I was going to die.

My teeth started chattering harder.

The snow wasn’t just under me now, it was settling on me. The voices of my hiking group, calling my name, had long since faded. Now all I could hear was the wind whistling through the trees, though, with the way it had picked up, it was more like a banshee scream.

The weather report said it would be fine over the weekend, clear and cold, but perfect for a winter hike into the mountains. The weatherman had been wrong. This wasn’t fine, this was a full-on blizzard.

And now I was going to die.

This was what I got for trying to make friends. For trying something new. I was used to being alone; I had been most of my life. Which was why working in the Eaglewood library, since I’d moved to the small Colorado town six months ago, worked for me. It wasn’t exactly a hub of social activity. Why I’d suddenly decided I needed to get out and meet new people was beyond me right then. And hiking of all things. What had I been thinking?

Tears stung my eyes. What was I going to do? I’d stopped feeling my hands and feet a while ago and I was pretty sure I was minutes away from hypothermia. Not feeling my extremities was the only good thing to come of this. At least my throbbing sprained ankle was only a memory.

Maybe I could walk on it? They always said to stay in one place if you got lost, but I’d been sitting there, waiting for what felt like forever, and no one had come for me. I needed to find shelter, somewhere less exposed.

Mind made up, I clung to the tree beside me and tried to drag myself to my feet. A scream tore from my throat when I tried to put weight on my ankle, and I fell back to the ground.

Okay, maybe I wasn’t as numb as I thought. Black shadows hovered at the edge of my vision. I was going to pass out.

What was that?

There was a speck in the distance, but it seemed to be coming closer? No, my eyes were playing tricks on me. The shadows started to close in as I watched the speck get bigger, until it wasn’t a speck anymore.

It was a…

Yeti.

I screamed, or at least I thought I did. I needed to run, but my body refused to obey me, or even move. The shadows grew darker, narrowing my vision to a pinprick. The yeti was a few feet from me now and I struggled to remain conscious. It reached for me…

Everything went dark.

* * *

My brain, my limbs, felt sluggish and I couldn’t open my eyes.

I was warm, though, so warm my cheeks felt hot. I tried to open my eyes again, but it was a serious struggle, so I stopped trying for the moment. I lay still, letting the neurons in my brain try to fire back to life. It took a while, but slowly the haze started to clear. With my eyes closed my other senses had kicked in. Something smelled amazing—earthy, musky, woodsy. I couldn’t work out exactly what it was. There was a soft crackling—an unmistakable comforting sound. A fire.

I’d been found. Someone had rescued me.

I burrowed deeper, deciding that opening my eyes was no longer a priority. I was safe. I was warm. I was alive.

I tried to move my foot, which throbbed dully, to assess the damage, but it was being held by something.

That’s when my brain snapped back to full consciousness.

There was something big and hot wrapped around me. My fingers flexed against what I realized was a chest, a hairy one. The something was male, and that male was…

Naked.

Huge arms were wrapped around me and my feet were trapped between what I could only assume were solid, hairy calves.

Oh God.

I was naked as well.

My eyes snapped open.

My vision was filled with a wide, bare chest, with dark hair covering bulging pecs. I shoved, and the human bear surrounding me grunted but didn’t release me. I tilted my head back, about to scream, but realized he was asleep. I pressed my lips together and bit back my shriek. Waking him was the last thing I wanted to do.

His head was tilted down, like he’d been watching me when he fell asleep. Short, thick black lashes rested against his cheeks and he had a thick beard covering the lower half of his face. I couldn’t see much more.

I glanced around. I was in a basic log cabin, the open fire blazing on the other side of the room, and furs on the floor. There were guns leaning against the wall by the door, which was secured with a long, thick piece of lumber that I didn’t think I’d be able to lift even if I could escape my human manacles.

The arm around me was a dead weight. I couldn’t move it. Tears started filling my eyes as panic set in.

Maybe if I slid out from under his arm?

I started sliding downward…

His eyelids snapped open and vibrant blue eyes locked on me.

I screamed, tried to jerk back, and when those monster arms didn’t let me go, screamed some more.

The huge man’s eyes went wide, then he jolted, released me, and shot out of bed so fast you’d think I was the one who’d stripped him naked and crawled in bed with him.

He stood several feet away, hand up, like he was warding me off, or maybe trying to put me at ease? I wasn’t sure how that was possible since I was naked and moments ago he’d been pressed up against me while I was unconscious.

“Who the hell are you and what am I doing here?” I watched as what I could see of his face turned pink.

“Found you…” he said in a voice that was so deep I was sure the ground quivered beneath us. “Unconscious. I brought you here.”

I scrambled up the bed, taking the covers with me, and thanked God when I realized I still had panties on, even as fear coiled tight in my belly. “Why the hell did you take my clothes off? What did you do to me?”

His brows lowered. “Do?”

I clutched the covers tighter to my chest. “I’m practically naked, and you were all over me.”

