by Sandra Brown
She dejectedly carried their tin dishes to the sink. While she was pumping water over them, he moved up behind her. “You worked hard today.”
His voice was soft and low and came from directly above her head. He was standing very close. His sheer physicality overwhelmed her. She felt tremulous. “So did you.”
“I think we deserve a treat, don’t you?”
Her stomach rose and fell as weightlessly as a balloon. Memory of the kiss he had given her that morning filled her mind, while a potent desire to repeat it flooded her veins. Slowly she turned around and gazed up at him. Breathlessly she asked, “What did you have in mind, Cooper?”
“A bath.”
Chapter Six
“A...bath?” Dorothy couldn’t have said “Oz?” with any more awe and wistfulness.
“A real one. The works. Hot water, soap.” He went to the door, opened it, and came back in rolling a large washtub. “I found this behind the cabin and cleaned it out.”
She didn’t remember feeling this grateful when she opened the present from her father and found her full-length, red fox coat folded amid tissue paper. She clasped her hands beneath her chin. “Oh, Cooper, thank you.”
“Don’t get gushy,” he said querulously. “We’ll get as disgusting as the Gawrylows if we don’t bathe. Not every day, though.”
Rusty didn’t let him spoil her good mood. He didn’t allow people to get even close enough to thank him. Well, that was his problem. He’d done something very thoughtful for her. She had thanked him. Beyond that, what else could she do? He must know how much this meant to her, even if he chose to act like a heel about it now.
She filled several pots and kettles with water from the pump. He carried them to the stove to heat them up, refueling the fire to hurry them along. He then dragged the tub across the wooden floor and placed it directly in front of the fireplace. The metal was icy cold, but in a few minutes the fire would warm it up.
Rusty watched him making all these preparations with expectation, then a growing concern. “What do I do about, uh...”
Saying nothing, expressionless, Cooper unfurled one of the rough muslin bed-sheets he’d boiled and aired that day. The ceiling of the cabin had bare beams. Apparently the Gawrylows had hung meat from it because there were several metal hooks screwed into the dark wood.
Cooper stood on a chair and pushed one of the sharp hooks through a corner of the sheet. Repositioning the chair several times, he soon had the sheet hanging like a curtain behind the tub.
“Thank you,” Rusty said. She was glad to have the sheet there but couldn’t help but notice that with the fireplace behind it, it was translucent. The tub was silhouetted against it. Anybody in the tub would be, too.
Cooper must have noticed that at the same time, because he shifted his eyes away from it and ran his hands nervously up and down his pants legs. “I think the water’s just about ready.”
Rusty assembled her precious cache of toiletries—a bar of scented soap, a small plastic bottle of shampoo, her razor—on the seat of the chair near the tub.
Earlier in the day, she had separated the meager clothing they had left and neatly folded and stacked it on separate shelves, one for her, one for Cooper. She took a fresh pair of long johns and a tank top from her stack now and draped them over the back of the chair.
When everything was ready, she stood awkwardly by while Cooper carefully carried the heavy pots of boiling water across the room and poured them into the tub. Steam rose out of it, but as far as Rusty was concerned it couldn’t be too hot. She had four days’ accumulation of grime and fatigue to soak away. Besides, she was accustomed to spending several minutes each day in her hot tub at home.
“What do I dry with?” she asked.
Cooper tossed her a coarse, dingy towel from the pile of bedding he’d carried in earlier. “I found a couple of these hanging from nails outside the cabin. I boiled them, too. They’ve never known fabric softener, but they’re better than nothing.”
The towel did feel more like sandpaper than terry cloth, but Rusty accepted it without comment.
“There, that should do it,” Cooper said brusquely, emptying the contents of the last kettle into the tub. “Ease into it carefully. Don’t scald yourself.”
“Okay.”
Standing at opposite sides of the tub, they faced each other. Their eyes met through the rising steam. The humidity was already curling Rusty’s hair and making her complexion look dewy and rosy.
Cooper turned his back abruptly and impatiently swatted aside the curtain. It fell back into place. Rusty could hear his stamping, booted footsteps against the uneven flooring. He went outside and slammed the door closed behind him.
She sighed with resignation. He had a sour disposition and that’s all there was to it. And while she was lolling in her first bath in four days, she certainly wasn’t going to dwell on his personality flaws. She wouldn’t let him spoil this for her, no matter how disagreeable he became.
Because she still avoided putting any weight on her leg, it was a challenge to get out of her clothes. When she had managed that, it was an even greater challenge to ease herself into the bathtub. She was finally able to do so by supporting herself on her arms and sitting down slowly, pulling her sore leg in behind her.
It felt more heavenly than she had allowed herself to anticipate. Cooper had been right to caution her; the water was hot, but deliciously so. The corrugated bottom of the tub felt odd against her buttocks and took some getting used to, but before long the luxury of being submerged in hot, soothing water took her mind off that one minor discomfort.
She immersed as much of herself as possible and rested her head against the rim. Her eyes slid closed. She was so relaxed that she didn’t even flinch when she heard Cooper come back inside. She only frowned slightly when a breath of cold air reached her before he shut the door behind him.
