“I just have a blister or two.”
“You have blisters?”
I moved away from his touch. “I’ll be fine.”
“Blisters shouldn’t be taken lightly on the trail,” he said. “We have another day of walking, and if they get infected, you could have a serious problem to deal with. How long have they been bothering you?”
I didn’t want to admit the truth, but I wasn’t going to lie to him as I went for the cornmeal. “Since before lunch.”
“Ally.” The way he said my name was a mixture of censure, concern, and tenderness.
I finally turned and looked at him.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
I wasn’t sure if I should feel chastised or cherished, so I said, “I wanted to get as far as we could today.”
“Come here.” He walked to a boulder and set his bedroll at the base of it. “Sit down.”
“Why?”
“I’m going to tend to your feet.”
It probably wasn’t a good idea to let him get close to me after the feelings that his touch elicited, but I also knew he wouldn’t take no for an answer.
Putting the cornmeal back in the bag, I let myself limp as I made my way across the campsite, listening to the mules munching on their supper.
He offered his hand and helped me to the ground.
I started to remove my dirty boots, but he gently moved my hands aside and began to unlace the first one.
His hands were large and strong, and he worked in silence, glancing up at me as he put one hand behind my ankle while pulling the boot off with the other.
I winced and put my hand on his shoulder to stop him. It had the desired effect. He paused, and his shoulder muscles tensed under my hand.
Awareness crackled between us, and I was reminded of how alone we really were.
“I’m sorry it hurts,” he said, his voice soothing. “I’ll try to be gentle.”
I swallowed the nerves bubbling up my throat as I nodded and removed my hand from his shoulder.
He slowly took off the boot, and I tried not to tense. My stockings, which had been white when they were new, were now a dull gray and marked with blood.
“Ally,” he said again, shaking his head. “You should have said something.”
I didn’t bother to answer as he removed the other boot and then went to the fire to retrieve the water I had set there to warm forour hasty pudding. While he was away, I took off my stockings, which were gartered just above my knees. Even though I often had bare legs in 1929, it was different here. With Sam.
When I was done, I lowered the hem to my ankles. He returned and knelt in front of me with the warm water and a salve he kept in his saddlebag.
“This is going to hurt,” he said, wincing, “but we need to make sure they’re clean and protected from infection.”
I took a deep breath, but it wasn’t the pain I was anticipating—it was his touch on my bare feet.
“I can do it myself,” I said, feeling vulnerable and uncertain.
When he lifted his gaze to mine, there was warmth and affection, and something more. “Let me.”
His touch was gentle as he washed my feet. Neither of us spoke, but I saw the concern on his face as he examined the blisters. There were several, and they had all been bleeding for hours, but he didn’t scold me again.
