The Excerpt
Slitting her eyes open, Martine saw him sitting cross-legged on the other side of the fire, hands warming around a cup of strong-smelling coffee. His pale stare likewise heated at finding himself the subject of her attention.
“Hope I didn’t wake you, ma’am. Was trying to be quiet.”
“Y-you didn’t.” Was that hoarse rasp her voice? “I’m sorry . . . if you told me your name I’ve forgotten it.”
“Not surprising, ma’am, as we weren’t formally introduced. It’s Randall Bass, and the one snoring over yonder is my cousin, Carson.” He didn’t ask what he should call her, thankfully willing to give her time to offer that up when comfortable enough to do so.
(. . . and a bit more . . .)
A shiver rippled through her. From lack of appropriate clothing and delayed shock after all that had happened, Martine guessed while struggling to sit up. Her rescuer started to offer a helping hand then quickly caught it back before he alarmed her. An unexpected kindness from a Texas-bred man. His dark head nodded toward the cup in his hand.
“Sorry to say this is the last of the coffee. Expected to be in San Antone today, so we didn’t bring extra. You can finish this up to warm you . . . if you don’t mind the sharing.”
A near-hysterical laugh caught in her throat. As if the swapping of a little spit with a stranger would be the worst thing she’d exchanged. She drew a deep breath and forced a poor semblance of a smile.
“I appreciate the kindness, Mr. Bass, and I don’t mind at all.”
“Randall,” he corrected quietly as he slowly moved the cup toward her, “and just Rand is fine. What can I call you?” He didn’t ask for her proper name, again with that uncommon sensitivity.
“Marti,” she whispered, taking the tin with a cautious brush of fingertips, noting his were rough and warm . . . and as gentle as his tone.
“Careful, it’s still hot,” he advised as a grin creased his tanned face, releasing a devastating amount of natural charm, “but if you don’t mind me saying so, you don’t look like no Martin I ever met.”
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