Deborah Camp (13 page)

“Now where did this take place again?”

“In the—” She lifted her head as her mind cleared and her survival instincts surfaced. “In a cave.”

“A cave,” he repeated, making it sound like the lie it was.

“That’s right,” she said, pushing herself up from the chair. She went to the washbasin and began cleaning the scratches on her arms. “I was in a cave in the woods. I shoulda knowed better.”

Rook stood beside her, watching her careful composure. “You should have known better,” he said, frowning when she glared at him. “It’s not my fault that you talk like an unschooled dirt farmer.”

“I’m not in the mood for a lesson,” she snapped, tossing the dishrag into the washbasin and sloshing water every which way.

“And I’m not in the mood for your lies,” he shot back. “You’re not stupid, so quit talking like you are. I’m not stupid, so quit lying to me. You weren’t in a cave. You were in a mine.”

“Well, if you knew, why’d you ask?” She flounced away from him to make a pretense of tidying up her cot. “The mine is none of your business,” she added, feisty now that he was across the room from her.

“What kind of mine?”

“A played-out mine.” She smoothed the covers on the cot, flattening out an imaginary wrinkle here and there, but she was conscious of his every move as he came around
the table toward her. “Everybody knows the mine is worthless and always has been.”

“Then why were you in it this morning?”

She turned around, tipping up her chin with resolution. “Because I thought the Colton gang might be hiding out in it.”

“The Colton—?” He rested his hands at his waist and gave her a look of measured appraisal. “Who told you about the Coltons?”

“Jewel. She said one of them shot you. I figured the same one mighta shot Pa.” She winced, then glared at him belligerently. “Might
have
shot Pa.”

He clasped his hands together and glanced upward. “Thank God for small favors!” He pinned her with a penetrating gaze that made her blood simmer. “Before you know it you’ll be a lady just like your mother before you.”

Warm color swept up her neck and into her cheeks, and Cassie moved swiftly to the window so that he wouldn’t see the pleasure his words had brought her. She plucked at the dangling threads on her shirt and the gamy scent of bear wafted up to her.

“What were you going to do if you’d found the Colton gang in the mine?” Rook asked. He sat in one of the chairs and picked up his gun.

“I was going to kill them.”

He laughed at her answer. “You and what regiment?”

She didn’t smile. She was deadly serious, and that worried him.

“Cassie, that’s stupid. The Colton gang is wanted by every lawman in the country, and you think you can waltz up to them and shoot them?” He ran one hand across his sandpapery cheeks and chin. “Use your head. You’re damn lucky that bear was in the mine instead of the Coltons.”

The silence that followed sent his gaze back to hers. She was staring pointedly at the gun he held.

“You’ve been poking around in my private things!” she charged, pointing a shaking finger in his direction.

“It’s my gun. I can’t help it if you hid it under your bloomers.”

“My bloom—!” She felt her face flame, and she turned
her head sharply and stared out the window. “You had no right. This is my place.” She looked at him again, her eyes flitting warily to the gun he held with familiar ease. “You planning on using that thing soon?”

“No.” He pointed it at her and grinned. “No bullets. Where’d you hide them?”

Contempt narrowed her eyes. “Don’t point that thing at me!” She reached out and batted the gun butt away from her. “You don’t need the bullets if you’re going to act like that!”

“Oh, for Chrissakes!” He dropped the gun on the table. “I sure as hell don’t need you to tell me how to handle a firearm. You’re not the only one who can shoot straight, darlin’.”

“Dar—” She clamped her lips together for a moment. “Don’t call me that.”

“Don’t order me around like I’m your bird dog,” he said, his face infused with bright color and the veins in his neck standing out. He stared at her a minute, his gaze moving restlessly from her head to her feet and back up again. “If I was bent on shooting you, don’t you think I would have done it when I had your shotgun in my hands?”

She saw the light of truth in his dark eyes and felt foolish. What was wrong with her? Why was she fighting him, doubting him, snapping at him? He hadn’t done anything to her. He was just in the way, but it wasn’t his fault. She’d agreed to let him stay until he was well enough to head back East.

He raked his fingers through his midnight hair. “Take off your shirt, and I’ll clean those scratches on your back.”

