The sweet fragrance of lavender had filled Quinn's nostrils when he reached the bath shack. Zelda hadn't drawn a bath for him. No matter, he'd haul his own water, bathe, then talk to Zelda.
Quinn shifted, moving slightly to the side of the doorway. He felt a wry grin creep across his features. His long shadow marked an odd silhouette on the tub, leaving the young woman's features in the light. Her skin glistened with traces of the bath water. She wore her hair up on her head. He looked closer, it was still dirty. Her pale blue eyes glared at him from under her lashes. Hadn't her lashes been black yesterday? Today they appeared light brown, almost invisible. Quinn didn't consider himself a lecherous man, but he certainly enjoyed watching her squirm now that she wasn't in danger.
He was seeing her in a different light than on their first meeting. He relaxed his poker-faced expression somewhat, knowing that with the light at his back, she wouldn't be able to see his expression.
"Ain't ya gonna wash yer hair?"
"Of course," Trish huffed. "Isn't that why you take a bath? To get clean?"
"Wouldn't take too long, if'n ya know what I mean."
"I'll take just as long as I want."
"Suit yer self. I'm haulin' water, but I don' mind the sweet smellin' ya got there ifn' ya ain't emptin' the tub. With that spiritualist, Monsey, in town, won't be long 'til some of the boys start in for baths."
She sucked air, "What do you mean by that?"
"Even a man likes bein' clean. An' folks round these parts expect cleanliness at the spiritualist meetin'." He stepped back and tipped his hat. "Ma'am. Just don' take too long. I might change my mind 'bout waitin'."
He expected to hear a sound retort from her. Instead, a wet sponge hit him squarely on his back. He chuckled, picking it up. "Sure ya won't be needin' this?"
No answer. The gentle sound of sloshing water got his attention. Had he driven her out of the tub so soon? "Trish? Trish, I still got water to haul."
She still didn't answer. Had she drowned? In the tub? He hurried to the bath shack, the bucket in one hand, the sponge in the other. She was gone. He dropped the sponge into the bucket and stepped closer to the tub. At that moment she emerged from the water, sitting up straight. Quinn stepped back in surprise and couldn't take his eyes off of her. With her eyes tightly closed and her hair streaming with water, she lathered her hair. She was the most beautiful drowned rat he had ever beheld. She didn't move for several moments as the water streamed down her satin skin. With a deep breath she submerged herself again. She hadn't even known he was there.
Shaking his head, he walked down the path to the rushing river to rinse the sponge and haul a fresh bucket of water. Four bucketfuls later, he decided to check on her. When he did, she was gone—not submerged in the tub, but gone. The sheet on the stool was gone as well.
Wet footprints marked a trail to the steps. He glanced up, catching the flutter of the sheet as the door closed. Trish had gone to Zelda's room. Women talked. What would either of them have to say about him? He smirked, knowing he had behaved as a gentleman... generally.
Steam from the pot over the fire signaled it was time to haul the large pot to the tub for his bath. Quinn bailed a little of Trish's water before adding his fresh water. It was his turn to soak his aching muscles.
The Talisman - Crisscross Page 15