by Bobbi Smith
Burr had had nothing much to say. He had merely dismounted and started to set up camp once again. Chance, however, had looked distressed over the thought of losing another day of traveling time in his quest to reach Doug, and though he didn't say anything, Rori felt the sting of his disapproval.
The guilt she felt irritated her, and her mood turned vile. Rori knew she wanted to be free of Chance. She wanted to deliver him to Doug and then get away from him. Yet, here they were stuck at the water hole for another entire day, while she tried to nurse her horse back to health.
Rori led the limping steed to the water's edge and the knelt beside him to dampen her cloth in the pool. Though the water wasn't as cold as she would have liked, Rori knew she'd have to make do. Pressing the cool, sodden cloth to Patch's injured limb, she hoped the simple but effective remedy would render him trail-ready by morning. After a few minutes the motion of changing the compress became mechanical to her, and Rori found her gaze drifting to where Chance and her grampa stood talking.
"Is there anything that needs to be done? Anything I can help you with?" Chance asked the older man. It was only noon, and the day stretched ahead of them, long and empty. He was worried about Doug and tense over the delay, and he thought that if he kept busy the time might pass faster.
"Nope. There isn't anything to do right now but wait. I'm going to circle out and scout around a little bit, but it won't take me long. Just settle in and relax. Take advantage of it now, 'cause once we start back on the trail again, we'll be moving fast to make up for lost time," Burr told him as he mounted up and rode slowly from the camp.
Pleased that they would be trying to travel even faster once the horse was healed, Chance resigned himself to a day of idleness. He watched until Burr had disappeared from view and then moved off to get his saddlebags. The day was turning into a scorcher, and since he hadn't had the opportunity to wash up the night before and hadn't really had a bath since they'd left town, the watering hole was beginning to look mighty inviting to him right now. He had time on his hands, so why not?
"How's the leg doing?" he asked as he came down to the bank beside Rori. He hadn't really paid much attention to the boy that morning except to notice how quickly he seemed to have recovered from his fall the day before.
"Patch'll be all right," Rori answered curtly. The last thing she wanted to do was engage Chance in conversation. She just wanted him to do whatever it was he'd come down here to do and leave her alone.
"Need any help?" he offered.
"Nope," she answered curtly, hoping to chase him away. "This is a one-man job, and I'm doin' it."
Chance fought back a smile at the boy's hostile attitude. Some things never changed. "Well, if you change your mind, I'll be right here," he declared as he dropped his saddlebags and began to unbutton his shirt.
"I ain't gonna change my mind," she declared stubbornly, trying to ignore him, wishing him gone. But when he started to strip off his shirt, she could ignore him no longer. Her eyes rounded, and she had to force her gaze away. Damn him! she silently cursed him. He was going to wash up, right now . . . right here in front of her! Didn't that man ever get tired of bein' so damned clean?!
She tried to think of something obnoxious to say to drive Chance away, but nothing came to mind. Instead, Rori found her gaze drawn back to him, and she watched him from beneath lowered lashes as he slipped his sweat-stained shirt from his broad shoulders. At the sight of the powerful width of his hair-roughened chest, she swallowed nervously and averted her gaze. He was too beautiful . . . too handsome . . . Patch whickered and stirred uncomfortably, and Rori realized with some embarrassment that she'd unconsciously tightened her grip on his leg.
"So Patch thinks you should have been named Ironclaw, too, does he?" Chance couldn't resist teasing the boy.
"You didn't seem to suffer none from my doctorin'," Rori shot back in agitation as she flushed under his jibe. She was glad that she had the horse between them so he couldn't see her.
Chance flexed his arm that still bore the bandage, and he was pleased to find that he suffered no pain at the movement. There was only a slight stiffness to remind him of the attack. He took off the bandage so he could inspect the healing injury. "You're right. Let's just hope you do as good a job on him as you did on me."
"You don't need to worry on that account. I'll do a better job on Patch. I like him," she declared.