“They’re nothing. No need to—”

“Cassie, will you quit being so damned bullheaded?” he asked, exasperated. “You can’t reach those places. You want them to get better or worse?”

“I’ll wait for Jewel to visit, and she can see to them.”

“Fine. Let them get infected. I don’t give a good god-damn one way or the other!” He stomped out of the cabin, his boots hitting the floor like angry fists.

Cassie felt her mouth drop open. Now what had gotten
into him? she wondered. Menfolk were a puzzle, no doubt about it.

By sundown Cassie had changed her mind about the marks on her back. They itched something awful, and she was afraid they might leave scars. Her vanity usurped her modesty.

“Rook,” she said, lending a wistful quality to his name that got his attention immediately.

He’d been sopping up the last of the gravy on his plate with a biscuit, but he dropped the bread when his name came floating sweetly to him.

“Yes?” he answered, wondering what had put that coquettish look on her face. He blinked, positive that his eyes were playing tricks on him. Coquettish? Cassie? Impossible! But it was there in the sparkle of her blue eyes and the barest of smiles on her lips. “What’s on your mind?”

Firelight and shadow played across his face. His eyes and teeth flashed in the semidarkness, and Cassie trembled deep down inside. No matter how much her good sense told her to trust him, her sixth sense told her that he wasn’t completely trustworthy. A streak of deviltry ran randomly through him that both repelled and attracted her.

He finished off the gravy and biscuit and wiped his mouth on a dish rag, which he called a “napkin.”

“Did you like the supper?” she asked, stalling. She’d point out all the nice things she’d done for him before telling him that she’d changed her mind about him doctoring her back.

“Sure did. If I’d had any doubts they’re gone now,” he said, leaning back and spreading his hands across his stomach.

“Doubts about what?”

“About your biscuits and gravy. They are beyond a doubt the very best I’ve ever put in my mouth.” He winked one dark eye.

Cassie blushed and flapped her hand downward at him. “Go along—you don’t mean that,” she said, but she was pleased by the compliment.

“Who taught you to cook?”

“Nobody. I just learned.”

“You learned well.” He hooked his thumbs under his suspenders and scooted the chair back. “I’ll wash up, since you cooked such a tasty meal.” When she didn’t comment on his offer he looked at her and was intrigued by the thoughtfulness of her expression. “You’re awfully pensive tonight.”

“Awful what?” she asked, blinking away her private thoughts.

“Thoughtful,” he substituted, sweeping the dishrag from his lap and dropping it in his empty plate. “Are you feeling all right?”

“Now that you mention it …” She peeked at him through her long lashes. “Those scratches on my back are bothersome.”

Rook folded his arms across his chest and waited her out, refusing to make it easy for her. Stupid little fool. If she wanted his help now, she’d have to ask for it and ask nicely.

Cassie stacked his plate in hers, unsure of her next move. She decided to earn his pity by rolling her shoulders and wincing painfully.

“Yessiree, these scratches are mighty bothersome. I’m afraid they might leave marks. I sure hate to think of going through the rest of my life all scarred up.” She glanced at his taciturn expression and carried the soiled dishes to the sideboard. “ ’Course it’s different for a man.”

“Says who?”

Cassie tried to remember where she’d heard that, but she couldn’t. Maybe she’d thought it up by herself. “A man’s life is full of violence anyways, so scarring’s all part of it. Womenfolk shouldn’t have war wounds or battle scars. You’ll have a scar where that bullet when through you, but it’ll be natural on you.”

“There’s nothing natural about a bullet passing through flesh and bone.”

She bit her lower lip, feeling chastised, then resorted to her former self. She faced him squarely.

“I’ve changed my mind. I want you to put some medicine on these places on my back. I’ll get the salve.”

She started toward the bedroom, but his hand darted out and grasped her wrist.

“Hold on, missy.” He stood up, towering over her. “I’m not doing anything until you say
please
.”

Her gaze battled his for a few moments. “Please,” she said in a toneless voice. “
Now
will you do it? My back stings something fierce.”

One corner of his mouth tipped up, and pinpoints of light danced in his dark eyes like starfire. “I like the way you talk—sometimes,” he amended, raising one hand to ward off her sass. “Yes, get the salve and I’ll spread it on. I would have doctored it earlier if you hadn’t been so hard-headed.”

