"Right."

"So... get friendly."

"Mom, I rea-"

"Oops. My timer is going off. I have to run before the cookies burn."

"Mom! Don't hang-"

The line went dead. Ryan stared down at the phone, resisting the urge to cuss a blue streak.

"What's wrong?" Bethany asked, chattering with cold.

Ryan put the portable back in its base. His mother had lost her mind, but somehow he didn't think he should tell Bethany that. Smiling with his teeth clenched was a shade difficult. "Nothing, honey. Just the snow. With the visibility so poor, Mom's afraid to ride over."

"Oh." She huddled inside the blankets, gazing up at him with big, worried eyes. "I see." She waited a beat, shivered, and then said, "I really don't need a hot bath, anyway, though it was nice of you to think of it."

"You're freezing. With such poor circulation in your legs, it'll take hours for you to warm up without one."

"I'll manage."

"Manage?" Ryan scooped her up off the sofa. "We'll manage, all right."

"I can't take a bath, not with only you here to help me."

"Sure you can. I can be a very inventive fellow when I set my mind to it."

Sitting in his upholstered rocker by the fire, Keefe Kendrick studied his wife with narrowed eyes. She was grinning like Lewis Carroll's Cheshire cat as she hung up the telephone. "Annie, are you up to mischief?"

She flashed him a startled look, her gray eyes shimmering. "Mischief?" He bit back a smile as she walked toward him. "You're not afraid you'll drive off in the lake, and if you've got cookies in the oven, I want some."

She lifted a slender shoulder in a shrug, her rounded hips displayed to mouthwatering advantage by her snug jeans. Even at sixty, his Annie was a looker, with gorgeous legs and perfectly shaped breasts that filled out her red sweater just the way he liked. "Sometimes Ryan needs a push to get moving."

She plopped her plump fanny on his lap and looped her arms around his neck. Keefe knew when his wife was trying to sidetrack him. He cocked an eyebrow. "What're you up to?"

"Hmm." She nibbled his lip. "It's snowing outside. I think snow is so romantic. Don't you?" She wiggled her bottom, making a certain part of his anatomy turn hard. "Let's open some wine and make love by the fire."

Keefe seized her bottom lip between his teeth and put just enough force into his bite to let her know he wasn't as dim-witted as she might think. "Annie girl, are you interfering in your son's love life?"

She kissed him, using her tongue with such expertise he nearly forgot his question. "Never. I'm just being a good mother and completely resisting the temptation to interfere. That's Bethany over at Rye's place. The Bethany."

Keefe trailed questing fingers up her rib cage. His Annie was one sweet armful. "The girl with the incredibly blue eyes?" he asked huskily. "That's the one. She got stranded in the storm, and Rye went to fetch her. She's frozen half to death and needs a hot bath. He wanted me to go over and help. Silly boy. Like I'd dream of it. Though a hot bath has interesting possibilities."

Keefe pushed suddenly to his feet. She bleated in surprise as he headed for the bathroom. Keefe's mind was brimming with images of her, rosy from hot water and slick with scented soap. "A bath definitely has interesting possibilities," he agreed with a low growl. "Sometimes, Annie girl, mischief can backfire."

Chapter Ten.

Bethany sat in the bathroom, her gaze fixed on the vanity mirror, lighted by an oak bar of globes that cast glaring brightness over her and everything else. Studying herself in the glass, she decided she resembled a shuddering stick baby with huge eyes and a mop of straggly hair. No wonder Ryan was worried. She couldn't flex her leg muscles like most people to get her blood moving, which meant that half her body had an inefficient temperature-control system.

She rubbed her arms but continued to shiver. Lifting the hem of her wool skirt, she touched her knee and found it was ice cold, even through the nylon mesh of her tights. Oh, how she wished she were at home in her familiar bathroom with all her trusty bathing equipment.

A light tap came on the door. The sound startled her so that she jumped. "Come in," she managed to say in a halfway normal voice.

Her bath attendant entered-all six feet plus of him. Snow-drenched denim skimmed his long, well-muscled legs. With each step he took, his boots rapped the earth-brown tile, the sounds sharp and decisive as he advanced. He'd thrown on a dry shirt, which he hadn't buttoned. The gaping front plackets revealed an expanse of rippling bronze chest, lightly furred with black hair that narrowed to a triangular swath as it descended to his flat, striated stomach.

Her mouth went as dry as dirt, and all she could think to say was, "Hi."

"Hi," he replied, his voice deep and vibrant. The sound made her skin feel as if it were humming. "All ready?"

She'd never be ready. Her mother had helped her dress and undress enough times for her to know he couldn't do this without getting an eyeful.

His gaze as sharp as honed steel, he gave her a thoughtful once-over. From the waist down, she was still fully clothed. From there up, though, all she had on was an oversize T-shirt he'd lent her. Her blouse and bra lay in a neatly folded stack on the vanity, the bra at the bottom so he wouldn't see it.

