“How’s your throat feel?”
“I didn’t scream all that loud,” she said, indignation beginning to replace the paralyzing fear of a moment ago. “It feels fine. What hurts is my—my—”
“Tail. I can take care of that for you.”
A bee sting. Oh, for heaven’s sake. She could have taken care of it herself if she’d thought to bring along her baking soda. “It’ll stop hurting after a while,” she said, summoning all the dignity she could gather, which under the circumstances, wasn’t much.
Mystified, she watched as he glanced around, plucking a leaf here and another there. Three leaves in all. He put them into his mouth and began to chew, never taking his gaze from her face.
Eleanor could only wonder if this were some mysterious Cherokee ritual meant to drive out evil spirits. “If that’s supposed to make me feel better, I can tell you right now, it’s not working.”
“Bend over,” he said, and spat the green wad into his hand.
“I beg your—”
“Bend over, Eleanor. For once, forget you’re a proper lady and do as you’re told.”
Hands on her knees, she bent over, closed her eyes and wondered, not for the first time, just when her entire life had turned into a farce.
Something cool touched her bottom. Within seconds, the pain began to fade. She stayed in that position, skirt laid over her back, bloomers around her knees, and waited for him to laugh.
“Laugh and I’ll kill you,” she said grimly.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, but she could hear the laughter simmering just under the surface. “How’s it feel now?” he asked after another few minutes had passed.
“Fine. Good. That is, it doesn’t feel at all.”
“Then I’ll go on back to camp. I’m going to try and snare us something for breakfast, but we need to get on the road as soon as the fog burns off.”
On what road, she wondered as she adjusted her clothing and struggled to find a single shred of dignity. If they’d waited to find a proper road instead of streaking off across country like two felons fleeing in the night, none of this would have happened. They would have reached a village by now, or even a town. New towns were springing up almost as fast as new train tracks could be laid. Surely they could have found some place to stay—to rest—to work, if they had to, to earn enough to travel the rest of the way with some degree of comfort and safety.
“We’ll have our tea first,” Jed said by way of greeting when she returned to camp. “Sweet birch. Ever tasted it?”
She shook her head, unable to look directly at the man who had witnessed perhaps the most embarrassing moment of her life.
“You’ll like it. I wish I had time to hunt down a bee tree, but it’s almost sweet enough as it is. If there’s time before the fog burns off, I’ll boil us some greens. Won’t be as tasty as your fried cornmeal mush, but it’ll fill up the empty places. McGee seems none the worse for his near miss last night.”
It occurred to her that he was talking more than usual in order to allow her time to find her composure. She didn’t know whether to cry or to thank him for his sensitivity. “That’s nice. I’ll gather up everything and get ready to travel.”
Gather up her three dresses, her petticoats and bloomers and the flannel gown they used for cover during the night. Everything was damp, most of it soiled, all of it beginning to mildew. She thought about her rose silk and was glad Varnelle had it, whether or not she was ever able to wear it.
“I think I’ll leave my shoes here and go barefoot the rest of the way,” she said, as if the idea had just occurred to her. The buckskin patches were nearly worn through and without the tongue, the laces cut into her swollen feet.
Jed lifted one shoe and studied it inside and out. “I’ve got another few scraps of leather. It’ll protect your feet from thorns, at least.”
“Until it wears out. I think I’ll just watch where I step. I’m getting used to going barefoot. What about you?”
He ignored that. He had stopped complaining years ago, knowing how little good it did. “You can start out riding today. Once we hit a steep stretch, it won’t be safe without a saddle, but long as we’re on fairly level ground, McGee might as well earn his keep.”
It was an indication of just how weary she was that she didn’t argue. Knowing how miserable that bony back was—knowing she would have to be on constant guard to keep those yellow teeth from taking a bite of her foot, she only nodded.
“We’ll move out once we’ve eaten. Just before daylight I heard the sound of a train coming from over there.” He pointed to a ridge that appeared to float on a sea of fog. “Once it got light enough I climbed a tree and took a look around. Fog’s still too thick to be sure, but I think I’ve figured out where we are, give or take a few dozen miles.”
He looked directly at her then, his bearded face every bit as grimy as her own. And then he smiled, and it was as if the sun had come out and burned off not only the fog, but the memories of the past three days—even the past three years.
It was late that afternoon, after topping another ridge and zigzagging down a narrow trail, when they came upon the pond. Hollowed out by eons of rushing water that had since been diverted by a rockslide, it glittered in the golden sunlight, as inviting as the finest porcelain bathtub. A trickle of water leaked through the slide, just enough to keep it filled.
“Did you know this was here?” she asked, seeing Jed’s expectant gaze on her weary, grimy face.
“I was pretty sure I remembered where it was, but it’s been years since I’ve been along this way. You game to try it?”
“Just try and stop me.” She lifted her head and inhaled, smelling honeysuckle and something even sweeter…black locust?
She had started out the morning riding, feeling guilty because several times she saw Jed wince as he stepped on something sharp. And while riding might spare her feet, it was anything but restful. She’d been almost relieved when he’d told her she would need to walk the next few miles. Walking under a midday sun was hot work.
