Caro Carson - A Texas Rescue Christmas

Thank God. If there was ever a time he couldn’t afford to get lost, now was it.

“Rebecca. Keep breathing.” He gave her a little shake. “Breathe, damn it. That’s all you gotta do, honey. Breathe.”

The cabin was situated within a trio of the largest mesquite trees Trey had come across in either Texas or Oklahoma. Someone had added a corrugated metal roof decades ago, for which Trey was grateful. It probably wouldn’t leak. The fireplace was stone, and it looked to be standing fairly straight after all these years. Trey parked the ATV under a mesquite, knowing it would still become coated in ice, but the need to care for equipment as well as one could had been ingrained in him since birth.

He held Rebecca in his arms and stepped warily onto the narrow porch. Nearly half the boards were missing, but the ones that remained held his weight as he lifted the simple wooden crossbeam and opened the door. Setting Rebecca on the floor on top of the silver blanket was like laying down a rag doll. Hypothermia could be deadly and quick. He had no time. He ran back to the ATV, grabbed everything with both arms and ran back into the cabin.

He shouted her name and ordered her to breathe as he unpacked the single sleeping bag and laid it on top of a second metallic thermal blanket. Then he started to strip. Basic survival rules required skin-to-skin contact to stay warm. There was no time to gather wood and build a fire. Traveling farther was out of the question.

He shed layers, starting at the bottom. His boots, her boots. Socks. Pants. Any cloth in direct contact with skin held moisture, so their underwear had to go, too. Modesty meant nothing when death was threatening.

The air was freezing in the cabin, but he didn’t dare slip her into the sleeping bag until every last stitch of clothing was off. If he slid her legs into the bag while her coat was still on, the coat could drip water onto the bag, and then they’d never get warm in a damp cocoon.

“C’mon, Rebecca. Wake up. Help me out.”

She responded to his voice by stirring on the silver blanket, but that looked like it was all he was going to get from her. Still, it was something. She wasn’t deeply unconscious. Maybe she was just exhausted, if he was lucky.

He took off the last of his clothing and went to work on hers. Damn it all to hell, it was cold, and he started to shiver, although he’d taken off her hat, gloves and coat in seconds. He would’ve had a hard time getting all the tiny pearl buttons of her sweater undone in any circumstances—it was a garment guaranteed to make a man think a girl was off-limits—but with the shivering and the cold and the seconds ticking by, he quit on the second button and ripped the shirt down the front.

It took two shaking hands to undo her bra clasp and toss the damp elastic to the side. Immediately, in a move that was more about speed than gentleness, he rolled her into the sleeping bag, yanked the zipper closed from her feet to her waist, then jumped in beside her and yanked the zipper shut the rest of the way. The one-man bag was designed to cover the head and left only a circle for the face. Although there were two of them sharing the circle, he pulled the opening’s drawstring, making that circle even smaller, keeping just that extra bit of cold out.

He’d just zipped his naked self in with an ice cube. He’d once had a girlfriend whose feet were always so cold, she slept in wool socks. This woman was cold like that all over. It scared him, honestly, to feel skin so cold over an entire body.

“Time to warm up,” he said, and he started moving his hands over that icy skin, trying to stimulate her circulation without damaging any skin that might have gotten frostbite.

She didn’t move. He kept at it. She would warm up, because he wouldn’t let her do otherwise. This was the most effective method possible. The cabin protected them from the worst of the weather, although the chinks in between the log walls were plentiful. They shared a sleeping bag that was undoubtedly rated for far colder conditions than this. They would survive, even without a fire.

And without their clothes. Trey hated himself for thinking about such a thing in the circumstances, but as he pulled Rebecca tightly against himself, he was quite aware that she was a woman. He’d heard a soldier in Oklahoma complain over a glass of beer about survival training with men. His instructor had required everyone to go through the hypothermia drill, the entire hypothermia drill, to force the men to overcome their aversion to sharing body heat like this.

Trey tucked Rebecca’s legs between his. She was an ice cube, but she was a smooth and feminine ice cube. Frankly, if he had to share some “full frontal” with a stranger, he couldn’t deny that a young woman was a highly preferable hypothermia partner. Still, they’d probably be embarrassed as hell about this someday—which was better than being dead.

“Come on, wake up and share this awkward moment with me. Rebecca, wake up and talk to me.”

They were on their sides, facing each other, nearly nose to nose. As he stroked up her back to the nape of her neck, he drew his head away a little bit to take a look at her face, now that it wasn’t hidden under hat and strings and collar.

His hand stopped. She was almost unnaturally beautiful. Her face was heart-shaped, framed by bangs. Her brows and long lashes were a rich brown. But the hypothermia made her skin appear to be white porcelain, and her lips were blue with cold. The effect was startling, like holding a life-sized version of the porcelain angel that his mother put on their Christmas tree.

Acting on instinct, Trey pressed his mouth to hers, keeping his eyes open, staying for a long moment to allow the heat of his mouth to warm hers. He didn’t want this beautiful woman to have blue lips.

When he felt her lips softening under his, he lifted his head and brushed her hair behind her ear. Her lips looked a little less blue in her perfect, heart-shaped face. He wondered what color her eyes were.

“Come on, sleeping beauty. It’s time to wake up. Let me see if your eyes are as beautiful as the rest of you.”

Trey closed his eyes when he kissed her this time, as though it were a real kiss.

Rebecca woke up.

Chapter Five

When Becky had closed her eyes, she hadn’t expected to ever open them again, yet here she was, awake. She was alive, but she was still cold. Shivering, and sick of it.

The first millisecond of opening her eyes was spent on realizing she was alive. The second millisecond was much more interesting. She was looking right at the jaw of a man, a real man with a five-o’clock shadow and a firm mouth. But as she stared at that mouth, the man kissed her.

Her eyes fluttered shut once more. His lips were soft, but the greatest miracle of all was that they were warm. Oh, so warm—and she craved heat right now.

She loved that mouth, so she kissed it tenderly, then opened to taste his upper lip, his lower. If his lips were warm, than his tongue was warmer, and she lost herself in a good, hot French kiss.

He pulled away, and she opened her eyes once more to focus on his mouth as he spoke.

“Okay, then. I’d say you’re awake.”

She looked into eyes as blue as the summer sky.

But she was still cold, and it felt as though she would never stop shivering again. His warm hand stroked down her back, stilling her momentarily as it passed, and then she shivered again.

Her breasts brushed against the warm skin of his chest. His warm skin was just that. Just skin. Nothing else. Awareness came swiftly. Her breasts were bare. Startled, she made a sudden movement, her legs sliding against his, smooth against rough. She was bare everywhere.

“Oh, dear. We’re—we’re—”