irritatedly.
"Good." He pivoted and walked into the brush.
She scraped a few glowing coals from the fire and added more wood to the rest. The pan of water was balanced on the four supporting rocks around the separatedembers.
With that accomplished, she shrugged off her blouse, the gash in her left arm burning constantly. She carefully eased the clean yellow blouse over it. She was buttoning the last button when Reilly returned. Sliding a glance at the pot, Leah saw the water was steaming.
"Your water is hot," she told him somewhat coolly.
"Thanks," was his equally indifferent reply. With a handkerchief from his suitcase, he set the pot off the coals, then paused. "Would you like to wash first?"
Shaking her head negatively, Leah opened her cosmetic case and took out the bottle of cleansing lotion to clean her face. The mirror in the lid of her cosmetic case was turned at just the right angle so that she saw not only her reflection, but Reilly's too.
It was a curiously intimate experience to watch a man shave. Long, sun-browned fingers gripped the razor, its blade slicing through the foamy lather and one day's stubble of beard. Each stroke of the blade revealed more of the bronzed skin below his cheekbones and the strong line of his jaw until the handsomely chiselled features were fully exposed.
As he rinsed away the traces of lather, Leah voiced the thought that had just occurred to her. "I thought Indians didn't shave."
"They didn't." Reilly wiped the razor dry and replaced it in his suitcase. His voice was emotionless and distant. "They plucked out the hair on their faces." Leah winced at the thought. "Is your arm bothering you this morning?" he asked in the same tone.
"A bit," she shrugged with one shoulder, carefully favoring the burning wound in the other arm.
"Let me take a look at it." He started toward her.
"There's no need," Leah refused quickly and sharply. It was his aloofness that made her reject his suggestion, combined with the lingering crossness of a sleepless night. "It's sore mostly because it's healing."
Reilly hesitated thoughtfully. "We don't have much bandage left in the kit. I'd rather not change it for a couple of days if it isn't bothering you too much."
"I said it was just healing pains," she repeated.
"Very well." He accepted her explanation with a faint grimness. "I'm going to get some more firewood. Have something to eat while I'm gone."
"I'm not hungry."
"It might make you feel better," he replied tautly.
"Improve my disposition, you mean," Leah flashed at his suggestion of criticism. "Well, I'm not hungry."
A moment of tense silence followed her challenging statement.
"I realize you didn't sleep well last night," Reilly spoke in an ominously quiet voice, "but I suggest, Miss Talbot, that you stop taking your frustration out on me."
Miss Talbot, she thought with a dejected sigh as his long strides carried him toward the slope, not Leah any more. She deserved the set-down, she reminded herself, but it didn't make it any less cutting.
With light make-up applied and her long hair brushed to a silken shine, she slipped off her shoes and shook out the sand. Removing her socks, she grimaced at the sand and dirt that had collected between her toes and on the bottom of her feet. They felt hot and sweaty, too.
The pan of warm water sat invitingly near, flecks of shaving foam still floating on top. She hesitated for only a second. It would be foolish to put on a clean pair of socks without washing her feet.
Treading carefully over the rough ground on her bare feet, she retrieved the handkerchief Reilly had laid over a bush to dry. With it as a washcloth and the small bar of soap from her cosmetic case, she started washing her feet in the pan of water. She rinsed the soap away with water from the canteen and wiped her feet dry with the tail of the rumpled blouse she had taken off earlier. The dirtied water she dumped on the sand.
It was nearly as good as taking a bath, she thought
"Good." He pivoted and walked into the brush.
She scraped a few glowing coals from the fire and added more wood to the rest. The pan of water was balanced on the four supporting rocks around the separatedembers.
With that accomplished, she shrugged off her blouse, the gash in her left arm burning constantly. She carefully eased the clean yellow blouse over it. She was buttoning the last button when Reilly returned. Sliding a glance at the pot, Leah saw the water was steaming.
"Your water is hot," she told him somewhat coolly.
"Thanks," was his equally indifferent reply. With a handkerchief from his suitcase, he set the pot off the coals, then paused. "Would you like to wash first?"
Shaking her head negatively, Leah opened her cosmetic case and took out the bottle of cleansing lotion to clean her face. The mirror in the lid of her cosmetic case was turned at just the right angle so that she saw not only her reflection, but Reilly's too.
It was a curiously intimate experience to watch a man shave. Long, sun-browned fingers gripped the razor, its blade slicing through the foamy lather and one day's stubble of beard. Each stroke of the blade revealed more of the bronzed skin below his cheekbones and the strong line of his jaw until the handsomely chiselled features were fully exposed.
As he rinsed away the traces of lather, Leah voiced the thought that had just occurred to her. "I thought Indians didn't shave."
"They didn't." Reilly wiped the razor dry and replaced it in his suitcase. His voice was emotionless and distant. "They plucked out the hair on their faces." Leah winced at the thought. "Is your arm bothering you this morning?" he asked in the same tone.
"A bit," she shrugged with one shoulder, carefully favoring the burning wound in the other arm.
"Let me take a look at it." He started toward her.
"There's no need," Leah refused quickly and sharply. It was his aloofness that made her reject his suggestion, combined with the lingering crossness of a sleepless night. "It's sore mostly because it's healing."
Reilly hesitated thoughtfully. "We don't have much bandage left in the kit. I'd rather not change it for a couple of days if it isn't bothering you too much."
"I said it was just healing pains," she repeated.
"Very well." He accepted her explanation with a faint grimness. "I'm going to get some more firewood. Have something to eat while I'm gone."
"I'm not hungry."
"It might make you feel better," he replied tautly.
"Improve my disposition, you mean," Leah flashed at his suggestion of criticism. "Well, I'm not hungry."
A moment of tense silence followed her challenging statement.
"I realize you didn't sleep well last night," Reilly spoke in an ominously quiet voice, "but I suggest, Miss Talbot, that you stop taking your frustration out on me."
Miss Talbot, she thought with a dejected sigh as his long strides carried him toward the slope, not Leah any more. She deserved the set-down, she reminded herself, but it didn't make it any less cutting.
With light make-up applied and her long hair brushed to a silken shine, she slipped off her shoes and shook out the sand. Removing her socks, she grimaced at the sand and dirt that had collected between her toes and on the bottom of her feet. They felt hot and sweaty, too.
The pan of warm water sat invitingly near, flecks of shaving foam still floating on top. She hesitated for only a second. It would be foolish to put on a clean pair of socks without washing her feet.
Treading carefully over the rough ground on her bare feet, she retrieved the handkerchief Reilly had laid over a bush to dry. With it as a washcloth and the small bar of soap from her cosmetic case, she started washing her feet in the pan of water. She rinsed the soap away with water from the canteen and wiped her feet dry with the tail of the rumpled blouse she had taken off earlier. The dirtied water she dumped on the sand.
It was nearly as good as taking a bath, she thought
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