water-filled tissue.
"You should have worn gloves," she remarked. "When
we get back to camp, I'll fix a solution for you to soak
them in."
As she walked away from him, his eyes followed her.
He was struck by how gracefully she moved, and was
again aware of the rose scent
The pack horse nudged his shoulder, startling him
out of his reverie. He grabbed the reins and jerked the
animal along behind him. Damn her, to walk away and
leave him to bring the animal in. One of these times she
was going to push him too far.
Staking the work horse a few yards away from the
stallion, Matt heard the others coming in. Some were in
loud, pleasant conversation, while others grumbled
about aching muscles and sore hands. He grinned
crookedly. The hunters weren't used to hard labor.
He was about to fling himself in front of the fire
when Marna called to him. Annoyed, he looked up.
Standing beside the tree she had marked as her own
that morning, she held a steaming bowl in her hand.
She gave a small jerk of her head. "Bring your blanket
over here and I'll attend to your hand."
Too tired to argue, Matt picked up the corner of the
blanket and trailed it across the clearing to where she
stood. He spread it out and plopped down on it Gracefully Marna settled down beside him, placing the container before his crossed knees.
A pungent, acrid aroma floated up in the vapor,
stinging his eyes. "I'm not stickin' my hands in that,"
he declared, "It'll take the hide right off me."
Marna made an impatient sound, and before he
knew it she had grabbed his hands and thrust them into
the water. He jerked and waited for the stinging fire he
knew was sure to come. But surprisingly only a soothing, drawing sensation occurred. He grunted his satisfaction, flexing his fingers slowly.
"Keep them in there until I get back," Marna
ordered.
Used to her orders now, it didn't enter his head to
disobey her.
The hunters had watched Matt's wife ministering to
him, and the camp was suddenly strangely quiet. Her
bossy tenderness had brought back memories of longago years. Each recalled a mother who in his youth had
tended cuts and bruises in much the same way.
Their gaze was drawn often to Marna as she bustled
around her own small fire, frying salt pork and slicing
potatoes into a frying pan. Matt noted how intently the
men watched for the graceful thrust of a hip or thigh as
she bent to turn meat or stir potatoes, and his feelings
swung between anger and amusement. Then his eyes
fell on Corey, and his amusement fled. Pure lust burned
in Corey's steady, burning gaze, and when he slid a
hand down the front of his buckskins and openly
fondled himself, Matt rose to one knee. Would the varmint lay hands on his wife next?
The others were aware of Corey's arousal also and
told themselves that it would be but a matter of time
before the hunter tried something with Matt's wife.
Marna set the heaped plates down on the blanket,
then turned to Matt. She took his hands from the water
and studied the palms carefully. Using the hem of her
petticoat, she patted them dry. Reaching into a pocket,
she brought out a small, flat tin and gently spread an
aromatic salve onto each blister.
Then she sat back on her heels and said, `The soreness will be gone soon, but wear a pair of gloves tomorrow."
Before he could growl a retort to her command, she
shoved a plate into his hand. Picking up the other one,
she began to eat
Without Matt's realizing it, she had set them apart
from the others as belonging together.. .a family.
When Matt finished the meal, grudgingly admitting
to himself that it was uncommonly good, Marna
gathered up the plates and forks and took them to the
river. After she had scrubbed them throughly with fine
sand, she returned and placed them with Matt's gear.
While the rest of the men ate silently, too tired to
engage in their usual loud, bantering chatter, Marna
joined Matt with two cups of steaming coffee in her
"You should have worn gloves," she remarked. "When
we get back to camp, I'll fix a solution for you to soak
them in."
As she walked away from him, his eyes followed her.
He was struck by how gracefully she moved, and was
again aware of the rose scent
The pack horse nudged his shoulder, startling him
out of his reverie. He grabbed the reins and jerked the
animal along behind him. Damn her, to walk away and
leave him to bring the animal in. One of these times she
was going to push him too far.
Staking the work horse a few yards away from the
stallion, Matt heard the others coming in. Some were in
loud, pleasant conversation, while others grumbled
about aching muscles and sore hands. He grinned
crookedly. The hunters weren't used to hard labor.
He was about to fling himself in front of the fire
when Marna called to him. Annoyed, he looked up.
Standing beside the tree she had marked as her own
that morning, she held a steaming bowl in her hand.
She gave a small jerk of her head. "Bring your blanket
over here and I'll attend to your hand."
Too tired to argue, Matt picked up the corner of the
blanket and trailed it across the clearing to where she
stood. He spread it out and plopped down on it Gracefully Marna settled down beside him, placing the container before his crossed knees.
A pungent, acrid aroma floated up in the vapor,
stinging his eyes. "I'm not stickin' my hands in that,"
he declared, "It'll take the hide right off me."
Marna made an impatient sound, and before he
knew it she had grabbed his hands and thrust them into
the water. He jerked and waited for the stinging fire he
knew was sure to come. But surprisingly only a soothing, drawing sensation occurred. He grunted his satisfaction, flexing his fingers slowly.
"Keep them in there until I get back," Marna
ordered.
Used to her orders now, it didn't enter his head to
disobey her.
The hunters had watched Matt's wife ministering to
him, and the camp was suddenly strangely quiet. Her
bossy tenderness had brought back memories of longago years. Each recalled a mother who in his youth had
tended cuts and bruises in much the same way.
Their gaze was drawn often to Marna as she bustled
around her own small fire, frying salt pork and slicing
potatoes into a frying pan. Matt noted how intently the
men watched for the graceful thrust of a hip or thigh as
she bent to turn meat or stir potatoes, and his feelings
swung between anger and amusement. Then his eyes
fell on Corey, and his amusement fled. Pure lust burned
in Corey's steady, burning gaze, and when he slid a
hand down the front of his buckskins and openly
fondled himself, Matt rose to one knee. Would the varmint lay hands on his wife next?
The others were aware of Corey's arousal also and
told themselves that it would be but a matter of time
before the hunter tried something with Matt's wife.
Marna set the heaped plates down on the blanket,
then turned to Matt. She took his hands from the water
and studied the palms carefully. Using the hem of her
petticoat, she patted them dry. Reaching into a pocket,
she brought out a small, flat tin and gently spread an
aromatic salve onto each blister.
Then she sat back on her heels and said, `The soreness will be gone soon, but wear a pair of gloves tomorrow."
Before he could growl a retort to her command, she
shoved a plate into his hand. Picking up the other one,
she began to eat
Without Matt's realizing it, she had set them apart
from the others as belonging together.. .a family.
When Matt finished the meal, grudgingly admitting
to himself that it was uncommonly good, Marna
gathered up the plates and forks and took them to the
river. After she had scrubbed them throughly with fine
sand, she returned and placed them with Matt's gear.
While the rest of the men ate silently, too tired to
engage in their usual loud, bantering chatter, Marna
joined Matt with two cups of steaming coffee in her
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