MM01 - Valley of Fire by Peggy Webb Page A

his side, facing her, and his hand flopped casually onto her shoulder. She pretended not to notice.
    So did he. She was just an ordinary woman, he told himself. Extraordinarily good-looking, to be sure. And warm and spirited and funny. But still, she was only a passing amusement. So why did he feel as if electric currents were running from her skin through his hand? He wasn't going to move it though. He didn't want her to think that he thought of her as anything except a quarry.
    He shut his eyes and tried to sleep.
    So did she. He was just another man of the wrong kind, she told herself. Extremely good-looking, of course. And warm and bright and funny. But still, he was only a temporary amusement, a little added spice in her life while she was finding Lucky.
    Then why did the merest touch of his hand make her feel as if she were melting? She wasn't going to move though. She didn't want him to think that she thought of him as anything except a means of finding her make-believe husband.
    The minutes ticked by. They lay stiffly side by side, barely touching but feeling as if they were locked in a full body press with each other. It was exquisite torture. She was torn between hoping he would pull her into his arms and wanting to roll out of his reach.
    He was torn between turning his back to her and pinning her beneath him on the sagging mattress and giving vent to his passion.
    She shut her eyes and counted the number of times he had kissed her.
    He stared at the ceiling and counted the number of times he could have had her and didn't.
    She decided that she was hopelessly addicted to scoundrels.
    He decided that he was in grave danger of losing his freedom.
    Finally she spoke. “You forgot to blow out the candles.”
    It was the excuse he needed to move his hand off her shoulder without seeming too obvious about it. He jumped out of bed with such alacrity, the bed-springs vibrated.
    That's all she needed, Martha Ann thought. A vibrating bed. In her state of mind, though, any relief was welcome. She tried not to notice Rick as he marched around the room in his shorts blowing out candles. But how could she help herself? He was so good-looking.
    At last the room was dark, and he came back to bed. This time he was excruciatingly careful not to touch her.
    And finally they both slept.
     o0o
    The next morning Martha Ann got out of bed and dressed before Rick was even awake. Holding her shoes in her hand, she tiptoed out the door. Once she'd closed the door, she leaned against it and took a deep breath. She'd gotten through the night without a close encounter. She didn't think she could get through one more night in that bed without some help. She had to figure out a plan.
    When the clocks struck twenty that night, Martha Ann excused herself and went to bed. But she wasn't going there to sleep. On the contrary, she thought. She was going to prepare for one more trial by fire with Rick McGill.
    When he came through the door thirty minutes later, he was grinning. His grin broadened when he saw Martha Ann.
    She was sitting on her side of the bed wearing a voluminous pink flowered sheet and half a pound of cold cream. Skeins of thread were piled in the middle of the bed making a brightly colored Wall of Jericho. She was working away on a piece of needlepoint, and he thought she was smiling. Under all that cold cream it was hard to tell.
    He leaned against the door frame and prepared to enjoy the show.
    “What are you doing, my pet?”
    “Knitting.”
    She caught her tongue between her teeth as she concentrated on pulling a needle and thread through the canvas.
    “Where are your knitting needles?”
    Oh, heck, she thought. He knew more about this kind of stuff than she did. Never mind. She'd wing it.
    “Did I say 'knitting'? I meant…” What in the world was this stuff called? “…crocheting.”
    Suppressing his chuckle, he moved around to her side of the bed and sat down, taking great care to sit on her flowered sheet. He noted