Eventually she extended one dripping arm and took the bar of soap off the seat of the chair. She was tempted to lather herself liberally, wantonly, wastefully. But she thought better of it. This bar of soap might have to last a long time. Better not squander it, she decided, as she worked up an adequate lather and soaped herself all over.
Propping her feet one at a time on the rim of the tub, she shaved her legs, carefully maneuvering the razor around Cooper’s stitching. With anguish she realized what an unsightly scar she was going to have but was ashamed of her vanity. She was lucky to be alive. As soon as she got back to Beverly Hills, she would have a plastic surgeon repair Cooper’s well-intentioned, but unattractive, handiwork.
It struck her then that he was being awfully noisy. “Cooper, what are you doing?”
“Making up the beds,” he said, grunting with the effort. “These frames are made of solid oak and weigh a ton.”
“I can’t wait to lie down on one.”
“Don’t expect it to be much better than the ground. There’re no mattresses. Just canvas platforms like cots. But mattresses would have had lice, so it’s just as well.”
Laying aside her razor, she picked up the bottle of shampoo and after dunking her head beneath the water, squeezed out a dollop. The shampoo would have to be rationed even more sparingly than the soap. She worked it through her thick hair, scrubbing ruthlessly from her scalp to the ends. She dunked her head to rinse it, then wrung out as much water as she could.
Laying her head against the tub’s rim again, she fanned her hair out behind her so it could begin to dry. It would drip on the floor, but water was probably the least offensive substance to ever be dripped on it.
Again, her eyes closed as she luxuriated in the warmth of the water, the floral fragrance of shampoo and soap, and the deliciousness of feeling clean again.
Eventually the water began to cool and she knew it was time to get out. Anyway, she doubted that Cooper would go to bed before she did. He must be exhausted after all he’d done since getting up before daybreak that morning. She had no idea what time it was. The crash had stopped
both their watches. Time was measured by the sun coming up and going down. The days were short, but today had been long—emotionally as well as physically taxing.
She braced her arms on the rim of the tub and tried to push herself up. To her dismay, her arms collapsed like wet noodles. She had stayed in the hot water too long; her muscles were useless. Several times she tried, but to no avail. Her arms simply wouldn’t support her. She devised other plans, but none of them worked because of her sore leg, which she couldn’t put any weight on.
Finally, growing chilled and knowing that the inevitable couldn’t be postponed indefinitely, she bashfully called his name.
“What?”
His irritable response wasn’t too encouraging, but she had no choice. “I can’t get out.”
After a silence long enough for a telephone pole to stretch out in, he said, “Huh?”
Rusty squeezed her eyes shut and repeated, “I can’t get out of the tub.”
“Get out the same way you got in.”
“I’m too weak from the hot water. My arms won’t hold me up long enough to step out.”
His curses were so scorching, she didn’t know why the bed-sheet curtain didn’t combust. When she heard his approaching footsteps, she crossed her arms over her breasts. Cool air fanned across her wet, bare back as he moved the curtain aside. She stared straight ahead into the fireplace, feeling his eyes on her as he moved toward the tub.
For a long time he just stood there, saying nothing. Rusty’s lungs were almost ready to burst from internal tension by the time he said, “I’ll slide my hands under your arms. Come up on your left leg. Then while I’m holding you up, lift it out of the tub and set it on the floor. Okay?”
His voice was low and of the same texture as the towel he’d given her to use—as rough as sandpaper. “Okay.” She eased her arms slightly away from her body. Even though she’d been expecting it, the first touch of his fingertips against her slippery, wet skin, came as a shock. Not because it felt awful, but because it didn’t.
And it only got better from there. Confident and strong, his hands slid into the notches of her armpits and cupped them supportively. He braced his legs wide apart, almost straddling the tub, and lifted her. She sucked in her breath sharply.
“What’s the matter?”
“My...my underarms are sore,” she told him breathlessly. “Because of the crutches.” He muttered a curse. It was so vile she hoped she hadn’t heard it correctly.
His hands slipped over her wet skin and encased her ribs. “Let’s try it this way. Ready?”
Rusty, according to his instructions, supported herself on her left leg, letting the injured one dangle uselessly as he raised her out of the water.
“Okay so far?” She nodded. “Ready?” She replied in the same soundless way. He took all her weight on his hands as she lifted her left foot over the edge of the tub and set it on the floor.
“Oh!”
“What now?”
He was just about to release her when she made the exclamation and tipped forward slightly. With lightning reflexes, his arm slid around her, clasping her just below her breasts.
“The floor is cold.”
“Christ, don’t scare me like that.”
“Sorry. It was a shock.”
Each was thinking, “You can say that again.”
Rusty groped for the back of the chair to lend her support and hastily clutched the towel to the front of her body. Of course that still left her back naked to his eyes, but she trusted that he was being a gentleman and wasn’t taking advantage.
“All right?”
“Yes.”
His hands moved from her front to her sides, but he didn’t release her entirely. “Sure?”
