She nodded slowly. “And where exactly will you be while I’m bathing?”
“In this chair.” His smile was adorably hopeful. “Keeping you safe from all the town reprobates.”
“We both know you’re the only reprobate around.” Ignoring the fluttering in her pulse, she moved forward to take over the water. “Now shoo.”
* * *
Winnie pausedbefore the living room door and tightened the belt of her robe. A crackling fire beckoned her inside, yet she was overcome by a sudden shyness. After finishing her bath, she had found a clean, woven sweater placed atop her pile of semi-cleaned underclothing. It was just a sweater, one any host might lend a bedraggled house guest, but the sweet gesture constricted her confused heart so tightly she had to press a hand over it.
She buried her nose in the collar, greedily inhaling the faint traces of musk and cedarwood that made up Mack’s essence. What would it be like to have that scent wrapped around her at night, cuddling her close while she slept? She squeezed her eyes shut, swept into the enticing fantasy.
“You coming in?”
The collar dropped from her fingers as if it scalded her, and she scrambled to come up with a plausible excuse for her actions. But Mack was on his knees before the stone fireplace, his back to the door. With one last poke, he rose to his feet and met her gaze. They stared at each other in silence, Mack’s fingers tapping against the leg of his clean pants.
“I took your boots to the cobbler. They’ll be ready before dinner.”
“Thank you; that was very thoughtful of you.”
Her pulse skittered, and her skin felt too tight. Why was she acting like a rabbit about to bolt? For goodness’ sake, she had been naked before the man just that morning. Maybe that was it—on their journey, everything had been outside the norm and therefore within the realm of possibility. But now, in Aunt Jenny’s house, there was an undeniable added layer of domesticity. One that called to Winnie more than she would have thought possible.
“Are you warm enough?”
“Yes.” She licked her dry lips. “Thank you for loaning me your sweater.”
He raised one shoulder. “I keep a few spares here so I can travel light.”
“I see.”
He gestured to the chair closest to the fire. “Sit there to dry your hair.”
“Thank you.” She sat gingerly in the chair. “Did you want to bathe?”
“I used the pump outside.”
She nodded and watched Mack busy himself with inconsequential things—first straightening the side table one degree, then checking the window latch was properly shut. When he started to top off cups of water that were already full, she spoke up. “Sit down, will you? You’re making me nervous.”
He settled heavily into the chair beside her with a half-smile. “Sorry.”
“Please don’t apologize.”
They lapsed into silence again. Then Mack picked up a deck of cards from the side table and raised them in the air in question.
“Do you play?”
“That depends.”
“Anything other than parlor games,” he qualified.
“No. Should I?”
“Most women don’t.” A mischievous smirk appeared. “But you could.”
Whyshouldn’tshe play something more risqué than parlor games? And what better way than to get over this excruciating awkwardness? She whipped her notebook and pencil out of her robe pocket and began scribbling.
“There.” She finished the last word with a flourish. “Number eight: Play a high-stakes poker game.”
“That’s my girl,” Mack said. “First, I love that you never go anywhere without that notebook. And second, we’ve leapt right to high stakes, have we? What do you intend to bet?”
