It burned like heck. “Maybe not ever again.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
He slid the stocking back on. And then the boot. “Don’t you want to see the other one?”
“Nope.”
She did. “Why not?”
He stopped her before she could reach for the laces. “No need to waste time. We can’t do anything about it until we get back to the lean-to.”
“And what will we do with them there?”
“Soak them while I cook the rabbits I caught.”
Her stomach rumbled at the prospect of food.
“How many rabbits?” Rabbits were notoriously short on meat.
He smiled and slid his arm around her back. His scent enveloped her along with his arm. How could he always smell so good? His other arm slid under her knees.
“Enough to quiet your stomach.”
He lifted her. She resisted the urge to slide her arm around his neck and turn her face into his chest. She was so tired. He started walking as if she weighed nothing. “How come you don’t get winded up here?” she asked as he began climbing.
“I’m used to it.”
Being used to it didn’t begin to cover the exertion carrying her back up the steep slope required. But she was tired, and there was the foreign thrill of being carried. She’d thought that was a luxury reserved for small, vulnerable women. It was revealing to discover, in Isaiah’s arms, she felt small and vulnerable. It was even more revealing to realize she liked feeling that way. The last twenty-four hours had revealed many flaws in her assumptions, and when she had more time, she’d have to examine them. But right now, she could use another nap.
Adelaide let herself drift as Isaiah carried her back above the tree line, marveling at the strength of his legs as he never faltered, wondering how they’d feel under her hands. She slid her fingertip over his chest. It was hard, with no give. She bet his thighs were harder. The space between the buttons beckoned. She’d never felt a man’s chest, but that slight gap tempted her with the promise of the forbidden. Oh my God! She closed her eyes. She’d turned into a hussy.
“What’s wrong?”
She wasn’t answering that question. Honestly anyway. “I just feel so guilty that you have to carry me again.”
“I don’t mind.”
He’d probably mind less if he knew the latent hussy who had just emerged. “Still I’m sorry.”
“I said I didn’t mind.”
Well, she wasn’t going to apologize again for that anyway. “I’m sorry I left the campsite to get wood.”
His hair brushed her head. “You were cold.”
“Yes.”
“It was smart of you to start a fire.”
The morning wasn’t a total waste. At least he’d noticed her efforts. “Thank you.”
“How did you start it?”
That was a question she didn’t want to answer. She feigned sleep. “I used some stuff.”
“Gunpowder?”
It was hard to keep faking it when she was burning with curiosity. “How did you know?”
“The smell.”
What kind of nose did the man have? She’d ask but then she didn’t want him discovering her emergency supplies and maybe taking them away. She settled for a simple “Oh.”
Feigning sleep had the benefit of bringing on reality. It seemed like only seconds before he was setting her down. The drugged feel to her senses told her she’d drifted off. The smell of roasting rabbits replaced the scent of his skin. She couldn’t decide what was more delicious. The rabbits were propped over the fire and drippings sizzled in the flames. Saliva flooded her mouth. The rabbits won for the moment.
“Where did you get the wood to rekindle the fire?”
“I had some behind the lean-to.”
“There’s a ledge behind the lean-to.”
“There’s a small cave. It stays dry there.”
A place for everything. She smiled. “I’ll remember.”
He went behind the lean-to and pulled out a large, shallow wooden bowl. She admired the line from his broad shoulders to his lean hips as he poured water into it from a flask. Clearly she should have explored more. He bent over the bowl. Her eyes jerked up as he did . . . something.
“Did you just spit in that water?”
He turned, holding the bowl carefully. “Why would I do that?”
She didn’t know. “I just thought—”
“Take off your shoes.”
She eyed the water. “Why?”
“So we can soak your feet.”
“What are those green things floating about?”
“Herbs for healing.”
They didn’t smell obnoxious. And now she knew what he’d been doing. She took off her shoes and gingerly placed her feet in the cold water. After the initial shock there was a strange tingling. The area around the blister felt warm. And then the burning pain eased.
“Better?” he asked, turning the spitted rabbits.
“Actually, yes.” She twisted her foot into the bottom, enjoying the smooth wood against her soles. “What kind of herbs are these?”
“A concoction I picked up somewhere.”
She wiggled her toes, admiring the utter symmetry of the bowl. Whoever had crafted it had an eye for detail. “Can I see the bag?”
A stillness took Isaiah, and for a second she didn’t think he was going to answer, but then he shrugged and said, “That was the last of it.”
“Oh.” So much for learning the recipe. Which was a shame, because her feet felt miraculously better. Her stomach rumbled.
Isaiah looked over. “It will be a few minutes before the rabbits are ready.”
She kept her expression neutral while she cursed the blush that heated her cheeks. What was it about the man that kept her so unsettled ? A woman her age, with her experience, should be long past blushing.
She let the pelt slide off her shoulders. “Then, I’ll set the . . .” Isaiah stared at her. Too late she remembered there wasn’t a table. “I’ll get the silverware.”
His stare got harder.
“We do have silverware?”
“Does this look like a fancy hotel?”
“No.” It looked like a hole in the side of the mountain, but that didn’t mean the basics couldn’t be observed. “You must at least have a fork.”
He reached for his hip and pulled out a big knife. He handed it to her, hilt first. She didn’t take it. “I don’t think so.”
“It’s either this or your fingers.”
Her fingers were as dirty as the knife. “Is there a place I can wash?”
“There’s a stream to the left.”
