He lowered her hands slowly from her face, needing another look in order to believe that she was actually brushing her teeth with sand.
His lips twisted as his gaze dropped to her hem, which was soaking up the river. He shook his head, clearing his throat. “Never mind,” he said abruptly, “don’t wanna know. Just don’t get any on my hat.”
He pivoted on his heels, his shoulders shaking as he walked away from her.
It wasn’t until he was a safe distance away that Elizabeth was able to move again.
Coming as close as she ever had to blaspheming, she spat the offensive sand out of her mouth and then swished again with water, spurting it out with a vengeance. It was then that she noticed the rising wet stain on her ruined skirt, and her color rose higher, though out of rage.
How was it that she forgot everything—everything—in Cutter’s presence?
When she returned to camp, she was slightly more composed, though still tingling with indignity. How dare he make light of her personal hygiene! Surely he had many of the same needs to consider? Avoiding his gaze, she quickly gathered her remaining effects. There was barely enough time to brush the dust from her skirts before Cutter was hoisting her into the saddle.
Hauling himself into his own saddle, he turned to her suddenly, his grin engaging, his teeth striking against his swarthy complexion. His eyes twinkled with mischief. “By the way,” he remarked casually, “next time... just ask. You’re more’n welcome to use one of my own brushes... and powder.” And then he had the audacity to chuckle with good humor. Turning, he gently whipped the reins, leaving Elizabeth to stare daggers at his back.
Did he never miss an opportunity to needle her? she wondered. Yet, despite of her anger, he’d planted a seed, and as irrational as it was, she couldn’t quite banish the suggestive image of her using his toothbrush. It should have disgusted her, but instead, it gave her a strange quivering sensation deep down.
* * *
By midday,Elizabeth was thoroughly exhausted from having spent such a restless night. Her only consolation was that Cutter didn’t seem to have fared any better, though his manner was never more obnoxious. The gleam in his eye when he happened to look her way made her screaming mad. And his winking—his winking infuriated her, because she felt as though he were poking fun at her somehow.
Having slept for the second night in her dirty, rumpled clothing, Elizabeth had no delusions over her appearance. For certain, she’d never been much of a beauty, but now she was sure she was just plain unsightly. Her skirt, with its torn hem, looked as though it had seen more years than she had, with all the filth it had accumulated. And the white blouse? Well, she preferred not to think of it at all.
At the first opportunity, she planned to change into her new clothes and scrub the ones she was wearing in the river. It didn’t matter that she didn’t have any soap to launder with. At least then she would feel cleaner, even if she wouldn’t look it. And it’d be nice to bathe at the same time, but she wasn’t sure she’d dare the risk—at least not a full bath, she amended with a distrustful glance at Cutter. Sometimes... sometimes... when he looked at her... well, she just wasn’t certain.
And then there was that—whatever it was that he’d done to her last night—that she was trying so desperately to forget. But who could forget? There were moments when she found herself wishing that she were farsighted, and not nearsighted, as she was. She didn’t want to be able to see him... that strange look he gave her every so often. Yet she couldn’t seem to take her eyes off him either.
She gave him another furtive glance, and caught him rubbing his brows tiredly.
In profile, his face was positively striking, his cheekbones high, his jaw thick, darkened considerably by at least a week’s worth of stubble. But it was those lips of his that made her feel so vulnerable... the way they’d felt on her skin, so warm... so mesmerizing. She shivered, and unconsciously ran her hand down the length of her braid, taking note of every loose tendril of hair.
What a sight she must present to him!
She was sure Cutter was used to women’s attentions. He could probably choose almost any woman he wished and she would thrill to the opportunity.
How many women had tried to gain his favor?
Now, why did that question seem to bother her?
Why should her appearance matter so much, when it never had before?
And why had he kissed her?
She couldn’t even begin to understand what had happened between them last night... why she had let it happen. He’d yet to mention the fact that he’d awakened to find her in his bed. Had she disgusted him? Her heart seemed to grow heavy with that thought.
Gliding his hands through his sweat-dampened black bangs, Cutter glanced her way, catching her staring, and a smile curved those arrogant lips of his. Flustered by the devilment in his black eyes, Elizabeth quickly averted her gaze, all the while cursing him to perdition.
Oh, what she wouldn’t give for a hot bath, clean clothes... those lips... No—lands, her mind was running amok! She didn’t need... or want... not that! Her face heated, and feeling Cutter’s scrutiny upon her still, she turned her head away more fully, hiding the incriminating color on her cheeks.
Cutter chuckled.
Elizabeth chose to ignore him. He couldn’t possibly have known what she was thinking!
No... just the bath, she reaffirmed with a sigh, trying desperately to refocus her thoughts. That was all she wanted—or needed. Course, if the sky grew any darker than it was just now, she considered with a heavenward glance, she might not have to worry over her washing, at that. The rain would likely take care of it for her.
But it didn’t rain that day. Nor during the night. Though by late afternoon of the next day, the sky had grown black as pitch, and storm clouds swirled like sinister shadows overhead. Every so oft, a streak of white would flicker against the darkening horizon, and Elizabeth grimaced at the sight of it. To either side of them, the river bluffs butted high against the gloomy sky. As time went on, it grew so dark that it was difficult to distinguish where the bluffs ended and the sky began. As the wind picked up, she squashed Cutter’s hat to the top of her head so it wouldn’t be swept away.
It came as no surprise when the first drizzles misted the air about them. But they were in the middle of nowhere, Cutter having conscientiously steered clear of the townships, and though the trees were slowly growing in number, Elizabeth doubted they would use them for shelter. She’d heard tales of men being struck by lightning while out during storms. In fact, there’d been a woman last April who’d come in to see her father, claiming that her son had been struck down when a bolt of lightning had split a tree more than twenty feet from where he’d stood. The poor child had never fully recovered the use of his legs.
