Montana Wildfire by Rebecca Sinclair Page B

soon, I'm going to be forced to find some other way to keep myself warm tonight. If that happens, I give you my word... come morning there'll be one less white lady wondering how this Indian does anything ."
    He was dead serious. Amanda decided it would be in her best interest to give lighting the fire another try. Not wanting to put unnecessary weight on her ankle, she used her hands and good leg to push herself over the few feet of grass separating her from the wood. She kept her shoulders squared and her spine straight and proud, although she had to admit that hauling herself clumsily over the ground the way she was doing made it difficult to appear ladylike.
    Her fingers, she was pleased to note, didn't tremble too much when she selected the two sticks she'd used earlier. One piece already had the proper-sized hole gouged in the center; she laid that one flat on the ground. Inserting the tip of the thinner, longer stick into the hole, Amanda flattened her palms on either side of it. Her skin was chafed from her previous attempt to get the fire started. She had tried, dammit! She disregarded the sting of bark against her tender flesh—at least she tried to disregard it, but it made her movements awkward.
    She paused long enough to suck in a steadying breath, then began rubbing the stick back and forth. Her motions were self-conscious and stiff. The stick flipped from her fingers more times than not, but she doggedly snatched it back and tried again. She would get this fire started or she would die trying!
    Amanda was vaguely aware of when Jake swaggered to the opposite side of the pile. He hunkered down in the ankle-high grass, and although she could feel his gaze smolder over her, she was too busy—mentally commanding the sticks to combust in a fiery display that would knock a certain conceited half-breed on his ear—to pay him much attention.
    Until he laughed.
    His rich, deep, oddly pleasant laughter cut through the night and sliced through Amanda like a knife. The sound won her undivided—not to mention furious-attention. Her hands paused in mid-rub. Her gaze snapped up. The crease furrowing her brow was a good indication of her fury. "You think this is funny? " she demanded.
    Jake nodded. It took effort to trap his laughter in his throat. The amusement in his eyes didn't fade a bit. "Yeah, princess, I think it's hilarious. Don't you?"
    Her gaze flared with indignation. "I most certainly do not. For your information, Mr. Chandler, I happen to be trying my best to get this fire started."
    "Is that a fact? Well, for your information, Miss Lennox, you'll never do it the way you're going about it." His attention plunged to the stick she sandwiched between her stinging palms. "Want some help?"
    "If it wouldn't put too much of a strain on you."
    "Okay, listen up." His gaze volleyed between her eyes and the stick. "Think of it as..."
    One golden brow slanted curiously high. Now what, Amanda wondered, had doused his laughter so quickly? And why did his expression suddenly look tight and strained? The muscle in his jaw had stopped ticking. Why? What sordid thought had crossed his mind? Whatever it was, it must have been a good one to have that sobering an effect on a man that nothing seemed to bother.
    "What, Mr. Chandler? Think of it as... what?"
    His gaze shifted, grazing the swell of her breasts before lifting. The corners of his mouth kicked up in a wicked grin as their gazes meshed. "Think of it as like... making love," he said slowly, suggestively. He heard her gasp, but ignored it. "You've got to rub the stick harder. Faster. Get enough friction going to make a spark. Then you've got to... Well, hell, princess, let me show you."
    Amanda squirmed. Her heart fluttered when she saw Jake push to his feet. He sauntered around the pile of wood, and only once he'd breached the barrier did she realize it had made a wall between them. She felt his heat seep into her back and hips before she actually felt him—in all the same