“Yes,” she answered thickly, “I’m fine.”
He withdrew his hands. Rusty sighed with relief—as it turned out, prematurely.
“What the hell is this?” She gasped when his hand cupped the side of her hip. His thumb made a long, slow sweep across her buttock, sluicing off water. Then the other buttock was similarly examined. “What the devil happened to you? I thought you said he didn’t hurt you?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Breathless and dizzy, she turned her head and looked up at him over her shoulder. His brows were pulled together into a deep V and his mustache was curved downward with displeasure.
“You’re black-and-blue.”
Rusty looked over her shoulder and down the length of her back. The first thing that registered with her was that Cooper’s dark hands against her pale flesh made a very sensuous picture. Only when he made another solicitous movement with his thumb did she see the bruises.
“Oh, those. They’re from the ride in the travois.”
His eyes swung up to hers and penetrated her with their heat. He kept his hands against her flesh. His voice was as soft as his touch. “You should have said something.”
She became entranced with the movements of his mustache as his mouth formed words. Perhaps that’s why she whispered, “Would saying something have changed anything?”
A strand of her hair got caught in the stubble on his chin. It connected them like a filament of light. Not that they needed it. Their stare was almost palpable. It lasted forever and wasn’t broken until a log in the fireplace popped loudly. They both jumped guiltily.
Cooper resumed his broody expression and growled. “No. It wouldn’t have changed anything.”
Seconds later the drape fluttered back into place behind him. Rusty was trembling. From the cold, she averred. He had kept her standing here long enough to get chilled. She wrapped the towel around her and dried quickly. The cloth was so coarse it left her skin tingling. It chafed the delicate areas of her body, especially her nipples. When she finished drying, they were abnormally rosy and pointed. Achy. And throbbing. And hot.
“It’s the towel,” she muttered as she pulled on her silk long johns.
“What is it this time?” The cantankerous question came from the other side of the drape.
“What?”
“I heard you say something.”
“I said this towel would make a great scouring pad.”
“It was the best I could come up with.”
“I wasn’t being critical.”
“That’d be a first.”
She muttered something else beneath her breath, making sure he didn’t overhear it this time, since it was an epithet grossly unflattering to his lineage and personality.
Aggravated, she ungracefully pulled the tank top over her head. Her nipples poked darkly against the clinging fabric. The silkiness, which should have felt soothing after the towel, only seemed to irritate them more.
She repacked her toiletries in their carrying case and dropped down into the chair. Bending at the waist, she flipped all her hair forward and rubbed it vigorously with the towel, alternately brushing it. Five minutes later, she flung her head back and her semidried hair settled against her shoulders in russet waves. It wasn’t styled, but it was clean, and that was a definite improvement.
It was when she was replacing her hairbrush in the cosmetic kit that she noticed the condition of her nails. They had been jaggedly broken or torn away. She groaned audibly.
Within a heartbeat, the curtain was thrown back and Cooper was standing there. “What’s the matter? Is it your leg? Is it—”
He broke off when he realized that Rusty wasn’t in any pain. But even if that realization hadn’t shut him up, the sight of her sitting silhouetted against the golden firelight, a halo of wavy cinnamon-colored hair wreathing her head like an aura would have. She was wearing a top that was more alluring than concealing. The shadows of her nipples drew his eyes like magnets. Even now, he could feel the heaviness of her breasts where they had rested on his forearms minutes ago.
His blood turned to molten lava, hot and thick and rampant. It surged toward his sex where it collected and produced the normal, but currently unwanted, reaction. It was painful in its intensity.
“You were groaning over your damn fingernails?” he shouted.
“They’re all chipped and broken,” Rusty yelled back at him.
“Better them than your neck, you little fool.”
“Stop calling me that, Cooper. I’m not a fool.”
“You couldn’t even figure out that those two hillbillies wanted to rape you.”
Her mouth drew up into a sullen pout that only inflamed him further because he wanted to kiss it so badly. His unquenchable desire prompted him to say ugly, hurtful things. “You did all you could to entice them, didn’t you? Sitting near the fire when you know what it does to your eyes and complexion. Brushing your hair until it crackled. You know what that kind of thing does to a man, don’t you? You know it drives him crazy with lust.” Then, realizing that his tirade was as good as a confession, he sneered, “I’m surprised you didn’t come out in that getup last night and flaunt yourself in front of Reuben, the poor jerk.”
Rusty’s eyes smarted with tears. His estimation of her was far lower than she had thought. Not only did he think she was useless, he thought she was no better than a whore.
“I didn’t do anything on purpose. You know that, no matter what you say.” Instinctively, in self-defense, she crossed her arms over her chest.
Suddenly he dropped to his knees in front of her and jerked her arms away. In the same motion, he whipped the lethal knife from its scabbard at his waist. Rusty squealed in fright when he clasped her left hand tightly and raised the glittering blade to it. He made a short, efficient job of paring her nails down even with the tops of her fingers. When he dropped that hand, she looked at it remorsefully.
“That looks awful.”
“Well, I’m the only one here to see them and I don’t give a damn. Give me your other hand.”