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I turn and walk away, head high, heart thumping, hand still curled around my knife.
Chapter Seven
“Okay, you were right. This is definitely my least favorite chore.” I throw a just-rinsed shirt onto the growing pile on the riverbank.
“It took you this long to figure that out?”
“I was giving it a fair chance.”
Ash’s expression tells me what she thinks of that idea. “I’ve always hated it,” she says. She is knee-deep in the river, scrubbing a pair of overalls with soap.
“At least we only have to do it once a week.” I frown at my raw fingers.
“Even that’s too much. I’d rather be out hunting. Or gardening. Or something.”
“Me, too,” I say with a sigh, reaching for another shirt in the thankfully dwindling mound of dirty clothes.
“Glad to hear it,” Caleb says. “Because tomorrow that’s what we’re doing. Hunting.”
“Really?” Ash asks, head snapping up. “Real hunting? Not just snaring?”
“Yep.”
I look over to where he’s appeared, shading my eyes against the sinking sun. He nods at me, gives Ash a smile.
“Wanna help?” Ash calls, splashing water in his direction. Caleb steps back, easily avoiding getting wet.
“Nope. I’m going on a walk.”
I catch Ash’s eye and look down, trying to swallow my smile. She’s told me that Caleb goes on “walks” when he wants to be alone with a girl.
“Who is it this week?” Ash asks, not bothering to hide her grin.
“None of your damn business,” Caleb throws back. “You two stick together tonight.”
“Why? You planning on being gone until morning?” Ash asks, all mock innocence, and this time I can’t bite back my laughter.
Caleb points at me. “Watch it.” Which just sets Ash off, too. Both of us smothering giggles behind handfuls of wet cloth.
“Jesus,” Caleb huffs. “You two are pitiful.”
“Have fun!” I call as he walks away.
“Don’t knock her up!” Ash yells at his retreating back.
Caleb throws a rude gesture over his shoulder, but doesn’t turn around.
When our laughter has faded away, I look at Ash with raised eyebrows. “So, who is it this week?”
Ash shrugs. “Not sure. I think it’s Laurel.”
I still don’t have names for all the faces in camp. But I think I know who Laurel is, a petite girl with dishwater-blond hair and a lopsided smile. “She’s pretty.” I wring out the pants I’m holding. “Do you think he likes her?”
Ash rolls her eyes. “Who could tell? He likes all of them.”
I snort out another laugh. “Almost done,” I say, pulling the last shirt from the pile.
“Thank God,” Ash says. “What about you?”