The only bright spot in this entire, miserable mess was that he'd lent her a blue T-shirt instead of a white one. She knew from experience that white T-shirts became transparent the instant they got wet.

"Is it still snowing?" she asked.

"Yeah, it is. Sorry. No let up at all so far. I called Jake, by the way. I didn't want your family to be worried about you. He said he'll go over to feed and water your kitty." He startled her by suddenly hunkering down in front of her. His firm mouth tipped slowly into a grin as he reached up to push a damp tendril of hair from her face. "Honey, I hope all that shivering is from cold and not nerves. You're not afraid of me, are you?"

"Heavens, no." She laughed shakily and then clamped her teeth together to keep them from chattering.

"You sure?" He trailed his fingertip along her cheekbone, coming to a halt at her chin, where he spent a moment tracing the slight cleft with the back of a knuckle. "I've been trying to put myself in your shoes. It's a little difficult. I know this has to be tough, though."

"I'm fine, Ryan. Honestly. I just wish a bath wasn't necessary."

"I have it all figured out."

Uh-huh. He obviously hadn't taken into account that without support bars or a dressing sling, she couldn't even get her panties and tights off without help. At home, she managed by herself with her equipment, and even then, it was no easy task.

"Trust me," he said softly. "Good friends don't embarrass each other."

"I just wish I were h-home, is all. I have everything I need there."

"I'm sorry I don't have everything you need here. I will have soon."

"Oh, no. You mustn't start buying stuff for me."

"Why not?"

She knew there were a dozen good reasons, but she couldn't readily think of one. "Because?"

He chuckled. "One of the advantages of having so damned much money is being able to buy things for my friends whenever the mood strikes. Have you any idea how much fifty million earns annually in interest? My tax obligation looks like the national debt."

Bethany couldn't conceive of having that much money. "You poor thing."

He narrowed an eye. "I'm running a business out here, and anything I buy to accommodate the handicapped, namely you, will be a much-needed write-off." "I see." "We do have handicapped buyers come out to look at our horses. If I want to buy stuff to make you more comfortable at my ranch, I'll do it, no arguments. All right?"

"All right."

He smiled slightly. "We are going to pursue this friendship thing. Right?"

"I d-don't part with my clothes for just anybody, so I think it's safe to say I consider you to be a very good friend."

That elicited a chuckle from him. "So I can rest my case?"

"Please, don't. The longer you talk, the longer I can put this off."

"There, you see? The situation we have right now is awful. You need a hot bath, and getting you in the tub is a major production, with you all nervous and upset. I'd like to be set up so it's as comfortable for you here as at home. That way, when you need a bath, you can get in the tub by yourself."

"Are you a clean freak?"

"A what?"

"If you're given to sniffing armpits, I may have to reconsider this friendship thing."

He sighed and shook his head. "A smart ass when you're nervous. I should have known."

Guilty as charged. She did tend to crack jokes when she felt uneasy, and right now she felt extremely uneasy.

"Out here, being able to grab a quick bath is a necessity. You've been around animals. Get slapped by a muddy horse tail, and you'll be glad I planned ahead for the eventuality." Bethany rubbed her arms. "I just wish you were set up for it now." "I know." His voice dipped to a husky tenor, and by that she knew he understood how unpleasant this was for her. Somehow, that helped. She took a bracing breath that shuddered in and out because she was shaking so hard. "Okay," she said, trying to inject some confidence into her voice. "I'm ready. Let's do it and get it over with." "Will it make you feel any better to know that I called our foreman, Sly, and he's already at work in the welding shop, whipping together some makeshift bathroom bars?" "He is?" "When we're finished here, I'll go over to help him. What we come up with won't be fancy, but you'll be halfway comfortable here until morning, anyway."

Bathroom bars? Bethany almost hugged him. She resisted the urge to glance at the commode. Makeshift was fine. Makeshift was wonderful. She didn't care if the bars they fashioned were pretty as long as they enabled her to manage that necessity without help.

Still hugging her waist and shivering, she said, "I hate to put you to so much bother, Ryan."

"It's not a bother, honey. We do a lot of welding here on the ranch, and I've got tons of pipe lying around. We'll have something thrown together in just a few minutes." He pushed back to his feet and leaned down. "Hug my neck, sweetheart. Let's get you in that tub. I'm starting to feel cold, just watching you."

Oh, how she dreaded this. There was no way around it, though. "Maybe you could just wrap me in an electric blanket. That'd chase the chill away."

"I don't have one. I'm sorry. I have down quilts on all the beds."

"I could just sit close to the fire."

Much as he had last night, he grasped her wrists and put her arms around his neck himself. "Feel how badly you're shaking? You're going in the tub. You're not catching pneumonia on my watch. Jake would never forgive me."

Jake. Oh, how she wished Jake were there.

"Have a little faith in me," Ryan whispered.

She envisioned him trying to hold her erect with one arm and tugging clumsily at her clothes with his other hand, her body smashed against his the entire while. Oh, God... oh, God. Her face went hot with shame.