Chance only chuckled in amusement at her barbed comment, and it irked her immensely. She hated it when he got the better of her in any of their exchanges, and it took nearly all of her considerable willpower not to continue their verbal sparring. Busying herself with the animal, she pretended to ignore him, when in truth she was tense and very much aware of his presence. Although she was trying to act normal, Patch picked up on her agitation and shifted restlessly beneath her healing hands.
"Sorry, boy. Easy now. We'll make this better just as fast as we can," she soothed, moving down the bank to soak the cloth again. She made sure to keep her back to Chance, for she wanted him to believe that she was totally indifferent to him.
Chance, however, was blissfully unaware of Rori's discomfort. He had his mind set on taking a bath and, after their initial exchange, had easily dismissed the ornery boy from his thoughts. The Lord only knew how soon they'd reach another watering hole out here in the desert, and since he had the time, he wanted to take advantage of it. Stripping off the rest of his clothes, he entered the water and dove quickly into its shallow depths.
Rori was in shock as she stared blankly at the spot where he'd disappeared beneath the surface. The damned fool idiot was actually taking a bath and with no clothes on! She'd caught just a glimpse of his nude body before he'd vanished into the cloudy water, and she was stunned. What was she supposed to do?
As much as she gave the appearance of being a boy, she was actually very much the innocent in things of this nature. Confusion filled her. She longed to stay where she was and watch Chance emerge from the water. He was a sleek, glorious male animal. Her curiosity about him was rampant, but her fear of him was greater, overpowering her other emotions. Knowing she had to get away quickly before he surfaced, she snatched up her cloth and rushed back to Patch. Rori knelt strategically beside the pinto so that her back was to the water.
The pool was barely waist-deep, but it was cool and refreshing. Exhilarated, Chance gave a deep, relaxed laugh as he gained his footing and stood up. The water swirled about his lean hips and buttocks, covering the most intimate parts of his body, but leaving much revealed—the muscle-corded width of his chest and powerful arms, the intriguing coarse, dark hair that furred his chest and trailed lower in an ever-narrowing "V," the hard, flat planes of his belly . . .
Rori heard him surface, but forced herself not to look up from her work. She wanted to appear as if she was busily tending her injured mount, not as if she was trying to avoid looking at him as he stood totally naked somewhere behind her.
Chance soaked in the cooling water for a few minutes longer, paying no attention to the busy youth at all. Only when he remembered that he'd forgotten to bring his soap in with him did he call out to Rori.
"Toss me the soap, will you, Rori? It's there among my things somewhere."
Rori stiffened, but did not stop her labors on the horse. "I'm busy," she snapped. "Get it yourself."
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she knew she'd made a mistake. Surely, it would be better to hand him the soap while he was half submerged than to risk having him parading around her completely nude. When she heard him start moving in the water, grumbling about ungrateful wretches, she quickly rushed to do his bidding.
"Never mind! Wait a minute," she called out in what she hoped sounded like an exasperated, resentful tone and not a panicked one. Standing up, she threw her cloth at him without really looking. "Here! Wet this for me, and I'll get your soap."
Chance caught the cloth easily and soaked it for her as she dug through his saddlebags. Finally, the soap in hand
, she took a deep breath and stood up, turning to look his way. Relief filled her when she discovered that he was standing in water deep enough to keep his more vital male parts hidden from her view. For the briefest of moments, she allowed her gaze to cling hungrily to him, studying the beauty of his male body. A liquid, honeyed warmth began to seep through her as she vividly remembered his hands upon her yesterday and how wonderful it had felt to be touched by him.
"Rori? The soap?" Chance's tone was impatient as he waited for the boy to throw him the soap.
Jarred back to reality, Rori threw the soap in his direction before abruptly turning away to head back toward Patch.
"Thanks" came Chance's reply, then he added, "Rori? Didn't you forget something?"
When Rori glanced back in aggravation, only her lightning-fast reflexes saved her from taking the wet cloth square in the face. She snared it in midair, but was still soaked by the spray.
