I roll over and my head throbs violently. Damn, how much did I drink last night? I don’t remember hitting up the bar, and I sure as hell don’t remember going home with anyone. Opening my eyes into little slits, I peer around the unfamiliar room, looking for something that might bring back some memories.

The flannel blanket is cozy, but I don’t remember rolling around under it with anyone. The entire room is strange and new to me. Okay, I don’t remember ending up here. So, what is the last thing I do remember?

My thoughts scatter like dandelion seeds on the wind. I rest back against the plump pillow and try to work through this backward. The last solid thing that comes to mind is getting my plane packed for a flight. I had to head out to do maintenance on equipment at a weather observation station. I service quite a few of them in Alaska, so that’s nothing new.

I remember snow. Not that snow is exactly a revelation up here. We’re surrounded by it most months of the year. But something about this snow was different. How though? A shiver makes my limbs spasm and my head send an angry stabbing pain behind my eyes. This isn’t some simple hangover, I know that much.

Running my fingers carefully over my forehead, I wince as they climb what can only be described as a small mountain erupting from my skin. I know it’s probably a small bump, but when you aren’t expecting to feel anything, even a small bump is pretty jarring.

What the hell happened to me?

I sit up in bed and search the room. The plaid shirt slung over the back of the chair next to the bed is definitely a man’s. The dark sheets look like something a man would pick out too. The entire room even has a faint smell of a manly musk.

As if to confirm my suspicions, I hear a deep rumble of conversation outside the door. I tilt my head, straining to make out the words, but I can’t. The only thing I can figure out is that there isn’t just one guy in the house, there’s at least two.

Quietly I slip out of the bed and almost gasp when I catch sight of myself in the dresser mirror. As I figured, the lump on my head is a nasty color, but not nearly as big as it felt. My hair is crazy and I look a little pale, but that’s not what has me nervous. It’s the fact that I’m dressed in my nightgown, the one I packed before flying out. How did I get changed into it? Did one of the men out there put me in it?

Why?

Why did he take off my other clothes? I frown and bite my lip, urging my mind to cooperate with me and help me figure out the details I’m missing here. Did I get roofied or something? I heard those things make you lose a bunch of time. I sit with the idea, but it doesn’t feel like the right answer.

Easing my way carefully across the floor, I inch over to the heavy wood door and listen. Yep, there’s definitely two of them. They sound like they’re not sitting right outside the door, so I cling onto the handle and hope the hinges won’t creak as I open it up a crack.

I don’t see them, but the deep timbre of their voices grows louder. What I do see is a fireplace with a nice, toasty fire roaring inside. Next to it is a poker. That’s as good a weapon as any. I creep out the door and over to the hearth, wrapping my fingers around the sturdy metal.

Scurrying around toward the voices, I tiptoe to the kitchen and stop. As far as I can tell, these guys have no idea I’m up yet. I try to eavesdrop in on their conversation so I can get some kind of idea of who they are or how I ended up here.

“Storm is just getting worse from the looks of it,” one says.

“We’ll just have to do what we can until it passes,” the other chimes in.

Woof!

I turn abruptly and try to stifle a scream as a big black bear jumps to its feet. My scream sounds more like a whimper and my mind races, trying to figure out what to do. I lift the poker and squeeze my eyes shut, preparing to swing wildly to defend myself.

“Gunnar! Down!” one of the men shouts.

“Hey, you’re up. Are you all right?” The other guy walks toward me.

“I… I don’t know.” My eyes quickly dart from him to the big black bundle of fur lying on the floor. It’s not a bear. That wouldn’t have made any sense. It’s a dog. The biggest dog I’ve ever seen.

“Hey, I’m Derek, okay? But I go by Razor. You can put down the poker, we’re not going to hurt you.” He soothes me, holding his hands up to show me they’re empty.

I stare into his crystal blue eyes and see nothing menacing in them. Just honesty and concern. Spinning my head around to the other man, I see he’s got more of a smirk twisted up on his lips. His gray eyes are dancing with amusement at my little show. Not in a sinister way, just like this is the best entertainment he’s seen in a while.

