“Then your father was a man of nature.”
He gave her a look, as if he knew what she was doing. “In a way. He came from a family of lawyers, but he eschewed the profession for prospecting. He spent a lot of time searching for a lucky vein.” Mack rose to his feet. “I think we’ve found enough, don’t you?”
It was obvious he was trying to change the subject, but she couldn’t help but try once more. “You haven’t mentioned your father before.”
He waggled his hoe in her direction. “Stop honing your reporting skills on me.”
His shoulders had stiffened in such a way that made her think there was more to the story, but she relented. “Will we continue onward to Oak Harbor after breakfast?”
His gaze lowered to her legs stretched in front of her. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you’re still favoring your ankle. We could push on, or we could give your ankle a couple hours to rest.”
Winnie bit her lip. Yesterday, she had become uncharacteristically combative in her desire to make it to Oak Harbor by nightfall, even at the expense of their safety. If she pushed onward now, would it be a similar mistake? Or worse, was she subconsciously delaying their arrival? As eager as she was for the convention, she was equally afraid. What if she wasn’t accepted? What if she was in over her head? Her stomach knotted with indecision.
“At this point, I’ve already missed the morning lecture on the history of suffrage. It’s disappointing, but not devastating. However, I absolutely must be there for a dinner party tonight hosted by a local suffragist. They’re expecting me and will grow concerned if I do not show.”
“Even with a short rest, I can have you in town before midday.”
His confidence convinced her. “In that case, I’d like to take advantage of the weather and salvage some of my clothes.”
Mack rose to his feet in one fluid movement. “I’ll get your things. In the meantime, take off your boots and let your ankle breathe.”
“Aye, aye, captain,” she said with a jaunty salute, hoping it hid the fact that her insides had turned to mush. She’d been taking care of herself for so long that being the center of someone else’s concern flustered her. What was the harm in enjoying it a little?
Mack soon returned to their peaceful inlet, and she bent her head to the arduous task of brushing dirt off her poor clothing. Meanwhile, Mack formed a circle of rocks to enclose a small fire and rigged sticks together to support the bucket full of clams.
After chewing her lip for a few minutes, she asked, “Would you judge me harshly if I removed my skirt to clean and ate breakfast in my petticoats? I’m afraid the hotel might turn me away if I arrive in such a disheveled state.”
“Take off whatever you need. You can cover up with my coat.”
If her mother heard this conversation, she’d have an apoplectic fit. But her mother wasn’t here, and Winnie was tired of always following propriety, especially when it only added to her discomfort. Other than Mack, there was absolutely no one else around to judge her.
“If you can bear seeing my calves without fainting, I reckon I can do the same,” he added.
She threw him a grateful smile and ducked behind a larger piece of driftwood that shielded her up to her midriff. Turning her back, she shimmied out of her skirt and top petticoat. Mack’s coat reached the tops of her knees, and she had to roll the sleeves up twice. She emerged from the protection of the driftwood, but Mack only gave her a wink and returned to his task. Comforted by his lack of scrutiny, she finished her laundry and hung the clothing over various pieces of driftwood.
Mack called her to the fire when the clams were ready, and he expertly pried open the shells with a knife. He handed her the first bit of meat, and she munched it slowly.
“Well?”
“It could use a bit of butter and salt, but still delicious. And perfectly fitting for our ad—”
“Adventure,” Mack said at the same time, grinning.
“Well, yes.”
Mack popped a clam in his mouth. “Have you always been so obsessed with adventure?”
“Always. Neither of my parents were interested in travel or change of any kind, so I resorted to books. I always had my nose in a novel or the diary of an explorer, much to my mother’s chagrin.”
“Why is that?”
She waved her hand in the air. “My family is very traditional. Anything that tempted me beyond my feminine duties was considered unladylike at best and dangerous at worst. It took years of cajoling to convince my father to send me to stenography classes, and that was only after I earned a bit of money on my own.”
“How’d you do that?”
“I told stories at my father’s holiday dinners and put a tip jar on the piano.” She couldn’t keep the smug smile from her face.
Mack chuckled. “I have no trouble picturing the scene.”