“Going to be cold, you know. Take your breath away. Best way is to jump in and get it over with. Your body’ll take over and warm you up.”
Beyond any pretension of modesty, she was already unbuttoning her bodice when she saw him pull his shirt off over his head. She could hardly begrudge him a bath. The pool was certainly large enough for two.
“Is it very deep?” she asked, hesitating on the last button on her dress.
“It’s not even up to your neck,” he assured her. “I’ll be nearby just in case, though.”
“Well…all right, then.” She tugged her dress down over her hips, unbuttoned her limp petticoat, leaving on only her bloomers and sleeveless camisole.
Moving to the edge of the bank, she drew in a deep breath, shouted, “Last one in is a rotten egg!” and sailed off, bottom first, arms and legs out before her. She wasn’t actually afraid of water, she’d simply never learned how to swim.
Jed shed the last of his clothes and dived in after her. Taking a deep breath, he submerged and swam the length of the small egg-shaped pool. Even with the sun overhead, the water was shockingly cold. He came up, tossed his hair from his face and looked around for Eleanor.
“Sweet Jesus,” he whispered, oblivious to his own nakedness. She had waded to the far side of the pool, putting as much space between them as possible.
It wasn’t enough. Five hundred miles wouldn’t have been enough. He remembered seeing another woman wearing wet cotton underwear that stuck to her skin like paint, showing off every secret it was designed to conceal. It was while standing under the edge of the roof of Sam Stanfield’s lineshack on a hot summer night, taking advantage of a cooling rain and the tantalizing view, that he’d first learned that veiled secrets were more tempting than secrets clearly revealed.
Vera hadn’t needed a bath that night. She’d always smelled of the store-bought perfumes her daddy gave her. After working fence from sunup till sundown, Jed
had been the one who’d needed the bath. Rank as a polecat.
Vera had stripped down and joined him, giggling the entire time. He could still remember the way she had wriggled her plump bottom, eyeing his naked privates like a hungry bobcat sighting a big, fat rabbit.
With her long brown hair and her pale blue eyes, Vera had been the prettiest woman in the whole wide world as far as Jed was concerned. Of course, back then his entire world had consisted of Foggy Valley and the territory immediately surrounding it. Other than the circuit-riding preachers and peddlers who came through at irregular intervals, sometimes traveling with their families, there were precisely four women under the age of forty living in the area. Two of them were rarely seen without a lip full of snuff, and another one had a disturbingly vacant stare.
And then there was Vera. Her daddy’s little darling, the secret dream of every man in the valley under the age of fifty. Hell, even crazy old Elbert, said to be close to a hundred years old, would have gotten a rise out of seeing her the way Jed had seen her almost every night that summer he’d turned seventeen.
Realizing belatedly that he was standing in water scarcely up to his hips, he lowered his body, still thinking about a time so long ago that it might as well have been another lifetime. He’d kept her letter to remind him of just how far he’d come in the eight years since he’d been driven out of the valley.
And now, there in the shallow end of the pool, a near-naked Eleanor was standing with her back to him, dipping her head under and swishing her hands through her hair.
Turning, she startled him out of his trance. “Jed, get over here.” She sounded more riled than demanding.
Lowering himself under the surface again, he moved smoothly through the crystalline depths until he was only a few feet away.
“I’d forgotten how good swimming feels,” he said in a valiant effort to keep his mind off what was within reach of his hands. “I’ve been swimming since I was knee-high to a grasshopper.” As if she’d be interested, he thought ruefully. Focusing on her nearness—not to mention her near-nakedness—he rambled on determinedly. “There was a spring-fed pond on the farm where the cattle drank. George—he’s four years older than I am—anyhow, he taught me to swim one summer by throwing me overboard. Said one of these days I’d thank him for it. Turned out he was right. Couldn’t always find a bridge when I happened to want to cross a river.”
She yanked irritably at a section of matted hair. Jed tried not to stare. Did she have any idea how naked she looked, covered from neck to knees in transparent cotton underwear? Despite the cold water, his body had reacted enthusiastically to the first glimpse of her stiff, rosy nipples and the faint shadow between her thighs.
“I want you to cut it off,” she said while he shook the water from his hair.
“Cut what off?” He asked, alarmed. He cast a quick glance beneath the surface to see how much was visible.
Everything, unfortunately.
She grabbed a handful of long tangled curls and tugged. “This. I can’t get even a comb through it now and my brush just slides over the surface.”
Oh. She was talking about her hair. Relieved, he said, “What you need is a curry comb.”
“What I need is a sheep shearer. Can you do it with a knife? I didn’t bring my scissors.” She stood there, not three feet away, facing him with her feet planted apart, both hands clutching chunks of dripping hair.
He blinked, swallowed twice and remembered to breathe. Oh, man, she was something. Mad as a wet hen—wet as a wet hen—every glorious inch of her glowing pink through her thin white underwear. She might as well not be wearing anything. “I reckon I could,” he said judiciously, “but it’d be a real shame.”
“Just do it. It’ll grow back enough before I get back to Charlotte so I can do something with it. Buy a switch or something. Two bugs floated out the first time I dunked my head under water. Bugs!”
