Phoebe slipped out of her vest, folded it, and set it aside. The sleeves and collar of the chambray shirt were uncomfortably wet, while the part of it that had been mostly protected by the vest was merely damp. Still, it clung to her like a second skin and she had to peel it off. The camisole she wore under it was damp as well. While she debated whether to remove it, her skin prickled and the decision was made for her. She removed the camisole and placed it beside the shirt as close to the stove as she dared, then she fit the blanket under her arms and tied a knot above her breasts. Her shoulders were bare but warmer now with firelight glancing off her skin than they had been when she was wearing the shirt and vest.
She took off her hat, placed it beside her, and unwound her plait. She used her fingers to sift through her hair and arranged the cascade of soft waves so they covered her shoulders.
“Done?” he asked.
“Just. How did you know?”
“I heard you sigh.” He raised the brim of his hat with a forefinger and looked her over. “I’m thinking you’re warmer already.” He could have said the same for himself, but she was already as skittish as a kicked kitten so he kept quiet. “I have some rope. I can rig a line to dry our clothes. I wouldn’t mind getting out of my shirt.”
Phoebe didn’t know how she felt about him taking off his shirt, or rather she did know, and was not as against it as she thought she should be. “All right.” When he started to rise, she caught his hand and pulled him back. “Wait. Where’s the rope?”
“Still hanging from Bullet’s saddle. I wasn’t thinking Imight need it. Look, Phoebe, I have to check on the horses anyway, make sure they haven’t bolted, and I should bring in more wood while I can. The smokehouse is the structure most likely to float away and take our wood with it.”
Everything he said made sense, but she did not want to be left alone, not in this place, not during this storm. “Let me get dressed again and help you.”
He shook his head but cupped the side of her face to gentle the refusal. “Watch me from the window. You can’t see the lean-to, but you’ll be able to follow me back and forth from the smokehouse. I’ll drop the wood right inside the door, and if you still want to help, you can start stacking.”
It was not a satisfactory answer as far as Phoebe was concerned, but she knew she had to be satisfied. She nodded. Her cheek rubbed against his palm. It was oddly comforting, and she missed it when he lowered his hand and got to his feet.
“I won’t be long,” he said. He pointed to the window as he crossed the room to the door. “Go on. Watch.”
Phoebe waited until the door closed behind him before she swept the tail of the blanket over one arm and scrambled to her feet. She was at the window in time to glimpse him hurrying toward the rear of the cabin and the lean-to. In her anxious mind, he seemed to be gone a long time, but it was probably less than two minutes before he reappeared with a coil of rope hanging off his shoulder. He veered right to the smokehouse and was in and out between two quick lightning strikes. She was at the door to scoop the armload of wood from him before he dropped it on the floor.
They repeated that pattern three more times until she begged him to come inside. Rivulets of water poured from his hat brim when he bent over the stacked wood to add the last load. Without asking permission, she swept the Stetson off his head and beat it twice against her thigh. Beads of water sprayed the stove and sizzled. She tossed his hat beside hers and then got behind him, set her hands flat against his back, and pushed him in the direction of the bed. The frame that had supported the mattress was solid and she jabbed a finger at it.
“Sit. Take off your vest, your shirt, and whatever you’re wearing under it.” She did not wait for him to comply because any reasonable person would, and she judged him to be reasonable more often than he was not. She was kneeling at his feet when he sat. “Boots.”
“I can take them off,” he said.
“You’re supposed to be taking off other things. Slide the left one over here.”
He did. “They’re muddy. Your hands, they’ll get—”
She stopped him with a jaundiced look. “The one thing we have plenty of is water for washing.” She grabbed the boot by the heel and worked it off. She noticed the knife sheathed inside but didn’t comment. He’d been out so long that even his sock was damp, and that was concerning. She stripped it off without giving him a chance to argue. “Other one.” She lifted his foot. “I notice you’re not doing much about that vest. I’ll do it for you if you can’t.”
“I don’t think I noticed before how bossy you are.”
“And single-minded. Go on. The button goes through the hole.”
Chuckling, he began to undress. “Do you want to know that your knot is coming undone? The view from up here is like looking down into the Valley of Elah. I’ve read that’s fertile ground.”
“Not for you, it’s not. And so you know, referencing the Bible will not assist your cause. Look the other way or close your eyes. You don’t need to see to take off your clothes.”
He did neither. “What’s my cause?” he asked, keeping a close eye on the knot. There was definite slippage as she unrolled his sock and tossed it toward the stove. When she looked up and caught his blatant stare, she mocked him with a smile that scolded.
“I don’t think I’m flattering myself when I say you’d like to get me out of my clothes.”
“Huh. What gave me away?”
“It would be easier to tell you what didn’t.”
He laughed appreciatively at that.
Phoebe took his vest when he handed it to her and waitedfor his shirt. “Isn’t there a woman in Frost Falls in want of your attention?”
“There is, but I have to leave a dollar on her night table when I go.”
She batted his leg. “I believe you, but isn’t there anyone else?”
