Page 8 of Snowed in with the Mountain Man

"I'm f-fine," I insist, teeth chattering.

He moves around the cabin with purpose, inspecting the loft. His expression is troubled when he returns.

"What?" I ask.

"Roof leak damaged your mattress. Soaked through and moldy."

"Great. So I'll sleep on the couch?"

"Too cold. Heat rises. Need to sleep in the loft."

"On what? The floor?"

"I've got a sleeping bag," he says. "You take that. I've slept on worse than a wooden floor."

"Don't be ridiculous. You can't sleep on the floor in these temperatures." The words tumble out. "The sleeping bag is big enough for both of us."

His head snaps up, blue eyes locking with mine. Something electric passes between us.

"That's not a good idea," he says, voice rough.

"Why not? It's basic survival," I counter with false confidence. "Unless you're worried I'll attack you in your sleep?"

That almost-smile again. "Not my concern."

"Then what is?"

He doesn't answer, just studies me with those intense eyes. I refuse to look away.

"Fine," he finally says. "But it's survival only. Body heat helps prevent hypothermia."

"Of course," I agree quickly. "Just survival."

While he sets up our makeshift bed in the loft, I change into the warmest clothes I brought—fleece joggers and a thermal shirt. When I return, Aiden is adding wood to the fire.

"I'll bank it before we sleep," he explains. "Should last most of the night."

I nod, suddenly awkward. We're strangers about to share a sleeping space. Very attractive strangers. At least, he's very attractive. With his beard and flannel and those forearms that flexed when he carried me...

Stop it, Phoebe. Survival situation. Not a Hallmark movie.

Though if it were, this would definitely be the meet-cute...

"You should eat something," Aiden's voice cuts through my thoughts. "Keep your energy up."

We cobble together a meal from my groceries—crackers, cheese, apples. It's meager but satisfying with hot tea from the gas stove.

"How long will the storm last?" I ask, wrapping my hands around the mug.

"Hard to say. At least through tomorrow, by the look of it."

Tomorrow. An entire day trapped with him. The thought sends an unexpected thrill through me.

By the time we've cleaned up, I can see my breath even near the fire. Aiden banks the flames carefully.

"We should sleep," he says, not meeting my eyes. "Body conserves energy that way."

The sleeping arrangement looks painfully intimate—a single sleeping barely big enough for two who don't mind closeness. We’ve piled all the extra blankets to make what looks like a make-shift human-sized dog bed.

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