She nodded, trying her best to deflect his intensity. “I’d be more than happy to offer some of the folk remedies I’ve picked up,” she suggested. “But there just aren’t a lot of cures out there for broken ribs and concussion. On the other hand, I’m a whiz at warts.”
She almost thought she saw a smile as he resettled on the bed. “Warts.”
Amanda nodded, warming to her subject, relaxing a bit. “Oh, yes. Warts are very high on the folklore pop charts. You can cure them by holding them up to a full moon or burying something that rots, or washing them in the rainwater from the stump of a white oak tree. Do you have any warts?”
“Sorry.”
She shrugged. “Not much call for that anymore, anyway. How ‘bout a fever? I do a great fever.”
“A fever. No,” he admitted. “I think that’s the only thing I don’t have.”
“Of course, if you don’t take your antibiotics, I might get lucky. I’ve always wanted to tie soap to the bottoms of somebody’s feet. Or better yet, mackerels.”
He actually seemed to choke on that. “I don’t suppose plain old aspirin would work?”
Amanda grinned at him, encouraged by the crook at the corner of his mouth. “Not nearly imaginative enough.”
“Or aromatic, I’m sure.”
“Of course, the question is where to get a good mackerel in Wyoming.”
“Something that’s troubled me for a long time.”
He wasn’t laughing, not quite. Amanda was sure that he rarely laughed outright. But for the first time he really seemed to be enjoying himself around her. It made her wonder. It made her hurt in a funny way that had to do with the empty cabin she inhabited and the cautious softening of Jake’s eyes and the secrets he kept in his room.
“You should probably get back to sleep,” she demurred, shoving her hands into her pockets.
“Probably.”
“Especially since I’ll be back in at six to wake you again.”
“You’re not in your nightgown anymore,” he said.
Amanda looked up to see that thaw still holding. She shot off a hesitant grin. “I gave up and got dressed,” she admitted with a shrug. “I’m not getting any sleep, anyway. It seems to be a full-time job checking in on French generals.”
“You don’t have to come in anymore,” he insisted. “I’m not even seeing double now.”
“And risk incurring Betty’s wrath?” she demanded. “Don’t be silly.”
Jake scowled mightily. “Silly is not something I’m often called.”
Amanda had to concede the point. “I’m sure. I’ll see you at six, then.”
His humor was fading fast. “I told you. Not on my account.”
“Not yours. Mine. By six you might have worked up a fever from the infection you’re going to get from that huge cut with all the horse stuff in it. I mean, as it is, I’ll just have time to scare up some fish.”
“The door’s going to be locked,” he informed her and sat up.
She yanked her hands out of her pockets and slapped them on her hips. “Are you this pleasant with everybody?” she demanded. “Or do I bring out the best in you?”
“Amanda,” he protested, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Leave it be.”
“No, I mean it. I’m trying my damnedest to get along with you, and so far you’ve acted as if I were trying to sabotage the ranch.”
“Me,” he snapped, turning to impale her with his sudden anger. “You’re trying to sabotage me.”
Amanda could only stare at him. He was climbing to his feet, those long, hard legs encased in nothing more than boxers, his chest bare and gleaming softly from the bathroom light. She knew she should get the hell out of his room, but she was frozen to the spot. No woman should see this much of Jake Kendall. No woman should have to face both his wrath and the sight of his near-naked body at once.