"Thanks," she snarled, wiping the water from her face.
"You're welcome," Chance chuckled as he began to wash. "Care to join me? You look like you could use a good scrubbing."
Rori shot him a venomous look. "Washin' so much ain't healthy."
"Says who?" he challenged in good humor.
"Says me," she replied stubbornly as she tried not to stare at him. He looked so unbelievably handsome when he was smiling and laughing. Rori deliberately turned her attention back to Patch's leg. "You know, I ain't never seen a man so concerned with keepin' himself all washed up as you. I'm beginnin' to think you're like those prissy misses I see in town."
At that, Chance gave a roar of laughter as he finished bathing. "I've been accused of chasing skirts in my time, but I never thought I'd be accused of wearing one."
"Might suit you," Rori returned arbitrarily.
"You're wrong there, Rori," Chance remarked. "I've always desired women, but I've never desired to be one."
She heard him moving out of the water, and she swore she wasn't going to look up at him, swore she wasn't going to pay him any mind at all. But suddenly he was there, striding from the water before her, magnificent and wonderful and very, very masculine.
Rori swallowed as her throat went dry. Had she somehow always known that he was this beautiful? Had she somehow intuitively realized that he was this wonderful and that was why she'd been responding to him as she had?
Chance appeared perfect in every way to her, and Rori wanted to imprint this vision of him on her memory. He was deeply tanned everywhere but on the narrow band of paleness about his flanks, and wet as he was, his golden skin glistened in the sunlight. His body was sculpted of rock-hard muscle from the width of his broad shoulders to his lean, hard hips and long, powerful legs. As her gaze dropped, she could no longer avoid seeing the part of him which made him male . . . very male, and though she was embarrassed, Rori was unable to stop staring at him. So this was what men prided themselves on . . . she mused as he turned slightly away from her.
Chance got his towel from his saddlebags and started to briskly dry himself. Noticing the unusual expression on the boy's face, he wondered at it.
"You got a problem, boy?" Chance demanded, turning to face Rori.
Horrified at being caught staring at him, she stumbled for something to say. "Nope. I ain't got no problem. Looks to me like you have, though."
"Oh?" His yes narrowed.
"Yep, looks to me like I was right. Maybe a skirt would suit you better," she continued, digging herself in deeper as she gestured toward his maleness. "Jake's is bigger than yours . . . unless maybe yours shrunk 'cause you been washin' it so much . . ."
Chance prided himself on being relatively even-tempered, but something about the boy's attitude infuriated him. Completely unmindful of his nakedness, he went off like a rocket, snaring the youth by the back of his shirt and hauling him down to the water's edge.
"What the hell do you think you're doin', you no-good rotten bastard?" Rori demanded, struggling to be free.
"I'm tired of listening to you, and I was thinking that if I wash your mouth out with soap, maybe it'll shrink!!" Chance snarled, and he grinned ferally when he saw Rori go pale in his grasp.
"Get your hands off of me, Broderick!" Rori was frightened, and she resorted to her old line of defense.
"What's the matter, boy? You afraid of a little soap and water?" Chance gave Rori a mean shake as he glared down at him.
"I ain't afraid of nothin'! Just let me go!"
"You're right. I really should let you go, shouldn't I?" He picked the boy up by both the seat of his pants and the scruff of his neck and tossed him bodily into the deepest section of the pool. When Rori came up for air, sputtering in indignation and frustrated fury, he laughed, grabbed up the soap, and tossed it in his general direction. "There's the soap. See what shrinks on you."
Without another word, Chance turned and walked back to where his clothing waited for him. He dressed nonchalantly, pointedly ignoring the outraged boy struggling in the water behind him.
Rori was livid as she sat miserably in the center of the watering hole, drenched to the skin. Her bottom was bruised along with her pride. Damn him!! How dare he do this to her!!? How dare he manhandle her this way!!?? In fury, she pounded at the water's surface and only succeeded, if it was possible, in getting herself more wet. Her green-eyed glare shot daggers at Chance as he stood with his back turned toward her, coolly donning his clothing. Had she had her knife on her at that moment Rori would have gleefully thrown it at him.
