The wind howled louder than ever, or maybe the intense darkness made it seem that way. Eerie shrieky sounds seemed to seep through the walls and whistle through the cracks. Teague hesitated at the couch, but rather than climb back up there, he carted the pillow and blanket closer to the fire. The yellow blaze was dancing-hot, but wouldn’t last all night. He figured he could feed it easier through the wee hours if he was already located on the carpet, closer to the hearth.

He used a log from the stack of cut wood to elevate his right leg, and then sank back against the blanket. Just when he thought the setup was perfect and he could doze off, he realized that he couldn’t see Daisy’s face from that angle-her whole body was in shadow. That wouldn’t do, so he had to refix the log and blankets and pillow all over again.

By then he was wasted-tired and getting cranky from the day’s various aches and injuries. But he could see her. If a guy had to be miserable, she was the best diversion he could conceivably imagine.

There were dark shadows under those gorgeous eyes. Didn’t matter. She’d be striking if she were dead-sick with the flu. She had the bones, the style, the attitude. No one was going to miss noticing Daisy Campbell-at least no guy was, not in this life.

She wasn’t, though, even remotely the way she billed herself.

For a woman who complained about being stuck with him-and yelled loudly to the sheriff how desperate she was to get him off her hands-she didn’t act remotely thrown about taking responsibility for an injured stranger. In fact, she was taking no-fanfare, no-fuss, damn good care of him. She also acted sassy and snappy, but those hands of hers were gentle and so was the concern in her eyes.