“Hand me that rope, kid.”
Theodore shuffled over and handed it to him.
“Now hold this,” said Hank, showing the boy how to hold the canes of bamboo and then wrap them together with rope so that the hut would have a solid frame.
Hank tied it off and glanced at Smitty. She was trying to hammer a rod of bamboo into the sand with a rock. Annabelle was running in circles around her, twisting the rope that kept them tied together around Smitty’s knees.
He crossed his arms and watched, thinking it was a fitting situation for an attorney, being tied up with rope. Now if he could only find a way to gag her.
She fussed at the baby, then tried to unwrap herself. Her blond hair hung down her back in a loose knot, and as she bent down, her ragged skirt went up high enough so he could see her calves.
He exhaled in a half whistle. She had great legs. Hell, she had a great body and a great face. She also had a big mouth.
And he had a big problem. He was an escaped convict, and he was stuck on a deserted island with a female attorney. Hell, he didn’t even know women could be attorneys. Didn’t say much for the state of the world.
Theodore tugged on his sleeve. “What do we do next?”
“Suicide,” he muttered, never taking his eyes off Smitty.
“Huh?”
He looked down at the kid. “Nothing.” Hank glanced around the bamboo frame of the hut. It was sturdy and secure. “We need to gather some filler for the walls.”
“What’s filler?”
“Palm fronds. Big leaves.”
“I saw some really big leaves on a bush by the stream.” The kid took off running.
Hank started across the clearing. He stopped a few feet away from Smitty. She had three bamboo rods stuck at cockeyed angles from the soft wet sand. If he walked by too fast, the draft might blow them over.
He stood, waiting for her to turn around. Two of the poles began to tilt slowly toward each other. He fought back a grin.
Muttering, Smitty grabbed them. Annabelle crawled between her legs, and the third pole rattled against the other two.
He gave the poles a pointed look. “Building a tepee?”
She glanced up at the bamboo poles, cringed slightly, then gave him a cool look just as Annabelle let out with a holler. The kid was caught in the rope knotted around Smitty’s ankles. Smitty dropped the poles. “Now, Annabelle, just hold still, and I’ll fix this.”
“Annabelle stuck!” The kid cried and struggled. Smitty was stuck. He chuckled to himself and moved on. When he was a few feet away, he stopped. The kid had quit hollering. He looked back. Smitty was sitting in the tangle of rope and bamboo, the kid in her lap.
“Hey, counselor!” he said.
She looked up.
“I hope you build a legal case better than you build a hut.” He walked away laughing.
* * *
She didn’t build a case.
She didn’t build a hut.
She built a tepee, as he had sarcastically suggested.
Margaret stood back and appraised their work. Not bad. For a frame she had tied the poles together at the top when the dratted things refused to stay upright in the sand. She and Lydia had woven wide flat leaves into mats before she’d tied them together in a thatched covering.
She stepped back, then walked around and eyed it from a couple of directions. It wasn’t exactly symmetrical. But it worked. She looked at Lydia. “What do you think?”
