Snowbound Heart by Jennifer Blake Read Free Book Online Page B

it’s just that I’m not used to the dry air, or wearing wool for any length of time. The ribbing on this sweater is irritating my skin.”
    “It can’t be very comfortable.”
    She had to agree. As if her words confirmed something he had suspected, Logan pushed to his feet and left the room. He returned shortly, carrying one of his shirts.
    “Here,” he said, tossing it down beside her. “Maybe this will be better.”
    It felt better, there could be no doubt about that; what it looked like was another thing entirely. Clare, staring at herself in the bathroom mirror by the glow of the flashlight standing on its end, let a grin twitch across her lips. The shirt of soft cotton flannel had all the flattering fit of a hospital gown. The shoulder seams hung halfway down her arms, the cuffs of the sleeves flapped below her hands, and the tail of it struck her not far above the knees. In addition, the color of the plaid was a brilliant blue, red, and black, a terrible clash with the soft green of her skirt.
    And then, as she stared at herself, a peculiar feeling moved over her. It lasted for no more than a flicker of time before she gave a hard shake of her head and began to roll up the sleeves with a quick carelessness. So she was wearing Logan Longcross’s shirt? That was no excuse for going into an adolescent daze. He was just an actor, a man — one, she must admit, who was turning out to be more reasonable about her presence than she had expected. She would spend one more night here with him. By tomorrow the snow would have stopped and she would carry on with her plans. By this time the next day, she and Beverly would be laughing over the whole episode, and that would be the end of it. It was strange that the prospect did not make her feel like smiling now.
    Clare woke to silence. She lay staring up at the beams of the cathedral ceiling for long moments before she recognized what was wrong. The wind had dropped, and the strange brightness that filled the room meant that beyond the draperies drawn over the windows the blizzard was over and the sun was shining. Instinctively Clare turned toward the other bed. It was empty. Logan had gone out already. His jacket, gloves, and cap were gone from where he had left them the evening before.
    Throwing back the cover, Clare sat up and pulled on her boots. When she had gained her feet, she unfastened her skirt and tucked the excess material of Logan’s shirt into the waistband before buttoning it up again. She felt crumpled, and more than a little weary of the clothes she was wearing. She could do nothing about that, but she could bring some sort of order to the wild tangle of her hair.
    With the hairbrush from her tote in one hand and a tortoiseshell hair clip in the other, Clare moved from-one window to the other, staring out, entranced. The snow covered everything like a thick layer of spun-sugar icing. Upon its diamondlike surface, the sun sparkled with dazzling brilliance. The pine, spruce, and fir trees near the house stood with their branches weighted with snow, like flocked Christmas trees, their lower limbs half-buried in the smothering whiteness. In the front of the house, toward the road, Clare saw the deep tracks Logan had made as he left from the side door and tramped away over the virgin snowfall. Where he could have gone, she had no idea, though the trail he had left seemed to lead down the snow-covered roadway.
    The rear of the chalet, with its glass doors, its expanse of windows reaching up to the roofline and down to the outside deck, held the greatest surprise. It overlooked a steep, walled canyon with evergreens clinging to its sides and blue shadows at the bottom. On the far side, the trees were silvered with their burden of snow, and beyond them lay a range of blue mountains frosted white against the cerulean of the sky. It was a stunning view. Clare stood looking out over it for a long time, her gray eyes thoughtful. Then, with an abrupt movement she turned