Yet, even as her anger flared, Rori was stunned to find that a different kind of ache was swelling within her heart and that she was crying. She tried desperately to control the tears, but to no avail. They coursed freely down her cheeks, and for the first time, she was glad that she was soaked to the skin, for it helped to camouflage her tears.
When Chance walked away without even looking back, a muted sob tore from her throat, and Rori finally gave in to total misery. Why did Chance have the power to make her feel this way . . . so confused and ultimately helpless? She wanted to call him back to her . . . to strangle him for what he had done to her. Yet, at the same time, she wanted to be wrapped in his arms and held close to his chest.
Rori was visibly reminded of her pseudo-male identity as her hat bobbed limply by in the slow current of the water. She fished it out and studied it in disgust. She'd worn the hat for years and had never thought of it one way or the other. Now, however, she thought it the ugliest thing she'd ever seen. Glancing down at herself, Rori realized that the rest of her clothes were just as bad as the hat. Suddenly, she was aggravated that it mattered to her. She hated Chance, and with good reason, too!
Getting slowly to her feet, Rori stood in the middle of the pond, dripping wet and looking quite forlorn. As the water stilled about her, she looked down at her reflection and stared at the bedraggled, boyish image that stared back. Her dark hair was plastered to her head, and water trickled endlessly from the ends of her braids. She fingered one long braid, wondering how her hair would look hanging freely about her shoulders. Her eyes were wide and reasonably pretty, she thought, but her cheek still bore the mark of the fight she'd had in town, and she could pass no judgment on her own beauty. Wistfully, she wondered if she could ever look as beautiful as those ladies in town.
Rori sniffed loudly as she fought to bring her runaway emotions under control, and it was then that she discovered just how much she smelled like a very dead, very wet steer. Grimacing in distaste, she wondered in humiliation if Chance had always noticed that about her. The discovery left her self-conscious for the first time in her life.
Rori spotted his soap lying on the bottom. She bent down to retrieve it and caught a whiff of its clean, fresh scent. She recognized it immediately as the fragrance she particularly associated with Chance. The thought antagonized her, and more than a little disgruntled, she started to slosh from the pond.
"Rori?" Burr was watching her intently as he sat on his horse on the far side of the pond, his forearms folded
across the saddlehorn. He'd been observing her for a moment and had seen the strange wistfulness in her expression. It troubled him . . . a lot. It wasn't like Rori to go jumping into a pond with her clothes on.
Burr's presence surprised her, and she looked up, startled, quickly trying to smile as if pleased to see him. "What?"
"What, is right! What the hell happened here?!"
"Nothin'," she responded sullenly, wondering just how much he'd seen and heard.
"You don't look like nothing happened."
"I'm wet, is all," she told him as she trudged out of the water, her footsteps squishing. "I got a little hot takin' care of Patch and decided to cool off. With Broderick around, you know I can't go takin' off my clothes."
"Oh," Burr said, and then asked casually, "And just where is Broderick?"
"How am I supposed to know?" Rori argued testily. "I ain't his keeper!"
"Just thought you might have some idea where he is, that's all."
"Why? Did you find something out on the trail? Is there something I should know about?"
"No. Looks clear up ahead, and there's no one coming behind us. There's nothing to worry about." He added "yet" in his thoughts as he watched her and worried about what had really taken place here.
Rori nodded and moved on up the bank to where her horse waited patiently for her. She dropped to her knees beside him and once again wrapped the compress around his leg as Burr rode away.
Burr found Chance comfortably ensconced in camp. It was obvious that he'd been in the water, too, and again Burr grew concerned over exactly what had transpired while he'd been away.
"Couldn't pass up the chance for a bath, eh?" Burr asked as he rode in, carefully watching the easterner for some sign that he'd learned the truth about Rori.
"It was hot, and I needed a little cooling off," he replied easily.