as a bolt of
lightning shot between them. He looked as shocked as she was.
    With a gasp, he placed her hands in her lap
and picked up the towels and pan of water. "Well, um, you should
sit there a few minutes before you try to walk. I'll just clean up
this mess, and, um, feed the cat and dog."
    She experienced a tearing loss as he broke
physical contact and wanted to call him back. Searching for
anything to recover from the intimacy of his look, his touch or the
sound of his voice, Holly seized on the subject of the animals.
"That poor dog would have frozen if we hadn't come when we
did."
    He answered without looking at her. "Yeah,
for a watchdog, he seemed awfully glad to see us. His name is Blue
and the cat is Socks."
    She rose and tested her feet. Far less than
normal, especially in the awkward-sized boots, but she clomped over
to check their dinner simmering on the stove. Curiosity caused her
to push the issue he avoided earlier.
    "You must have lived on a farm at one time."
Her eyes accused him. "You knew how to take care of all those
animals, even how to mix that feed."
    "Yeah. You could say I lived on a farm." His
mouth formed a grim line, his jaw clenched.
    "Did your parents own a farm?" She knew he
wanted to drop the subject of his past, but couldn't stop
herself.
    He shrugged. "I have no idea. Never knew
them."
    How sad, she thought. Perhaps his
grandparents raised him. Her own Grayson grandparents certainly
eased her life, especially since the death of her mother. "But you
must have lived on a farm with someone."
    "Humph. Slaved is a more appropriate term for
the time I spent on a farm. For four years I mucked out barns and
chicken sheds, fed animals, harvested feed, did the work of two
men."
    "Oh. That’s why you knew what to do. I see."
No wonder he never talked about his personal life. She’d intruded
when all she intended was conversation. No, she admitted, to be
honest she wanted more than conversation. She wanted to know
everything about this man who so fascinated yet repelled her.
    "Do you?" He shook his head. "I doubt it.
Since you persist in asking, I bounced from foster home to foster
home, some in town and some on farms. When I was twelve I landed
with an oh-so-kind family who needed a farm hand. In fact, they
needed two farm hands, so I was allowed to fill both
positions."
    "No wonder you hate farm work. So, when you
were sixteen, you what?"
    "I left. I was tall even then. Although the
food was scarce and poorly prepared, the heavy farm work muscled me
up. I hitched, sometimes