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He looked up suddenly and smiled at her, waving.
Mariah felt the effect of that smile all the way on the second floor. Memories of last night washed through her, leaving her tingling and warm in their wake. She shoved her hand out the window and waved back at him. "Morning, Mr. Stone. "
"Morning, Miz Throckmorton," he called back, his smile broadening.
Down by the picket fence, Rass pushed to his feet and started walking toward Mad Dog. He was saying something Mariah couldnt hear. All she caught was the word
"clouds. "
Mad Dog turned to him.
And Mariah saw the red scratch marks that crisscrossed Mad Dogs back. Horror rounded her eyes. With a gasp, she stared down at her stubby fingernails, unable to believe shed actually done that to his skin.
Then she looked at her father.
"Oh, my God!" Her hand flew to her mouth. Rass was going to see the damage shed done to Mad Dogs back. And he was going to know what had gone on last night.
"Oh, my God. "
She ducked back in the window and ran for her ar-moire. Yanking out a plain brown skirt and shirtwaist, she dressed quickly and raced down the stairs, her bare feet thumping on the sagging steps.
She lurched into the kitchen and saw the remains of breakfast sitting on the table.
God, shed missed breakfast.
She ran through the room and half stumbled down the porch steps. When she finally reached Mad Dog and her father, she was red-faced and winded, clutching the stitch in her side.
"Hi. " The word came out as a high-pitched squeak.
Rass looked at her briefly, frowning. "Mornin, Mariah. We missed you at breakfast. " He started to say something to Mad Dog, then slowly turned back to Mariah. "Your hairs down. "
She gasped, plastering a hand to her unbound hair. "I . . . I misplaced my hairpins. "
Rass gave her an odd look. "Now, thats a first. "
Mad Dog laughed. "Not precisely. "
Mariah rammed her elbow into Mad Dogs side. He made a satisfying grunt of pain and covered it with a cough.
She tried to smile at her father.
Rass stared back at her. A small frown pleated his forehead. "Everything go okay around here last night?"
Mariah felt the color drain from her cheeks. "Fine. "
They all stood there for a moment longer, staring at one another, nodding. No one said a word.
Finally Mad Dog turned to leave. "Well, Id best—"
Mariah grabbed his arm. "Dont go. "
He frowned at her.
She realized suddenly how foolish she must look. A middle-aged spinster, hair a tangled mess, clinging to the naked arm of a man she barely knew. As if she had a right to touch him.
Forcibly, gritting out a smile, she released her hold on Mad Dog and reached for the black shirt heaped on the ground. "I simply wanted to remind Mr. Stone to wear a shirt. " She turned to him, shoved the shirt at him with a pointed look. "It isnt fitting to go about half-clothed. "
"Really?" The single word was steeped in irony. She had no doubt whatsoever that he was picturing her as she was last night—naked, laughing, astride him.
