Out of respect for her sensibilities, Logan had already dragged away the dead animal’s carcass. He knew she was still dazed by the unexpectedness of the mountain cat’s lunging attack, and by the expedient manner with which he’d disposed of it. That she hadn’t retrieved her fallen book showed how shaken she was. Before the attack, throughout their debate, she hadn’t shown any apparent awareness of her wet hair and clothing. Now she stood with her arms wrapped around herself, shivering. “Victoria.” He said her name sharply. She looked up, her gaze clouded. “Yes?” “You need to get out of those wet clothes.” A spark ignited in those haunting green eyes of hers. Good. “You have a one-track mind, Logan.” Her habit of thinking the worst of him caused another crack in the control he was trying to exert over his temper. Without answering, he stalked to the back of the wagon and leaned inside, searching for dry blankets. When he located a couple, he returned to her. “Here.”