He took an abrupt step back, his heavy brows now shooting up, eyes widening, in what I could only describe as alarm. “Woman, you were close to death. Only way to warm you back up quick was body heat.”

I’d heard of people doing that before, hadn’t I?

I took him in.

The yeti.

He was the giant fur-covered beast walking toward me through the snow before I passed out.

My eyes dropped before I could stop them.

Good God, he was huge.

I’d never seen a man like the one in front of me in all my life. He was taller than the door he was standing in front of, massive everywhere—thick, sold thighs dusted with dark hair, long legs, bulging calves. His chest and shoulders were wide, his waist thick, his stomach roped with muscle. One of his biceps was easily as big as one of my thighs, and that was saying something, since I wasn’t at all what you would call petite. My gaze slid back down. One of his enormous hands was covering his groin, or trying to anyway.

He made a low, broken sound, and my eyes shot back up to his. His face wasn’t pink anymore; it was fire-engine red.

“Can you…ah, put some clothes on, please?” My voice came out as a raspy whisper.

He jolted again, like he only just realized he was standing there completely naked. He turned away, flashing a spectacular pair of muscular butt cheeks before snatching up a pair of pants and pulling them on. The fact that I could even contemplate the attractiveness of his butt was insane given the circumstances. I obviously hadn’t fully recovered from my ordeal.

He turned back but said nothing for several seconds, staying all the way on the other side of the room. I watched his jaw work, his fingers curling and uncurling at his sides.

Finally, he shook his head, his shaggy black hair falling around his face, strands catching on his beard, and leveled me with his blue eyes. “I didn’t touch you…I would never…” He lifted a hand, motioning toward me. “You needed warming. I did what I needed to.”

Now that he wasn’t naked anymore, or wrapped around me like a hibernating bear, he wasn’t quite as threatening, especially with the way he kept blushing, which was completely at odds with his size and fierce appearance.

“Can I have my clothes?” I said, feeling uncomfortable sitting there practically naked in this complete stranger’s bed.

He grunted, turned to a scarred wooden chest of drawers, and pulled something out. He motioned to a rack above the fire, where my clothes were draped. “They’re still wet,” he said. “Wear this.”

He threw something toward me and it landed on the bed. I picked it up. A red and black oversized flannel shirt. “Thank you.” I stared at him and he stared back, saying nothing. “Can you, um…can you turn around, please?”

He blushed again and spun away.

Not that it wasn’t anything he’d already seen, considering he’d stripped me bare and put me in his bed, but still. I took a moment to assess my body’s aches and pains. The only place I was feeling any pain was my ankle. Everywhere else felt…untouched.

God, this man had saved my life and I’d accused him of molesting me in my sleep. I slipped on his shirt and quickly did up the buttons. I glanced up at the rack above the fire. My sports bra hung up there. I wasn’t exactly lacking in the chest area, in fact, I wasn’t lacking in any areas. Letting the girls swing free wasn’t something I had the luxury of doing. I’d been big pretty much all my life. Thankfully, I’d been blessed with my mother’s hourglass figure, but I was all boobs, butt, and thighs, and lots of all three. I’d given up trying to change my body, and I’d stopped hating it a long time ago. I glanced up at the clothing rack. But, man, I wanted my bra.

“I’m covered up.”

He grunted, moved to the fire, and threw another log into the flames. “Stay under the covers. It’s warmer under the furs.”

He didn’t look at me while he said this, kept his wide, muscled back to me. “So, you…you live here?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Hunting cabin.”

I didn’t know this man, but maybe if I knew some more about him I might feel a little less nervous about being there alone with him. “You live in town?”

He shook his head again. “Nope.”

Okay. “Are you on a hunting…um, vacation?”

He picked up a pot and banged it down on the hot plate over the fire. “Live farther down the mountain.”

“So why do you come up here if you—”

“I don’t go to town. Don’t like people. Don’t like strangers. I also don’t like being asked a bunch of questions.”

I bit my lip.

I’d heard of people who lived on the mountain, who barely ventured to town except to get supplies every few months. Mountain Men, people called them. Men who had, for different reasons, chosen to live solitary lives

I curled my fingers into the covers. “When can I go home?”

He grumbled under his breath. “Blizzards hit. Covered everything in at least fifteen inches of fresh snow. Woman, you’re not going anywhere, not till some of it melts.”

My whole body tensed. “What?”

“You’re stuck here, and seeing as the snow’s still falling and doesn’t look like it’s gonna let up anytime soon, I’d say for a while.”

“What?” I said again, or rather choked.

“You’re not going anywhere on that ankle anyway, not until you can put weight on it.”

I could only see his profile, but from what I could see of his face, his expression said loud and clear that he was about as happy about me being there as I was. He glanced at me and his blue gaze hit mine, then dropped, lingering on my chest. He quickly turned away and started chopping a big slab of meat. I stared at him, not sure what to say, what I could do. People would be worried about me. The hiking group I’d come with probably thought I was dead.

“Do you have a phone?”

“No.”