“I’ll have a go at it. Might just cut out the worst tangles—you can probably comb the rest across the bare spots.” He knew as much about cutting hair as he did about toe dancing, but if it meant this much to her, he’d try his best. Bald as an egg, she’d still be beautiful. He would have liked to tell her that, to reassure her, but he’d never been good at fancy words.
“Why on earth didn’t I think to bring soap?” she wailed. “Not that even soap would help at this point.”
“Because leaving came up in a hurry? Because we had to pack just what we’d need for the trip—no room for anything else? You can’t be expected to think of everything.”
“Well, I should certainly have thought of soap,” she said as if he’d lost his mind. “That’s a basic necessity.”
In her world, it probably was. “Come on over here to the bank.” Averting his eyes, he took her by the hand and led her to the steep side of the pool, where the bank had been worn away. “Reach down, dig your fingers under the top layer of pebbles and you’ll find sand and gravel. Works as good as soap when it comes to scrubbing dirt off a body.”
Shooting him a skeptical look, she pinched her mouth shut, closed her eyes and submerged. A moment later she came up sputtering, holding a handful of coarse gravel that leaked through her fingers before she thought to cup her hand.
“Here, let me help you,” he said, and before she could protest he had scooped up two handfuls and was scouring her arms and shoulders.
Gently, though, because he didn’t want to hurt her.
“Ohh, that feels good,” she purred.
“Turn around partway,” he said gruffly, and dutifully, she revolved until she was side to him. He lifted her arm and lightly scoured underneath. The light dusting of golden hair there aroused him almost as much as had the sight of her pale thatch.
Jesus, don’t let her look down, he thought, embarrassed at his body’s reaction. “Look over there,” he said, pointing to a dead pine that rose above the lower canopy of trees. “Pretty sure I saw a bobwhite.”
“I didn’t know quail perched in trees.”
He didn’t, either, he’d simply said the first thing that had popped into his head. Trust an educated woman to call him on it.
Taking her by the shoulders, he turned her so that she was facing away from him. Scooping up another handful of fine gravel, he applied it to her back. “It would help if you lifted your thingamabob,” he said.
It would help if you stripped off everything, climbed out onto the bank and put me out of my misery. He thought it, but didn’t say it. She was in his care. A gentleman didn’t take advantage of a lady who was dependent on him for survival.
On the other hand, he’d never pretended to be a gentleman. Might have claimed it a time or two when it had been to his advantage, but he’d been lying.
“That feels so-oo wonderful,” she crooned, holding her camisole up under her arms so that he could scrub her lower back.
And lower, and lower. He couldn’t help himself, his palms slipped under the waist of her bloomers to cup her buttocks.
She stood stock-still. Hearing her catch her breath, he closed his eyes and wondered if he could just sink under the surface until he drowned.
But then, she’d probably snatch him up by his bearded chin and save his worthless life. Again.
“Eleanor, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
She turned to face him, causing his hands to tangle in the clinging wet muslin. “I’m not sorry. I wanted you to touch me,” she said so softly at first he wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly. “Jed, would it be so wrong to—to—”
“Make love?” His eyes bored into the depths of hers, seeking…
Seeking something. He’d used the word deliberately, knowing that if it happened, this time it would be different from anything he had ever before experienced with a woman. This time it wouldn’t be a case of calf love—or whatever it was that drove young men to make fools of themselves. It wasn’t pleasure for pay, either, which is what he’d mostly known after leaving home. Only now that it was almost within reach di
d he realize just how far he had come down an unknown road.
God alive, I think I’m in love!
At least he knew when to shut up. Blindfolded and bootless, he was treading uncharted territory here.
Chapter Eighteen
It was Eleanor who led him out of the pool, her skin glowing pink through the thin wet garments. It was Eleanor who stood before him, the expression in her eyes shy but determined. “Please?” she whispered as her fingers touched the top button of her dripping camisole.
Jed needed no other invitation. Whatever waited at the end of the trail, they would work it out together. They were miles apart in ways that counted most in her world. His own world was more basic. All he knew was that he wanted this woman, body, spirit and soul.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, the words encompassing far more than the moment.
Stepping out of her drawers, she knelt and held up her arms in invitation. “I won’t let you,” she replied calmly. Her eyes, eyes that usually reflected all the colors of a sunlit forest, looked dark as night as she gazed up at him beseechingly.
He came down beside her carefully, fully aroused and knowing that even though she was experienced, his un-checked eagerness might frighten her.
It frightened him. Jed had known more women than he could even recall, but never—not even with Vera—had he known anything to compare with the feelings that coursed through him now. Could it be this simple? Could a man fall in love with a woman without ever having learned how to love?
He was still kneeling when she lay down, gazing up at him. After a while she said, “You could start by kissing me.” A wistful little smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
It was all the invitation he needed. Lowering himself carefully, he took her in his arms and touched her mouth with his. Easy, easy, he warned himself, don’t frighten her.
But easy was impossible. The moment his lips touched hers, all rational thought fled. Hungrily, his mouth caressed, lifted, pressed and dragged gently against the moisture, parting her lips—making it impossible for her to shut him out, even if she’d wanted to.
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