Heart of the Storm by Mary Burton Page B

His touch wasn’t gentle, but rough and slightly awkward. Yet each time his fingers brushed her skin, her nerves sizzled. The heat of his body burned into her skin. She was aware of his breath; the frown that creased his brown when he inspected his work. Soon she forgot the hair and became aware only of him.
    “Done,” he said.
    He had a satisfied smile on his face.
    “Looks good,” he said
    She ran her hand through her hair, amazed how light it felt. “It feels short.”
    “Too damn much hair, if you ask me. Must have felt like you had a sheep dog on your head at times.”
    She laughed. In truth the weight sometimes gave her headaches. “Yes.”
    With her hair gone, she felt like a different woman. Freer.
    “The water should be hot,” he said. “I’ll pour it in the tub for you.” He started to fill the tub. “It’s amazing to me you could wash your hair.”
    “There was always a maid to help me.”
    “Come over here and kneel by the tub and I’ll pour water over your head. It’ll be easier to clean it that way.”
    “I’m sure I can manage now that it’s shorter.”
    “It’ll be easier, if I help.”
    He looked so masculine standing there with his sleeves rolled up over this elbows. The thought of him touching her again was exciting. Dangerous.
    Still, she knelt over the tub. She flipped her hair over as he came to stand beside her. In her peripheral vision she saw his powerful legs braced beside her.
    He brushed his hands through her hair, away from her collar. Slowly he poured the water over her head, working the water through the thick tresses with his hand. “Hold still while I get the soap.”
    He rubbed the soap between his hands and began to work it into her scalp. His hands possessed such strength, yet they were gentle.
    The sensation was so pleasurable. He poured a fresh pitcher of water over her head, working allthe soap out of her hair. He wrapped a towel over her head. “All set.”
    Boneless, she rose. Water dripped down the sides of her face. “Wonderful.”
    He backed away as if he needed distance. He filled the tub with the remaining hot water. “I’ll leave you to your bath.”
    After Ben left, Rachel stripped off her clothes and eased into the hot water. She couldn’t stretch out in the tub, but the hot water soothed her aching muscles.
    She stayed in the tub until the water had nearly cooled. When she got out, she felt refreshed—a new woman.
    She looked at her black dress. It conjured memories of Peter and the fear she’d felt when she’d run away. Her gaze shifted to the parcel. Accepting a parcel from a near stranger wasn’t proper.
    “Proper,” she muttered. “What have you done these last three days that is proper?”
    Rachel pulled out the blue dress. It felt soft against her skin. The color caught the light.
    She put on the chemise, stockings, new dress and shoes. To her delight, it all fit perfectly. The clothes were plain but comfortable. They felt good against her skin. She felt like a different person.
    She moved into the parlor. The room was filledwith a half dozen unpacked crates. Not one picture hung on the wall. But Ben had laid a fire in the hearth and pulled the one settee close to it.
    Touched by his kindness, she sat and started to comb her wet hair. The comb slid easily through her mane, which had already started to dry and curl at the ends. This place was magical.
    A place to start over.
     
    Peter slammed his hand on the mahogany table. “What do you mean, she’s disappeared? She’s a well-known woman for God’s sake. Someone must have seen her.”
    The three detectives stood stone-faced. “We’ve checked all the passenger boats and the coaches. No one has seen her.”
    White-hot rage thrummed through Peter’s veins.
    Damn her! If it took him the rest of his life, he’d find Rachel and teach her a lesson.
    “Well, check them again,” Peter shouted. “If you hope to work in this town ever again, you will find my wife!”
    The tallest of