Clay by Ana Leigh Page B

you.”
    “Are-aren’t we head-heading ba-back?” she asked, unable to control her chattering teeth.
    “Let them come find us.” He pulled her dress off over her head. “Let’s get some friction going to help dry off your skin.”
    “Bu-but wh-what if they don’t try? They-they mi-might th-think we-we’ve dro-drowned,” she said as he began to vigorously dry her shoulders and arms with his shirt.
    “I know my brother—he’ll show up. Now sit.”
    When she did as he said, Clay knelt down and pulled off her shoes and stockings, then pushed up the skirt of her chemise and rubbed her legs and feet.
    He could tell when her body began to respond to his efforts. The shivering ceased, her flesh felt warmer, and her color gradually began to return.
    Until then his actions had been reflexive; now he began to think about what had happened. She might easily have drowned—and regardless of how their marriage began, she was his wife. Clay felt an overwhelming relief that the life of this courageous, beautiful woman had not been swept away.
    She still looked frightened—and so vulnerable. He wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her; he knew the crippling fear she had just experienced. He’d been in enough battles to know how terrifying the thought of dying was.
     
    Rebecca looked down at the dark head bent over her. She had never known such fear before, and Clay had delivered her from it. Despite what she’d thought of him before, he had to have a great deal of character to have jumped into that river to save her.
    He stood up and reached out a hand to pull her to her feet.
    When the warm security of his hand closed around hers, the last vestiges of her fear and panic disappeared.
    “Thank you, Clayton.”
     
    Clay lay with his hands tucked under his head and watched Rebecca spreading out their clothes to dry. He hadn’t realized how petite she actually was. Less formidable, too, barefoot and stripped down to the bare necessities, her honey hair hanging down in sodden strands. By the time she had laid out all their clothing in the sun, her hair was almost dry. She pulled loose a couple of vines, then divided her hair into two long braids and tied the ends with them. She looked downright cute to him. Cute? Hell, with only those damp underclothes on, she looked downright bodacious! The way the clothing clung to her curves made his blood heat up.
    But before long, Garth came galloping up.
    “Thank God,” he said when he saw both of them.
    Dismounting, he grabbed a blanket from his saddle and wrapped it around Rebecca, then hunkered down next to Clay.
    “You gave me a scare, Big Brother. I didn’t think you cared for early-morning swims.” The concern in his eyes belied the lightness of his tone. “What in hell happened?”
    “It was an accident,” Rebecca said. “One of the mules got frisky. I don’t understand it; Brutus is always so docile.”
    As Clay rose to his feet, his exasperated look said more than his words. “Must be that you forget to bring your apple slices.”

9

    Their clothing was still damp when they dressed. Since Clay didn’t have any boots, Garth gave him the horse. Rather than ride double with Clay, Rebecca chose to walk the five miles back to camp with Garth, so Clay rode ahead to get dry clothing for her. They had covered half the distance by the time he got back to them.
    It was noon when they finally arrived at the camp. Rebecca was relieved to see both the Garson and VonDieman families had made it safely across, although Henrietta was mourning the loss of the horse.
    Nearly half of the wagons still needed to cross, and since Scott had announced they would make camp there for the night, Rebecca decided it was a good opportunity to do the washing. Clay and Garth turned their dirty clothing over to her, then left to help with the crossing. When Rebecca and Henrietta went back to the riverbank, they found it was lined with women doing laundry.
    Since the men were occupied with the