"This will be over before you can yell, 'Hallelujah.'"

She fully expected the usual ordeal she experienced with her mother on swim nights, with him grunting and straining, and her legs flopping every which way like limp noodles. She should have known better. After catching her around the waist with one arm, Ryan straightened as if she weighed scarcely anything. The next thing she knew, she was clasped to his chest, her lower body dangling.

"Oh, God!"

"It's all right, honey. I won't drop you."

He groped under the T-shirt to unfasten her skirt. That accomplished, he divested her of the garment, her tights, and her panties in one fell swoop. She felt his fingertips graze bare skin at the small of her back, but otherwise he executed the maneuver without touching her intimately. The next thing she knew, he was tugging down the hem of the T-shirt and putting her back in the chair.

"There, you see?" He crouched in front of her again to tug the elasticized stockings down her calves. "No fuss, no muss. That wasn't so bad, was it?"

It hadn't been bad at all, and the very fact that it hadn't been made her feel trembly.

He grasped her by each ankle to remove her black doeskin slippers and then swept her clothing aside. "Damn, honey, your feet are like ice." He skimmed a hand up her calf. "No wonder you're shaking." Bethany tugged at the hem of the T-shirt, trying to keep her knees covered. "I can't believe it was so easy. It's always a struggle when Mama helps me."

He slanted her an amused look. "I saw your mom at the grange last night. She's not much bigger than a minute, so that comes as no surprise." After setting her slippers aside, he stood. "Now I'll just pick you up and put you in the tub. If you'll make a fist on the hem of the shirt, it won't float up as I put you in. I brought a clothespin to do anchor duty once I get you situated."

A clothespin? He truly had thought of everything.

As he bent over her, Bethany braced herself, visually aware as he caught her behind the knees with one arm, sensually aware when his left arm slipped between the chair and her back. A big warm hand curled over her side, strong fingers splaying on her ribs just beneath her breast.

"Easy, sweetheart," he said as he lifted her. "I've got you."

He had her, all right. She felt surrounded by vibrant, male strength. Heat radiated through the T-shirt from his bare chest, and coarse, springy black hair rubbed against one of her elbows. He felt so marvelous, she almost took a taste of his sturdy neck. It was the color of caramel, which was right behind chocolate as one of her favorite flavors on earth.

He went down on one knee beside the tub, lifting her over the edge and then gently lowering her into the water he'd already drawn. He kept one arm hooked under her knees to carefully position her legs. As he had suggested, she grabbed a handful of T-shirt hem so the cotton wouldn't float up. "You're very good at this."

"It seems to come naturally." He flicked her another smiling glance as he drew a clothespin from his breast pocket. Brushing her hand aside and grasping the hem of the T-shirt, he gave it a twist to draw the cotton snug around her thighs, then secured it with the pin.

Bethany watched as he turned on the hot and cold water, then shoved a broad wrist under the stream to check the temperature. As he adjusted the valves, he said, "We'll have you warmed up in no time flat," She sighed in appreciation and sank a little lower in the water. "Oh, this is lovely." The warm water he was running from the tap curled around her hips. "Thank you so much. I'm sorry to be so much work."

"You're no work. I'm glad to have you here."

The heat was helping her to stop shivering, and her jerking muscles began to relax. Ryan started massaging her legs, his sun-burnished hands striking a sharp contrast to her pale skin. As she watched, she found herself wishing she could feel his touch. She imagined his palms would be slightly rough, the grip of his long, thick fingers wonderfully warm. Don't go there, Bethany. Friendship. No more, no less. She couldn't allow her silly female heart to start spinning fantasies and risk ruining what promised to be a good friendship.

He caught her staring at his hands and said, "I thought I might get the blood moving. I'm not hurting you, am I?"

"No. If only you could."

He gave her a bewildered look. Then he winced. "Right. I'm sorry. Stupid question. I just thought- hell, I don't know what I was thinking." He worked his way up to just above her knee, "You can't feel anything at all? Not anywhere? That's so hard for me to fathom. Intellectually, I know it, but on a more instinctive level, I automatically think in terms of having sensation."

Bethany managed a strained smile. "Don't apologize. I'm the abnormal one, not you. And as it happens, I do have a couple of live spots." She touched a fingertip to the inside of her left thigh. "One right there."

He stared at the spot she indicated as if he were committing the location to memory. "Just there?"

"A couple of other places, too. Nerve damage is a weird thing, especially in my case, where the worst damage occurred on one side of the spine. I have sensation in places I shouldn't, and none in places I ought to. Right after I got hurt, our family doctor and a local specialist stood over me, frowning and scratching their heads a lot. I didn't conform to the textbooks and journals."

He frowned thoughtfully. "So you're not completely numb in your legs?"

"Not completely. The numbness is spotty from the point of injury down to the tops of my thighs and grows worse from there until I'm completely numb." She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I have very good feel-ing in my derriere, for instance, and can detect wiggling thumbs."