Well, it is Alaska. It probably is the most interesting thing he’s watched for quite some time. Except maybe my naked body. The thought intrudes my mind and makes me cringe.

“Where am I and how did I get here?” I want to sound tough. Like there’s a chance these two would regret messing with me, if that was their intention. Instead, my voice comes out warbly.

“Hey, how about you give me the poker.” Razor eases toward me like a cop on one of those shows where they’re trying to talk calm and gain the trust of the guy pointing a gun at someone’s head. “I’m sure you’re hungry, right? We’ve got some warm caribou stew you can eat and we can fill you in, sound good?” He takes another step.

I grip the poker tighter, but my stomach growls as loud as a plane engine coming to life and I ease up on my grasp. Food does sound good. I’m not sure when I ate last, but my body is telling me it’s been a while.

“Fine.” I hand over the wrought-iron and decide to trust my intuition. It’s telling me these guys don’t intend to turn this into a horror movie.

“Great.” Razor smiles and all I can do is blink.

I must look like I’m trying to communicate with him in Morse code. It’s just that he’s so distractingly handsome. They both are. Razor has a boyish charm about him, with his freckles and bright blue eyes. If it weren’t for the grizzled scruff over his strong jaw, he’d look too young for me. The other guy is tall and brooding with sandy hair and striking gray eyes, I’ve never really seen that color before. It reminds me of late nights around the campfire when the coals finally give off their last burst of heat and all that is left is the soft gray ashes and the memories.

“Here you go.” The nameless man ladles some stew into a bowl for me and places it on a large wood table. It looks like it must have been handcrafted, which is nothing new out in the Alaskan wilderness. What is new is the level of detail that’s in it. Carvings of polar bears and moose sprawl down the large legs.

“Thanks.” I practically lunge at the seat and dive into the food. I feel like I haven’t eaten in a week. The truth is, I have no idea if it’s been that long or not. There’s nothing in here to help me get a sense of the time and out the window is just a wild storm whipping snow around.

After I devour the entire bowl, the gnawing in my gut finally eases enough that I can concentrate again.

“So, like I said, I go by Razor.” He smiles and I can’t help but return it, despite my hesitation. “And the rude one, not introducing himself over there, he goes by Ace.” He jerks his thumb to the dark-haired man.

“Hey, I’m the one who fed her. Give me a break, will ya?” Ace answers, shaking his head. “Always gotta be busting my balls, man.”

It’s easy to see that they’re close. The banter between them reminds me of how my ex-husband used to be with his brother.

“I’m Caitlin.” I remember that I still haven’t told them my name yet.

“Nice to have a name with the face that’s been sleeping in my bed for the past twenty-four hours.” Razor watches me like he’s taking notes.

“I’ve been out that long?” I squeak. “How did I get here? What happened?”

“Want another bowl of stew?” Ace interrupts and the rumble in my stomach makes me nod in agreement.

He fills it back up and I dig in, but I actually eat it like a person this time, not like I was raised by wolves.

“Your plane crashed,” Ace answers my hanging question bluntly. I gasp and choke on some food, sputtering for my breath. I manage to get it under control before anyone has to come help me out.

“Qilaq, is she salvageable?”

“What’s that?” Ace raises his eyebrows.

“My plane, can I fix her?”

“Oh that, no there’s zero chance of that happening.” He laughs and I fight back tears.

“Hey, it’s okay. The main thing is you’re alive. This all could have ended much worse, right?” Razor walks to my side and lays a comforting hand on my shoulder as he shoots his friend a look.

“I guess.” I sigh and stare down into the stew. “So, you guys rescued me?”

“We pulled you from the wreckage and you were unconscious so we got you back here and tended to you. Razor is an ex-military medic.” He nods at the man standing next to me.

“SEAL medic,” he corrects Ace and then looks at me. “We were both SEALs, we retired up here. So, you can trust us okay. We’re the good guys.” He flashes another one of those grins and I find myself smiling back as my cheeks flush with heat.

“Wait,” I give my head a shake and look from Ace’s gray eyes and crisply shaved face to Razor’s sky-blue ones, “if my plane crashed and I was knocked out, why didn’t you guys get help?”