“I know, I know,” she said, acknowledging her bad manners. “How’re you gonna do this?” She looked down at her shirt uneasily. “How you gonna put the salve on without …”

“Without seeing your goods?” he finished for her, then laughed when she colored brightly. “Go into the bedroom, take off your shirt, hold it up in front of you, and come back in here.” He grasped her shoulders, turned her toward the bedroom, and gave her a push. “Why worry about it? You’ve seen a helluva lot more of me than I’ll see of you.”

She went into the bedroom and took off her shirt. She wished he hadn’t said that about her seeing him in his altogether. Now she was thinking about it … about him … his body. Cassie ran her hands down her hot face. Damn him! It was bad enough to have looked upon his private parts, but did he have to let her know that he knew she’d looked?

“Disgusting,” she hissed, gathering the shirt in front of her and holding it tightly in place. “Downright disgusting!” She picked up the jar of ointment and held her head high as she glided into the room where he waited.

He’d placed a pan of water on the table and held a wash-rag in one hand. He pointed to the floor between his feet.

“Sit down here in front of me.” He motioned impatiently. “Come on. Sit!”

She hesitated another moment or two, searching his expression for any glint of misconduct; then she sat cross-legged
in front of him. She shut her eyes and tried not to think of him, his hands touching her, his eyes seeing her bare back and shoulders.

“This isn’t so bad.” Rook leaned closer, examining the long scratches, which weren’t deep but were swollen. “Once I get them cleaned they’ll feel better.” He continued cleaning off the dried blood with warm, soapy water. “These won’t scar.”

“No?” she asked, hope making her voice rise to a girlish chime.

“No, and what a pity not to have some reminder of the time you wrestled a bear and won.”

“I didn’t wrestle it, and I didn’t win nothing,” she groused, inching back closer to him as she grew accustomed to his gentle touch. “He knocked me down was all, and I rolled onto my stomach to reach my shotgun and he walked across my back on the way out of the mine.”

“I wish I could have seen that,” he said, laughing under his breath. “But you had no business going to that place alone. What if someone
had
been hiding out in there? You could have gotten yourself shot full of holes.”

“
I
was aiming to do the shooting.”

Rook examined the supple curve of her spine. Cassandra Mae Potter had plenty of backbone, he observed wryly. Thinking of her striding into the mine to single-handedly rid the territory of the entire Colton gang earned both his respect and his annoyance. Contradictions went along with knowing Cassie. Most of the time he wanted to protect her and wring her neck at the same time.

He gingerly applied the sticky salve to the eight long scratches, pausing when she arched away from him, continuing when she relaxed again.

“I’m being as gentle as I can,” he told her.

“Mmmm,” she murmured, then added as an afterthought: “And you can be gentle, can’t you? That’s something I didn’t expect in a man.”

Surprise lifted his brows and widened his eyes. Had she actually bestowed a compliment on him, or was he hearing things? His hands hovered above her shoulders and he ached to let them float down to the softness of her skin, to
curve around her shoulders and pull her back until she was wedged between his knees. He closed his eyes, warding off a spasm of desire. It’d been weeks since he’d had a woman. He couldn’t remember the last time—God, he wanted … he needed … he lusted.

“You finished?”

Rook opened his eyes to temptation. “Yes, all finished,” he said. Then, in a purely instinctive reaction, he swept her hair to one side and kissed the nape of her neck.

Rook lay wide awake on a mattress that held the imprint of a woman’s body. Cassie’s body.

The moon rode high in a star-pocked sky. It smiled wanly and Rook smiled back sadly. Coyotes yipped and barked in noisy conversation, their excited voices floating from one hillock to another. The night was as restless as Rook felt.

Flinging an arm out from his side, Rook ran his fingers across the expanse of sheet next to him. His thoughts moved from one enticement to another; white shoulders, flowing hair, lushly lashed eyes, rosy cheeks, swaying hips, thrusting breasts.

Groaning, he sat up and planted his feet on the cold floor. He stared belligerently at the bemused moon and then hung his head between his hunched shoulders and wallowed in his misery.