The hopelessness of my situation sunk in, and my nose started to sting, and tears filled my eyes. I bit my lip, trying to swallow the helpless sob crawling up my throat, but failed.

He jerked around at the sound, and when he looked at me his eyes widened, and he took a step back like he’d been confronted with his worst nightmare. For some men, I guessed that’s exactly what a crying woman was. Especially a complete stranger.

“I’m s-sorry,” I said between shuddering breaths. “This whole thing…it’s been a little…stressful…a-and p-people will be so worried.” I blinked, and tears ran down my cheeks. I dashed them away but more replaced them instantly.

My reluctant rescuer rubbed his giant hands down the fronts of his pants. “Ah…” he said.

“I’m sorry,” I said again.

He grabbed a mug and I watched him put cocoa and sugar in it, then pour some milk-like liquid from a tin. He topped it up with boiling water from another pot on the hot plate above the fire and brought it to me. I stared up at him.

“Cocoa,” he said and held it out.

“Oh. Thank you.”

He stood there, not moving, still looking down at me. “Drink,” he finally said.

I thought I better do as he ordered, and lifted the mug, taking a sip. His heavy stare hadn’t left my face, but it dropped to my mouth, not leaving when I lowered the mug.

“This is delicious.” I licked my lips self-consciously.

His nostrils flared, and he quickly turned away and went back to chopping meat.

My belly did a weird little flip and I sat there trying to process what it was as I watched him dump his handiwork into the pot. The sizzle of meat hitting the heat filled the air. Vegetables came next, followed by water and seasoning.

He kept his eyes averted throughout this.

Finally, he walked to a shelf, pulled down a tin box, and walked toward me. “I need to wrap your ankle,” he said.

“Oh…no, it’s fine.”

He frowned. “It’s not.”

He was definitely a man of few words.

I started shaking my head, but he ignored me and flicked back the quilt covering my throbbing ankle. I gasped. It was swollen and bruised. No wonder it hurt like hell.

He’d shoved the covers back with force and my bare legs were completely exposed to mid-thigh. He dropped to his knees, and they cracked, loud in the silence. The man was even huge kneeling on the floor. The bed was low, and he still topped me by a head.

He opened the box and pulled out a large brown glass bottle. “This shit stinks, but it’ll help the swelling and bruising to go down faster.”

“What is it?”

“Family remedy,” he muttered and opened the lid.

“Good God,” I cried when it hit me. “That is the worst thing I’ve ever smelled.”

He shrugged. “The stink dies down once it’s on the skin and heats up.”

“Right.” I watched him scoop out some thick yellowish cream, and before I could offer to do it, his huge hand was on me. Rough-skinned but gentle fingers working it cautiously over my ankle.

I sucked in a breath, as what felt like small electrical currents travelled up my leg. “It feels warm.”

He didn’t answer. I looked from my ankle to his face and sucked in another breath, this one for another reason. Those nostrils were flared again, and his eyes were following his fingers. I watched his gaze go higher to the apex of my thighs, then dart back.

I squeezed my thighs together. This was humiliating.

His face darkened again, and he jerked his hands away, roughly grabbing a wrapped bandage from the box.

“Just gonna wrap it, then I’ll be done.”

He worked quickly, but was still gentle, making the bandage firm but not too firm. He taped the end down and quickly threw everything back in the box and moved back to the other side of the room like I carried a contagious disease.

I tugged the covers back into place. “Thank you…um…” I realized I didn’t know his name.

“Hank,” he muttered. “Hank Smith.”

Hank. It suited him. “Thank you, Hank. For this.” I motioned to my foot. “And for carrying me to safety. If it wasn’t for you I’d be…” Dead. This man might not like strangers, might prefer his own company, but my weariness was fast evaporating with each passing minute. He’d done nothing to make me think he intended to hurt me, and it wasn’t like he hadn’t had opportunity. For the time being I was stuck there, and Hank was the only thing protecting me from what lay beyond that cabin door. “Anyway, I’m Birdie. Birdie Winters. Thank you for saving my life. What you did was amazing, and I owe you.”

“It was nothing,” he said, looking uncomfortable.

“It wasn’t nothing. God, how far did you have to carry me?”

He shrugged his big shoulders. “Four, maybe five miles.”

My mouth dropped open. “Five miles?”

He shrugged again.

“How did you…I mean, I’m no lightweight…how did you carry me that far?”

He frowned, an expression that said he thought what I was saying made no sense. “I’ve carried deer more than twice the size of you.” Then he turned away again—like what he said was a full explanation, and his feat of immense strength was nothing—and stirred his stew. Which was starting to smell amazing, its rich aroma filling the small cabin.

“What kind of name is Birdie?” he asked suddenly, back still to me, his deep voice making my lower belly quiver.

“Well, it’s a family name. My grandmother was named Birdie.”

He grunted again.

I opened my mouth to say something and my stomach growled. Loudly.

His head swiveled on his thick neck, eyes coming back to me, and I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I saw his lips twitch behind that thick beard. No, I was sure of it, because his eyes lit up as well.

And the effect was breathtaking.