Lincoln!” she cried.
Derora lifted the bills, fanned them out in front of her face to be properly admired. “How would you like to own your own roominghouse, Juniper?” she sang.“Five dollars down and five dollars a week and, my dear, this dreary place is yours!”
“Sold!” said Juniper, with feeling.
Tess did not begin to worry about the night to come until they were well away from the little town where Keith had sold virtually his entire stock and making camp in a verdant, wildflower-strewn clearing beside a pond.
The sky looked angry and too dark for a spring evening; there was a storm coming. The mule, tethered where he could graze and drink from the pond at will, was fitful despite the copse of wild birch trees that would shelter him.
Tess leaned against the wagon, her arms folded, her eyes wide and wary, watching Keith lay rocks in a circle, gather sticks, and start a fire.
“Are you going to help me, woman,” he demanded, with a good-natured sort of impatience, “or just stand there gawking?”
“It’s going to rain,” Tess fretted, glancing ruefully up at the sky.
Keith shrugged, still grinning. Damn him, he knew what was worrying her, but he offered no reassurance. Oh, no. He just passed her, leering a bit as he went, and climbed into the back of the wagon. After a noisy search, he came out with a strip of canvas wound around four long wooden poles.
Smiling to himself, he proceeded to set up a crude sort of canopy that would keep the fire from going out, should the sky make good on its promise.
“What’s so funny?” Tess demanded, tired of his smug smirk. There was a limit, after all.
“You are,” he answered expansively, grasping one of the poles that held up the canopy and giving it a shake to test it. “Drag a log over here, will you? We’re going to need more wood.”
“Drag a—”
“Well, you don’t expect me to do everything, do you? You’ve got to pay your way in this world, Tess. Pull your own weight, as it were.” His blue eyes swept over her, appreciatively mischievous. “Such as it is, anyway,” he reflected, at length.
“If you think, for one minute, Mr. Keith Corbin, that I am going to—”
Keith folded his arms, the bowler hat at a cocky angle on his cocky head, his azure eyes twinkling. “I thought you believed in free love. Don’t you want to save the world, Miss Bishop? Don’t you want to end war and hunger and poverty by giving yourself to me?”
Tess colored richly; she hated herself for blushing but she couldn’t help it. “How would that end war and hunger and poverty?”
“Exactly my question. But that’s what you free lovers believe, isn’t it? Here’s your chance to strike a blow for universal peace. Are you going to miss it?”
“You lecher. You’re not concerned with ‘universal peace’! You’re concerned with your own p-personal satisfaction!”
“Aren’t we all?” he countered, and though he didn’t move, it was as though he had shrugged.
Tess wanted to claw his eyes out. “I’m not,” she said loftily.
“Nevertheless, Miss Bishop, I’m going to make love to you tonight. I’m going to—”
“You’re not going to do anything to me!”
He only laughed.
And because Tess knew that her body would override her will if that insufferable man so much as kissed her, she turned and flounced off into the trees to find the log he’d asked for earlier. Maybe the effort of chopping it into firewood would exhaust him.
She found a fallen birch bough, and, as she dragged it back toward the camp, Tess reflected, huffing and puffing, that it might be she who was exhausted, and not Keith.
Sure enough, he chopped the huge limb into suitable pieces without even working up a sweat. Tess sat bleakly under the canopy, watching him while she stirred the stew they’d bought at the restaurant in town.
After washing up with disturbing industry—he removed his shirt if not that insufferable hat—at the edge of the pond, Keith joined
Derora lifted the bills, fanned them out in front of her face to be properly admired. “How would you like to own your own roominghouse, Juniper?” she sang.“Five dollars down and five dollars a week and, my dear, this dreary place is yours!”
“Sold!” said Juniper, with feeling.
Tess did not begin to worry about the night to come until they were well away from the little town where Keith had sold virtually his entire stock and making camp in a verdant, wildflower-strewn clearing beside a pond.
The sky looked angry and too dark for a spring evening; there was a storm coming. The mule, tethered where he could graze and drink from the pond at will, was fitful despite the copse of wild birch trees that would shelter him.
Tess leaned against the wagon, her arms folded, her eyes wide and wary, watching Keith lay rocks in a circle, gather sticks, and start a fire.
“Are you going to help me, woman,” he demanded, with a good-natured sort of impatience, “or just stand there gawking?”
“It’s going to rain,” Tess fretted, glancing ruefully up at the sky.
Keith shrugged, still grinning. Damn him, he knew what was worrying her, but he offered no reassurance. Oh, no. He just passed her, leering a bit as he went, and climbed into the back of the wagon. After a noisy search, he came out with a strip of canvas wound around four long wooden poles.
Smiling to himself, he proceeded to set up a crude sort of canopy that would keep the fire from going out, should the sky make good on its promise.
“What’s so funny?” Tess demanded, tired of his smug smirk. There was a limit, after all.
“You are,” he answered expansively, grasping one of the poles that held up the canopy and giving it a shake to test it. “Drag a log over here, will you? We’re going to need more wood.”
“Drag a—”
“Well, you don’t expect me to do everything, do you? You’ve got to pay your way in this world, Tess. Pull your own weight, as it were.” His blue eyes swept over her, appreciatively mischievous. “Such as it is, anyway,” he reflected, at length.
“If you think, for one minute, Mr. Keith Corbin, that I am going to—”
Keith folded his arms, the bowler hat at a cocky angle on his cocky head, his azure eyes twinkling. “I thought you believed in free love. Don’t you want to save the world, Miss Bishop? Don’t you want to end war and hunger and poverty by giving yourself to me?”
Tess colored richly; she hated herself for blushing but she couldn’t help it. “How would that end war and hunger and poverty?”
“Exactly my question. But that’s what you free lovers believe, isn’t it? Here’s your chance to strike a blow for universal peace. Are you going to miss it?”
“You lecher. You’re not concerned with ‘universal peace’! You’re concerned with your own p-personal satisfaction!”
“Aren’t we all?” he countered, and though he didn’t move, it was as though he had shrugged.
Tess wanted to claw his eyes out. “I’m not,” she said loftily.
“Nevertheless, Miss Bishop, I’m going to make love to you tonight. I’m going to—”
“You’re not going to do anything to me!”
He only laughed.
And because Tess knew that her body would override her will if that insufferable man so much as kissed her, she turned and flounced off into the trees to find the log he’d asked for earlier. Maybe the effort of chopping it into firewood would exhaust him.
She found a fallen birch bough, and, as she dragged it back toward the camp, Tess reflected, huffing and puffing, that it might be she who was exhausted, and not Keith.
Sure enough, he chopped the huge limb into suitable pieces without even working up a sweat. Tess sat bleakly under the canopy, watching him while she stirred the stew they’d bought at the restaurant in town.
After washing up with disturbing industry—he removed his shirt if not that insufferable hat—at the edge of the pond, Keith joined
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