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me. The only original artwork I’ve got are those paint-by-number-kit things. Oh. And a black-velvet rendition of Elvis.”
    Darn it. He’d made her chuckle again. “Got a houseful of those, do you?”
    â€œMaybe not a houseful.” She felt his gaze on her face in the firelight. “So…what happened?”
    â€œWhat happened when?”
    â€œWhat happened, that you got a divorce. You talk up the guy like he was the cat’s meow, a woman’s romantic dream. And you were living the high life in fantastic places. Yet something obviously had to go wrong, or you’d still be with him.”
    â€œOh, no. I’ve spilled all I’m going to spill for one night. Your turn next. And if this storm is going to be anywhere near as bad as I’m afraid of, we’ll be marooned here for another day or two—so we’ll have more time to talk than either of us probably wants. For the immediate future—do you need a trip to the library but are too embarrassed to tell me?”
    â€œI’ll deal with a trek to the library after you go to sleep.”
    â€œWell, that’s the problem, Mr. Teague Larson,” she said patiently. “I’m completely dead on my feet. Which means I’m going to conk out in this chair any second now. I’m supposed to call the sheriff every few hours, report how you are. And I’m supposed to wake you up every two hours and look in your eyes, check the size of your pupils. Only, I’m afraid that I’m not going to get either of those things done. I’m losing it, I can tell.So if you need some help getting into the bathroom, you need to tell me now.”
    â€œI don’t need help.”
    â€œYeah, you do. But I’m not up for bullying you. I’m warning you, this is your last call for free help.” She yawned, as if to punctuate how tired she was. And that was the last thing she remembered.

Three
    T eague had to grin. When that woman slept, she slept. She’d been right in the middle of talking when her eyelids suddenly closed and she snugged her cheek in the side of the chair. Two blinks later she was snoring. Not big, noisy, guy snores, but whispery little snores. The kind a woman makes when she was end-of-her-rope tired.
    Teague figured it was the perfect time to hightail it into the bathroom—finally. Contrary to what Daisy thought, he wasn’t embarrassed. He was a grown man, for heaven’s sake. But the truth was, the only way he could make it into the bathroom was by crawling on all fours. The bump on his head ached and stung, but that wasn’t the worst problem. As long as he only moved slowly—and didn’t laugh—the head wound wasn’t bugging him too much. His swollen right ankle was givinghim fits, though. At least for tonight there was no chance of his walking on it.
    Teague had asked for help in his life. He was almost sure of it, even if he couldn’t remember a single occasion specifically. For damn sure, though, he wasn’t asking a woman, as if he were some kind of needy, sickly, dependent type.
    So he crawled into the bathroom, at an extremely annoying snail’s pace. Then he had to sit on the blue-tiled floor until his head stopped spinning and he stopped sweating from the exertion. Eventually, though, he took care of nature, brushed his teeth, managed a reasonably efficient sponge bath, and then crawled back into the living room.
    The wind howled louder than ever, or maybe the intense darkness made it seem that way. Eerie shrieky sounds seemed to seep through the walls and whistle through the cracks. Teague hesitated at the couch, but rather than climb back up there, he carted the pillow and blanket closer to the fire. The yellow blaze was dancing-hot, but wouldn’t last all night. He figured he could feed it easier through the wee hours if he was already located on the carpet, closer to the hearth.
    He used a log from the stack of cut wood