“Soap?”
Another stare. Eating with her fingers was distasteful. She looked at the knife. It at least was a utensil. She reached for it and then stopped. How many men had he killed with it? She caught herself before she could ask the question. “Then I guess I’ll be eating with my hands.”
He put the knife back in the sheath. “I thought so.”
She bit her lip on a sharp retort and tugged the pelt up. If he continued to be this much of an ass, he was going to end up with one of those spitted rabbits up alongside his head, which was going to make dinner conversation extremely awkward.
7
IF THE MEAL WAS AWKWARD, THE AFTERMATH WAS WORSE. Isaiah was sullen and quiet. Addy was exhausted and could barely keep her eyes open. All she wanted to do was go to sleep, but there was only one pallet on which to sleep, and quite frankly, Isaiah wasn’t a man with whom she felt comfortable just closing her eyes and letting down her guard. Quite the opposite, as a matter of fact.
She took the remnants of the carcasses, stripped bare of meat, and set them aside. This wasn’t her home so she didn’t know what to do with the refuse. There weren’t any dogs. There was no clearly delineated area for garbage. “What do you want to do with the carcasses?”
“Leave them.”
Leaving them meant attracting all sorts of wild animals. Maybe even a bear. She gathered up the bones and set them in the wooden bowl. “I can take them and—”
“I said leave them.”
“Bury them,” she finished, muttering to herself before saying louder, “I’m not leaving them.”
They were filthy clutter.
He stabbed the knife with which he’d been eating into the dirt and glared at her. “Did you ever think you’d live longer if you learned to do as you’re told?”
Was that a threat? It didn’t matter. Her muscles twitched with the need to dispose of the mess. “Yes, but there are just some things I can’t abide.”
Filth was one.
He snatched up the knife and stood quickly. She jerked back. He reached out. For the scraps, she realized. A blush burned her cheeks as he took them. “Thank you.”
“You like things ordered. There’s no fault in that.”
Looking at him gave her all sorts of uncomfortable feelings. A couple she could identify. They were the usual—fear, apprehension. The others put that particular hitch in her breathing and unrest in her nerves, like maybe her skin had shrunk. She wanted to move and fidget, and she never fidgeted. “No, there isn’t.”
The grunt he gave her in response was not enlightening. She stood and, with the back of her hand, brushed the leaves off her skirt. A stain at the hem irritated her. This dress was fairly new. She’d spent a lot of hours making it and now it was ruined because people couldn’t leave her alone.
“I’m going to wash up.”
Another grunt. She eyed a pebble on the ground. She had the irrational urge to kick it at Isaiah. He was her rescuer—why wasn’t he making this easy?
“Which way is the stream?”
He pointed to the right to the narrow ledge—the “path.” Perfect. Just perfect. “Thank you.”
“Be careful.”
She was always careful. “Of course.”
Once she was on it, the ledge was even narrower than it had looked. If that were possible. The bulk of her skirt prevented her from pressing her back as close to the wall as she’d have liked. How had Isaiah carried her here? Holding her breath, she crept along the ledge, her eyes glued to the drop-off to the left. She was sure having a house, if one would call that lean-to a house, perched so precariously was great for defense, but she wouldn’t want to have to get up in the middle of the night and go relieve herself. With her luck she’d tumble off the edge and land at the bottom of the cliff. She leaned forward. And it was a long way down. She’d heard of people who’d just walked off ledges. She’d never quite understood the temptation, but now she did. There was something hypnotizing about that long tumble of space, something that encouraged a body to lean forward.
A hand caught her left arm and pushed. She screamed as she stumbled forward.
“Don’t look down.”
The hoarse order did nothing to calm her. She plastered herself back against the ledge as her heart thundered in her chest. “What are you doing?”
“Helping you.”
She pressed her hand to her chest. “To what? An early grave?”
“You were looking down.”
She lied through her teeth. “It’s a nice view.”
“You were getting close to the edge.”
“I’m fine.” At least she would be when her heart resumed a normal rhythm.
Another push. “I’ll walk you.”
Obviously, his definition of “walk” included force-marching her along the edge at a pace that far exceeded what she thought was safe.
She dug in her heels. “It’s not necessary.”
With a flex of muscle, he popped her forward. “Humor me.”
He didn’t leave her much choice as he propelled her onward. Dirt stuck to the grease on her fingers, irritating her almost as much as Isaiah’s shoving. She wanted to shrug away but where would she go? She was already halfway across the ledge. So she stepped forward, nerves twitching, fingers clenched into fists, following the path until they got to the wider part, where it split. At least her feet didn’t hurt anymore.
“Take a left at that tree lying across the boulder.”
She took the left. Isaiah grunted again. If she listened carefully, she could hear the water tumbling down the mountainside. As soon as they were clear of the ledge, he stopped and let her go.
“What?”
“I thought you might like some privacy.”
First he acted like a domineering ass and then he pulled out his manners.
“There is just no understanding you,” she muttered as she rubbed her hands on her skirt, wishing she could give up on the notion of staying clean. What did it really matter? She was carrying half the Territory on her clothes. But unfortunately, it did matter, down inside her where there was no negotiating. She looked at the stream and was pleasantly surprised to find it was actually more than a trickle. Over time the bend in the stream had hollowed out a wide pool. The sound of water tumbling was created from the excess water spilling over the rock ledge on the downhill side. The water looked inviting. The sunlight dappling the surface, cheery. A definite bright spot in her day.