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"Well, Id best go. " Before he could respond, she turned and hurried from the room, closing the door behind her.
In the empty hallway, she sagged against the closed door for a heartbeat. Then she smiled. Shed done it.
She hugged the warm towel and barreled from the house. Outside, the still hot sun hit her hard in the face, but this time the heat was welcome. Although she was dying to run, she forced herself to walk across the yard. At the barn, she paused and glanced back. Mad Dog was nowhere to be seen.
Grinning, she dashed around the barn and raced through the fragrant orchard. Deep in the back pasture, she came to a bend in the river that created a still, green pool.
For as long as Mariah could remember, this place had been her refuge. As a child, full of mischief and energy, shed come here to play, to splash around in the water, to laugh and yell, to be free. Now, as an adult, this place was her escape from a dull and ordinary life. From the detached, emotionless woman she tried so hard to be.
Here, in the cool quiet of the pool, she could let her stiff facade slip away, let it be lost in the swirling current. For a few precious moments a week, she could be herself.
She stood there a long time, relaxing, enjoying the feel of the breeze and the sun on her face. It felt almost like a touch, and she shivered in response. It had been so long since anyone had touched her, really touched her. Years . . .
She closed her eyes, trying not to think about it, battling the wave of sadness that accompanied the thought. It was the price of safety, she knew. Isolation meant safety, but safety meant loneliness. It was a truth shed known, and tried to accept years ago. But sometimes, like now, she felt her loneliness, her disconnection from the world, so sharply, so keenly, that she wanted to cry.
It was such a simple thing, being touched, and yet it would mean so much___
She pushed the depressing thoughts aside with practiced ease. She crossed the river where it was shallow and went to her usual spot on the other side. Slowly she unpinned her heavy hair and shook her head, reveling in the feel of her loose, unbound tresses. Finally she peeled off the ugly brown dress and kicked it aside. A breeze molded the thin linen undergarments to her body.
She shuddered at the caressing touch of the wind. The lacy eyelet of her undergarments fluttered against her flesh. She unlaced her canvas boots and threw them aside. They landed in a heap with her stockings and dress.
Leisurely, her arms at her sides, she walked into the river, giving herself over to the one purely sensual pleasure in her regimented life. Cold water seeped through the flimsy linen of her underclothes. The fabric clung to her goose-bumped flesh.
She went in, deeper. Deeper.
Water lapped at her knees, her waist, her breasts, i swirled around her like a lovers gentle touch. A cool breeze pushed the water in ever-widening circles around her.
She dropped her head back into the water. Droplets slid along her forehead and gathered on her lips. She tasted the clean, pure freshness of it, and imagined for a moment—just a moment—that she was being kissed. She dragged her tongue along her full lower lip, savoring the waters sweetness.
Behind her, the rope lay in readiness, as it had every Saturday for years. She took hold of it, feeling the coarse texture of the knotted hemp beneath her slick palms.
She let her feet go out from under her; they drifted upward, floated weightlessly toward the surface of the pool.
She closed her eyes and lay there, motionless, floating, feeling the caressing lick of the water against her flesh and the stirring touch of the breeze on her damp face. Her every sense felt heightened. The air seemed clearer, cooler; the earthy, fecund scent of the bank filled her nostrils.
She let out her breath in a deep, contsnted sigh. Lord, this felt good.
Mad Dog crept through the orchard behind Mariah. He knew he shouldnt be following her—he had no right. But he couldnt help himself. Shed been so damned odd in the bathing room, so unlike herself. He sensed that she was hiding something, and he had to know what a woman like Mariah Throckmorton had to hide.
The rushing babble of the river became louder and louder. At the last lonely apple tree, he stopped and peered around.
She was standing beside the river, where a curve in the land created a smooth, jade green pool. Beside her, a huge, wind-sculpted oak tree stood guard, its golden-red leaves flickering gently in the breeze.
She closed her eyes and reached up. One by one, she pulled the pins from her hair.
Unbound, the thick, curly brown mass tumbled downward, framing her face.
Sunlight caught dozens of reddish strands, turning her dull, ordinary brown hair into swirls of mahogany fire.
She shook her head for a moment, smiling, then reached behind her again.
Mad Dog swallowed hard. His throat dried up. His heard pounded hard and loud against his rib cage. He started to back away. He shouldnt be here, shouldnt invade her privacy—
The baggy brown dress slid down her body and landed in a heap at her feet. She kicked it aside.
He froze, unable to move. Holy shit. Mad Dog let out his pent-up breath in a sigh.
His hands started to shake. He shoved them in his pockets.
