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She quickly pushed that thought away. It wasn’t the state of being married that gave her the willies, it was the act of getting married. She’d tried it, and made a complete hash out of the deal. If she could do it over … but there weren’t any do-overs for some things.
When he was finished with his rifle, he took hers down to the stalls below, and she listened to him moving around. He’d turned on one of the flashlights; she could tell by the blue-white glow. Glancing at one of the windows, she saw that night had fallen, and the steady rain was still coming down. She’d always enjoyed rain before, but after this she didn’t know if she’d ever feel the same way about it again. The rain was like the bear: If it hadn’t been for the bear, Krugman would likely have killed her. If it hadn’t been for the storm, the bear would likely have heard or seen her, and she doubted the outcome would have been a happy one for her. But the storm had also almost killed her, though, come to think of it, she’d rather die from hypothermia or drowning than from being eaten alive.
Don’t think about it.
She concentrated on listening to Dare, and reminding herself that she was safe, they were both safe. They had shelter, food, water, heat, even a pretty damn comfortable bed. They weren’t in any danger. There were things, urgent things, that they needed to do, but until the weather cleared everything would have to wait. The runoff from a storm could be deadly in the mountains, all that water gathering on its way down from the peaks, gaining in speed and volume, washing boulders and trees down the ravines with astonishing power. Even on horseback, the trip down-mountain would be dangerous, and walking out right now would be almost impossible, even for Dare.
When the weather cleared and the flash floods had subsided, if she still couldn’t walk, Dare would have to leave her here while he trekked to Lattimore’s place. She didn’t worry about being alone here, but when she thought of everything that could go wrong for him, nausea knotted her stomach.
He climbed back up the ladder with her rifle slung over his shoulder. Most of the mud had been wiped from the weapon, but the mechanism would have to be carefully cleaned. He settled on the floor in his former position, by the lantern, and methodically began the process. She leaned her head against the wall and watched him through half-closed eyes, strangely soothed by the sureness of his movements, the almost fierce concentration he gave to the chore, the way he smoothed his lean, powerful hands over the wood and metal, feeling for any roughness, any grit.
He glanced up once, and a corner of his mouth kicked up. “You look half asleep.”
She couldn’t argue with his assessment. Instead she yawned. “It doesn’t make sense to be sleepy after being awake for just an hour or so.”
“We both burned a lot of energy last night. It’ll take more than a few hours of sleep to get back to normal.” Pouring gun oil on a cloth, he slowly rubbed it along the length of the barrel. “After I’m finished with this, I’m all for turning in again.”
“Suits me. Do you have any disposable toothbrushes?”
“Sure. I also set the bucket—you know, the one you refused to pee in—outside to catch some rainwater to heat, if you want to wash off with water instead of wet wipes.”
“Water,” she said immediately. “But it doesn’t have to be heated. I don’t mind using cold water.” The prospect of washing with water cheered her. Wipes were great on the trail, but as far as she was concerned they couldn’t take t
he place of water. They left her with a slightly sticky feel that she thought might mostly be in her head, but if she had an alternative, she’d rather take a break from the wipes.
“There should be some hot water left in the percolator, so you won’t be taking an icy bath. I imagine you’re about ready for another trip outside?”
She was, and she’d been dreading it, because her ankle made the process such an effort. “Trip first, then I’ll clean up.” Half an hour later, the whole exhausting procedure was finished; Dare had divided the water and he was on the lower level washing off and brushing his teeth, while she did the same sitting on the mattress in the sleeping stall. After bringing her back up the ladder he’d pulled the heavy privacy curtain over the opening so she’d feel comfortable stripping off as much as she wanted, then he’d left her alone.
Add “gentleman” to the list of complimentary adjectives she had to apply to the damn man.
But she was undeniably grateful for the privacy; even though he’d stripped her clothes off that morning and cleaned her up, she’d been so exhausted and spent she’d been mostly out of it, so that didn’t count. Now that she was thinking more clearly, she was well aware of the risks of letting herself get carried away by the physical closeness, the dependence, and tricking herself into reading more into their closeness than really existed. That would be so, so easy to do, and seeing the risk set off her protective internal alarms. She didn’t know what she was doing when it came to man/woman situations, so the best way to keep from making a fool of herself again was to steer clear. Normally that wasn’t difficult, but, well, Dare and those damn butterflies could lead her into temptation.
Forewarned was forearmed—if she could just keep that in mind.
She had stuffed some clean clothes into her saddlebags, but she’d been in a hurry, trying to keep from panicking, so she wasn’t certain exactly what she’d packed. Pulling the bags toward her, she unloaded them. Protein bars, water, her pistol, ammo—from a survival standpoint, she’d grabbed the correct stuff. In the way of clothing she’d put in two pairs each of clean socks and underwear, a pair of jeans, and two flannel shirts. Not bad; if she’d been able to get her coat dry, she’d have been fairly well prepared for the weather.
But one thing she hadn’t packed was a clean set of sweats to sleep in. She’d have to continue making do with Dare’s thermal bottoms. She could give him back his flannel shirt and sleep in her own, but she didn’t want to. Oh, God, she’d be in serious trouble if she didn’t watch out.
After washing in the cool water and brushing her teeth with one of the disposable toothbrushes, which was essentially a piece of pink sponge glued to a lollipop stick with a minty-tasting something in the sponge to take the place of toothpaste, she pulled Dare’s clothes back on, and put on one of her own thick socks. She was rewrapping her ankle when she heard Dare coming up the ladder.
“You finished?”
“Yes.” The curtain was swept aside almost before the word was out of her mouth. She looked up at him with a little smile curving her mouth. “Thanks. I feel a lot better now, almost human.”
For one second a hard, unreadable expression set his face, almost as if he was clenching his teeth, then it was gone so fast she wasn’t sure she’d truly seen it or if it was a shadow thrown on his face by the stark light of the lantern. “Is something wrong?” She fought hard to keep her voice level. If something was going on, some disaster about to befall them, then she wanted to know about it, so she could meet the problem head-on. She liked to be prepared for any eventuality.
“No, why?”
“You just had a funny expression—funny strange, not funny ha-ha.”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“If there is, I want to know about it, so I won’t be surprised.”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“I don’t like surprises. I want to be prepared, so I can handle whatever it is.”
