“That’s an unusual word choice,” she said.
“Are you challenging it?”
“Just asking for a definition.”
He paused to consider his response.Quim was a crude, old-fashioned term for female parts.Most blue-collar workers wouldn’t know it, so maybe he should claim ignorance.He remembered how she’d deliberately misunderstood the wordvagrantto take the sting out of his insult earlier today.“It’s a kind of fruit.”
She arched a brow.“A fruit?Like a quince?”
His lips twitched at the question.This afternoon, he’d imagined eating her instead of eating lemons, which made no sense.She would taste sweet, not sour.The absurdity of the idea struck him, and he couldn’t maintain his usual poker face.When he smiled, she started giggling uncontrollably.She fell over onto her side, pressing a palm to her flat stomach.
“You’re a liar,” she said, after she sat up again.“You know what it means.”
“I do.”
She gave him a curious glance.“How?”
“I’ve studied anatomy.”
This set her off again, though he hadn’t meant to amuse her.Paul had actually read the word in a book, but he couldn’t remember which one.He’d forgotten about the role he was supposed to be playing and he didn’t care.What mattered was that he’d impressed her with his vocabularyandmade her laugh.
He liked her, he realized.It wasn’t just physical attraction.There was something else between them, a common thread of humor and humanity.They’d both come here for sanctuary.They both needed to heal.She had a sunnier outlook than he did, and he admired her tenacity.She was smart, stubborn, and resilient.
A warning bell sounded in his mind because he couldn’t afford to like her.He couldn’t let down his guard or abandon the details of his cover story.He was here under false pretenses, and she was angling for his cabin.They wereadversaries.If he gave her an inch, she’d take a mile.He shouldn’t be smiling at her, ogling her figure, or trying to make her laugh.He shouldn’t be spending time with her at all.
Paul kept playing with tempered enthusiasm.She continued to rack up triple-word scores.He continued to make four-letter words, but his heart wasn’t in it.She won easily.
“You don’t fool me,” she said, rubbing her eyes.
“I don’t?”
“You let me win.”
“I didn’t let you win.”
“You didn’t try your best.”
“I’m high as a kite.”
“We’ll have a rematch when you’re sober.”
He made a noncommittal sound, although he was secretly thrilled by the prospect of spending another evening with her.
“How are you feeling?”
“I’ll live.Thank you.”
She accepted his gratitude with a tired smile.Then she glanced at Emily, still dozing on the beanbag chair.
“Are you staying at the campground?”he asked.
“Yes.Emily left her doll under your picnic table, so we came back for it.”
Paul didn’t offer them shelter, even though his protective instincts were triggered.Vanessa had helped him with a medical emergency.She had a small child, and no suitable accommodations.He doubted they were accustomed to roughing it.But what could he do to solve this problem?Letting her stay in his cabin was a bad idea.It made his head swim with other, equally bad ideas.
“I’m going to use your restroom,” Vanessa said.
Paul nodded and rose to his feet.He took the empty beer bottle to the kitchen just to put some distance between them.When she returned to the living room, she picked up her medical bag and lifted the sleeping girl into her arms.He opened the screen door for them.The night was alive with chirping insects, the air cooled by a gentle breeze.
