Hooker with more fanciful tales of murderous Indians?"
"I told ye I was sorry—"
"So that you can bedevil me by spurning all my efforts to be nice to you?"
"Nice t' me. Hunh. Ye call this bein' nice t' me?"
He heaved a deep, sad sigh, but Delia wasn't fooled. She could tell by the ragged catch in his voice that he was enjoying a good laugh at her expense.
Rays from the dying sun penetrated the canopy of trees, shining directly on him, bathing his face with a golden glow and bringing out the bronze lights in his rich dark hair. As always she was struck by the sight of him—he was such a marvelous figure of a man. She doubted he could really see much of her, thank goodness, the way she lay sprawled in the bottom of the black pit, her petticoat pulled halfway up around her waist, and covered as she was with dirt and pine needles.
"I'll help you out, but there's a condition attached," he said.
"I'm not ridin' that bloody horse with ye!" Delia cried, anticipating his condition.
"Fine then." He disappeared from sight.
"Goddamn ye, Ty!" When he didn't come back right away, she screamed louder. "Ty, come back! Please! I'll do what ye say, everythin' ye say, only please come back. Ty!"
He came back. He squatted down to sit at the edge of the pit, his legs dangling over the side, the rifle resting across his lap, as if, Delia thought, grinding her teeth with frustration, he had all bloody day.
"Be dark soon," he said cheerfully, squinting up at the needly bower overhead.
Delia ground her teeth some more.
"Aye..." He blew his breath out in a soft whistle. "I reckon we'll be getting some rain 'round about midnight."
"Ty, there's a wolf a-roamin' around loose up there." Her voice began husky-sweet but took on an edge as it grew in volume. "I hope it eats ye. It would serve ye bloody right."
Ty laughed. "I doubt it was a wolf you saw. Not this close to the village. Must have been the innkeeper's old hound dog."
Delia began to have a horrible premonition. "How... how far away do ye figure we are from the village?"
"Oh, about fifty rods."
Delia's cheeks felt warm. She was glad of the darkness within the pit so that Ty couldn't see her embarrassment. She had thought herself hopelessly lost, deep in a wilderness forest, and here she was only fifty rods from the village.
Ty startled her by leaping gracefully down into the pit with her. He groped his way to her side and then she heard him swear as he felt the log lying across her leg. "Christ, why didn't you say something?"
"I thought ye knew."
"How could I possibly—" he began, then cut himself off. He wrapped his arms around the thick log, grunted, heaved, and suddenly she was free. "Don't move," he ordered as she started to sit up.
He felt all along her leg, even up under her skirt. The leg had been throbbing with pain, but at the first touch of his fingers, the pain faded. Delia's eyes fluttered closed and her flesh seemed to melt beneath his soothing hands... gentle, gentle, so very, very gentle. A warm heat began glowing in the pit of her stomach, spreading outward, making her skin feel or fire. Her throat grew tight and dry.
His voice came at her from far away. "It's not broken, but you'll be sporting another fine-looking bruise. You were lucky you weren't killed. This is someone's old deadfall trap and that log was meant to come crashing down on whatever prey stumbled into it. It could have split your head like a squash."
Delia shivered. Then she shivered again as his strong hands went around her waist and he helped her to her feet. "Can you put your weight on it?"
She tested the leg. "I think so. Aye, I can," she said, or tried to say. Her voice wasn't working properly any longer.
His hands lingered at her waist; his chest pressed up against her back. She was more than ever aware of the nearness of him. It was as if he generated a melting heat, like a blacksmith's forge. Suddenly, it seemed so quiet she could hear his breathing. And feel it as well, rising
"I told ye I was sorry—"
"So that you can bedevil me by spurning all my efforts to be nice to you?"
"Nice t' me. Hunh. Ye call this bein' nice t' me?"
He heaved a deep, sad sigh, but Delia wasn't fooled. She could tell by the ragged catch in his voice that he was enjoying a good laugh at her expense.
Rays from the dying sun penetrated the canopy of trees, shining directly on him, bathing his face with a golden glow and bringing out the bronze lights in his rich dark hair. As always she was struck by the sight of him—he was such a marvelous figure of a man. She doubted he could really see much of her, thank goodness, the way she lay sprawled in the bottom of the black pit, her petticoat pulled halfway up around her waist, and covered as she was with dirt and pine needles.
"I'll help you out, but there's a condition attached," he said.
"I'm not ridin' that bloody horse with ye!" Delia cried, anticipating his condition.
"Fine then." He disappeared from sight.
"Goddamn ye, Ty!" When he didn't come back right away, she screamed louder. "Ty, come back! Please! I'll do what ye say, everythin' ye say, only please come back. Ty!"
He came back. He squatted down to sit at the edge of the pit, his legs dangling over the side, the rifle resting across his lap, as if, Delia thought, grinding her teeth with frustration, he had all bloody day.
"Be dark soon," he said cheerfully, squinting up at the needly bower overhead.
Delia ground her teeth some more.
"Aye..." He blew his breath out in a soft whistle. "I reckon we'll be getting some rain 'round about midnight."
"Ty, there's a wolf a-roamin' around loose up there." Her voice began husky-sweet but took on an edge as it grew in volume. "I hope it eats ye. It would serve ye bloody right."
Ty laughed. "I doubt it was a wolf you saw. Not this close to the village. Must have been the innkeeper's old hound dog."
Delia began to have a horrible premonition. "How... how far away do ye figure we are from the village?"
"Oh, about fifty rods."
Delia's cheeks felt warm. She was glad of the darkness within the pit so that Ty couldn't see her embarrassment. She had thought herself hopelessly lost, deep in a wilderness forest, and here she was only fifty rods from the village.
Ty startled her by leaping gracefully down into the pit with her. He groped his way to her side and then she heard him swear as he felt the log lying across her leg. "Christ, why didn't you say something?"
"I thought ye knew."
"How could I possibly—" he began, then cut himself off. He wrapped his arms around the thick log, grunted, heaved, and suddenly she was free. "Don't move," he ordered as she started to sit up.
He felt all along her leg, even up under her skirt. The leg had been throbbing with pain, but at the first touch of his fingers, the pain faded. Delia's eyes fluttered closed and her flesh seemed to melt beneath his soothing hands... gentle, gentle, so very, very gentle. A warm heat began glowing in the pit of her stomach, spreading outward, making her skin feel or fire. Her throat grew tight and dry.
His voice came at her from far away. "It's not broken, but you'll be sporting another fine-looking bruise. You were lucky you weren't killed. This is someone's old deadfall trap and that log was meant to come crashing down on whatever prey stumbled into it. It could have split your head like a squash."
Delia shivered. Then she shivered again as his strong hands went around her waist and he helped her to her feet. "Can you put your weight on it?"
She tested the leg. "I think so. Aye, I can," she said, or tried to say. Her voice wasn't working properly any longer.
His hands lingered at her waist; his chest pressed up against her back. She was more than ever aware of the nearness of him. It was as if he generated a melting heat, like a blacksmith's forge. Suddenly, it seemed so quiet she could hear his breathing. And feel it as well, rising
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