Now a sly look crossed her face.
“Willa, what are you thinking?”
“That this may be harder for you than it is for me.” She lifted her arm away from her breasts. Rodney went full-out rigid. “Harder” had been the right word. He would never relax at this pace, and she smiled at Matt’s struggle for control.
But she hadn’t run.
Matt knelt beside the tub, feeling hoisted by his own rash claims. However, he was determined to be gentle and present. He wanted Willa’s trust.
He picked up a cloth and dunked it in the water.
Willa caught his hand. “I can bathe myself.”
With his other hand, he offered her the soap. She released her hold and took the scented cake, indicating with her gaze that he could remove his hand from her bathwater. He did, but he didn’t move away from the tub.
She began lathering the soap on the cloth. “You don’t need to stay right here.”
“That is all right,” he said, pretending he wasn’t watching her every movement. “I like the floor.”
Her nose twitched her suspicions. “It is awkward having you here,” she murmured, washing her arms.
“That is a perception. Thousands of men and their wives share a room. It is all part of the intimacy of marriage.”
Her lip curled. “What are you trying to do, Matt?”
“Be a good husband.”
For a long moment she considered him and then she gathered her hair draped over the edge of the tub as if it annoyed her. “Please see if there is ribbon for my hair in a box on the washstand.”
He was happy to do so, especially since Rodney had calmed down a bit. But he had to be careful. The little man was always ready to rise.
She pleased Matt when she said, “Would you help me tie my hair up?”
“A pleasure.” He lifted the weight of it and wrapped it in a knot the way he used to watch his mother tie hers back. The ribbon would not hold it for long. “You have a good head of hair.”
“I have too much hair.”
“Cut it.” He resumed his watch by the tub. He liked the view. The soap she was using smelled of lavender.
She moved as if less self-conscious around him.
Wiping the back of her neck with the cloth, she said, “I’m afraid to do so. I mean, some women, like your sisters, have shortened their hair, but—” She shrugged. “My father would never allow it.” She drew the cloth down and looked to him. “Would you?”
Matt laughed. “I know better than to answer that question. A wise man doesn’t tell a woman how to dress. Cut your hair, braid it, do what pleases you.”
“But do you like it long?” She paused a beat and then said, “Last night, you seemed to enjoy taking it down.”
Matt dared to lean an arm on her tub. She did not chase him away. “I’m more interested in you, Willa, not your hair.”
She tilted her head in that manner she had whenever he seemed to say something that challenged what she believed.
He waited, hoping she would give him a little more insight into her thinking. Instead, she ran the cloth over her legs.
Matt would dearly love to take the cloth away from her. To have his hand be the one that spread lathered soap over her knees and around her calves.
Rodney stirred. And Willa noticed. She eyed him again with disfavor. “Does it always do that?”
“Apparently around you.” And then, to take her attention off his discomfort, he reached in the tub and splashed water.
