heat of the cook fire. Her figure was much daintier than he had imagined it to be. The voluminous gown had hidden the delicate bone structure and soft curves. She could almost have been a child sitting there obeying a strict parent. Until she turned around. Then that illusion was shattered. She was a woman.
When she heard his approach, she leaped from the stool, knocking it over as she spun around. For a moment their eyes locked and held. In hers lurked wariness. His were glassy, as though he had just been dealt a stunning blow and didn't know where it had come from.
Her neck was slightly arched in order to look up at him. Her throat was long and slender and had about it a fragility that made him want to touch it. Starting at the base of it where a frantic pulse was beating, his gaze couldn't help but meander down to the deep cleft between her breasts. Calico, thread, and buttons were dangerously strained to contain her maternally lush bosom. He found it damnably hard to keep his eyes off the spot.
Her hand lifted and fluttered uneasily at the top button, which had captured his attention. "Ma thought I needed fresh air."
"Where's Lee?" He was mad as hell and his voice showed it. He was angry because she looked wholesome and not wicked as he knew damn good and well she was and because, for only a fleeting moment, he had been glad to see her waiting there for him. He wished to God he couldn't remember Lee's mouth sucking at her nipple, wished he didn't remember its color. He wished he wouldn't think of burning neat whiskey every time he looked into her eyes. Most maddening of all was the nervous habit she had of flicking her tongue at the corners of her lips each time she spoke.
"Lees right there." She pointed toward the tailgate where the child lay sleeping in his makeshift bed. "I can hear him if he cries." She blotted her palms on the skirt of the blue calico dress and hoped he wasn't going to bawl her out where everyone could hear. Because more than likely she would yell right back and disgrace herself even more.
He stepped to the crate and peered inside. A quick smile made the corners of his moustache twitch. Lightly he patted the baby's behind, which was sticking up slightly. Lee preferred sleeping on his stomach with his knees curled up under him.
When Ross turned around, Lydia, too, was smiling fondly down on Lee. Their eyes met again, briefly this time, before both looked away. "There's coffee ready." She gestured toward the fire,
"Thanks."
He eased off the lasso that had been looped over his shoulder and hung it on a peg outside the wagon. The rifle, he braced against the wagon wheel. He unbuckled his gunbelt, untying the thong around his thigh. Lydia had never seen a man wearing a holster anchored to his leg that way. Watching him take it off his hips made her stomach feel funny.
Careful not to spill a drop, though her hands were shaking, Lydia poured a cup of coffee and handed it to him. His fingers were long and tapered, strong looking. The knuckles were sprinkled with dark hair, but it barely showed up against his tanned skin. She withdrew her hand quickly after he had taken the cup from it. Nervously she wrung it with the other hand.
"Stew smells good."
"Ma made it."
"Oh. Well, it smells good just the same."
"Yes, it does."
They didn't look at each other. He finished drinking the coffee in silence. The camp noise went on around them. They were impervious to most of it and painfully aware of each other.
"Guess I'll wash up," he said at last.
"Luke brought water from the spring. The stew will be ready by the time you're finished."
He stepped behind the wagon and poured a basin of water from the pail. Stripping off his shirt, he wondered why he was sweating so much. Again and again he doused his head and chest with the water, but his skin refused to cool.
Lydia listened to the splashing sounds until Marynell and Atlanta Langston came running up to her. In Marynell's sweaty, grimy hand was clasped a
When she heard his approach, she leaped from the stool, knocking it over as she spun around. For a moment their eyes locked and held. In hers lurked wariness. His were glassy, as though he had just been dealt a stunning blow and didn't know where it had come from.
Her neck was slightly arched in order to look up at him. Her throat was long and slender and had about it a fragility that made him want to touch it. Starting at the base of it where a frantic pulse was beating, his gaze couldn't help but meander down to the deep cleft between her breasts. Calico, thread, and buttons were dangerously strained to contain her maternally lush bosom. He found it damnably hard to keep his eyes off the spot.
Her hand lifted and fluttered uneasily at the top button, which had captured his attention. "Ma thought I needed fresh air."
"Where's Lee?" He was mad as hell and his voice showed it. He was angry because she looked wholesome and not wicked as he knew damn good and well she was and because, for only a fleeting moment, he had been glad to see her waiting there for him. He wished to God he couldn't remember Lee's mouth sucking at her nipple, wished he didn't remember its color. He wished he wouldn't think of burning neat whiskey every time he looked into her eyes. Most maddening of all was the nervous habit she had of flicking her tongue at the corners of her lips each time she spoke.
"Lees right there." She pointed toward the tailgate where the child lay sleeping in his makeshift bed. "I can hear him if he cries." She blotted her palms on the skirt of the blue calico dress and hoped he wasn't going to bawl her out where everyone could hear. Because more than likely she would yell right back and disgrace herself even more.
He stepped to the crate and peered inside. A quick smile made the corners of his moustache twitch. Lightly he patted the baby's behind, which was sticking up slightly. Lee preferred sleeping on his stomach with his knees curled up under him.
When Ross turned around, Lydia, too, was smiling fondly down on Lee. Their eyes met again, briefly this time, before both looked away. "There's coffee ready." She gestured toward the fire,
"Thanks."
He eased off the lasso that had been looped over his shoulder and hung it on a peg outside the wagon. The rifle, he braced against the wagon wheel. He unbuckled his gunbelt, untying the thong around his thigh. Lydia had never seen a man wearing a holster anchored to his leg that way. Watching him take it off his hips made her stomach feel funny.
Careful not to spill a drop, though her hands were shaking, Lydia poured a cup of coffee and handed it to him. His fingers were long and tapered, strong looking. The knuckles were sprinkled with dark hair, but it barely showed up against his tanned skin. She withdrew her hand quickly after he had taken the cup from it. Nervously she wrung it with the other hand.
"Stew smells good."
"Ma made it."
"Oh. Well, it smells good just the same."
"Yes, it does."
They didn't look at each other. He finished drinking the coffee in silence. The camp noise went on around them. They were impervious to most of it and painfully aware of each other.
"Guess I'll wash up," he said at last.
"Luke brought water from the spring. The stew will be ready by the time you're finished."
He stepped behind the wagon and poured a basin of water from the pail. Stripping off his shirt, he wondered why he was sweating so much. Again and again he doused his head and chest with the water, but his skin refused to cool.
Lydia listened to the splashing sounds until Marynell and Atlanta Langston came running up to her. In Marynell's sweaty, grimy hand was clasped a
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