broken traps, pieces of broken bits and bridles, a heap of dirty clothes kicked into a corner, and a table and dry-sink stacked high with dirty dishes, pots, and skillets.
But glory of glories, in one corner sat a big, black cooking range. It was grimed over with grease, along with food that had spilled from pots and pans and baked onto its surface.
Nevertheless, it was beautiful in Raegan's eyes. She had never cooked on one before. This pleasant surprise didn't take away her disgust of the filthy kitchen, however.
She swung angrily on Chase, her green eyes spitting fire. "This is a regular boar's nest! How can you live like this?"
Dumbfounded at her verbal attack, Chase could only stare at Raegan for a moment. Then, slowly, he saw the deplorable state of the kitchen through her eyes. Would she understand, he wondered, that during the winter months he worked from first dawn to early night running his traplines? And that was only the first part of his day. After lugging home his catch, they had to be skinned, then stretched over special boards sized according to how big the pelt was. Would she sympathize that sometimes he was so tired that he almost fell asleep while eating a hurriedly prepared meal? Would she believe him if he explained that once his traps were put away for the season, he always scrubbed out the kitchen, polished the stove, and kept it that way until the cold weather arrived again?
Before he could say all this to Raegan, she sighed and said, "A fire must be built and water brought in to heat. I doubt if there's a clean plate, pot, or skillet to be found."
Chase knew she was right about that, but she was wrong about water having to be lugged into the house. He walked over to the dry-sink and moved dirty dishes around until a small, red hand pump was revealed. It eased his embarrassment a bit to say, "You've got all the water you'll need right here."
He worked the handle up and down a few times and water gushed forth, hitting a big pot and splashing onto the floor. It wet the dry, caked dirt beside the sink, turning it back into the mud it had been when it was tracked into the kitchen.
But Raegan didn't care. The floor could be scrubbed. The important thing was that there was water right here in the house. She couldn't believe how fortunate she was. There would be no more hauling pails of water to scrub and clean with, no more trips to a creek to do dirty laundry. She had often wished for such a convenience, but had never dreamed that such luxury would ever be hers.
She lifted shining eyes to Chase as she took off her jacket and rolled up her sleeves. "If you'll make me a fire, I'll start some water to heating."
"Yes, ma'am." Chase saluted her smartly, the gesture losing some of its smartness when his moccasined heels didn't make the appropriate click. He and Raegan shared their laughter.
"Were you ever in the Army, Chase?" Raegan asked, sorting the dishes from the cooking utensils and placing them in a big dishpan while he started a fire in the range.
"No, I've never been in the regular Army, though I was a scout for little over a year during the worst of the Indian uprising. I don't think I could go along with all the rules and regulations the army puts such importance on."
He looked at Raegan and grinned. "I like to go my own way, I guess."
Raegan studied the strong face turned to her, the clear eyes, straight nose, and square jaw. Yes, she thought, you are a law unto yourself, Chase Donlin—making up your own rules, biding by no one else's.
From the corner of her eye, she saw steam rising from the large tea kettle spout and was thankful for the excuse to pull her eyes away from the disturbing ones that were suddenly locked with hers.
She forced herself to look away, to mutter, "The water's hot. I'd better start on these dishes so I can begin supper."
"Yes," Chase answered curtly, turning quickly away from her, forcing back the desire to kiss her soft lips. "There's soap in the cabinet below
But glory of glories, in one corner sat a big, black cooking range. It was grimed over with grease, along with food that had spilled from pots and pans and baked onto its surface.
Nevertheless, it was beautiful in Raegan's eyes. She had never cooked on one before. This pleasant surprise didn't take away her disgust of the filthy kitchen, however.
She swung angrily on Chase, her green eyes spitting fire. "This is a regular boar's nest! How can you live like this?"
Dumbfounded at her verbal attack, Chase could only stare at Raegan for a moment. Then, slowly, he saw the deplorable state of the kitchen through her eyes. Would she understand, he wondered, that during the winter months he worked from first dawn to early night running his traplines? And that was only the first part of his day. After lugging home his catch, they had to be skinned, then stretched over special boards sized according to how big the pelt was. Would she sympathize that sometimes he was so tired that he almost fell asleep while eating a hurriedly prepared meal? Would she believe him if he explained that once his traps were put away for the season, he always scrubbed out the kitchen, polished the stove, and kept it that way until the cold weather arrived again?
Before he could say all this to Raegan, she sighed and said, "A fire must be built and water brought in to heat. I doubt if there's a clean plate, pot, or skillet to be found."
Chase knew she was right about that, but she was wrong about water having to be lugged into the house. He walked over to the dry-sink and moved dirty dishes around until a small, red hand pump was revealed. It eased his embarrassment a bit to say, "You've got all the water you'll need right here."
He worked the handle up and down a few times and water gushed forth, hitting a big pot and splashing onto the floor. It wet the dry, caked dirt beside the sink, turning it back into the mud it had been when it was tracked into the kitchen.
But Raegan didn't care. The floor could be scrubbed. The important thing was that there was water right here in the house. She couldn't believe how fortunate she was. There would be no more hauling pails of water to scrub and clean with, no more trips to a creek to do dirty laundry. She had often wished for such a convenience, but had never dreamed that such luxury would ever be hers.
She lifted shining eyes to Chase as she took off her jacket and rolled up her sleeves. "If you'll make me a fire, I'll start some water to heating."
"Yes, ma'am." Chase saluted her smartly, the gesture losing some of its smartness when his moccasined heels didn't make the appropriate click. He and Raegan shared their laughter.
"Were you ever in the Army, Chase?" Raegan asked, sorting the dishes from the cooking utensils and placing them in a big dishpan while he started a fire in the range.
"No, I've never been in the regular Army, though I was a scout for little over a year during the worst of the Indian uprising. I don't think I could go along with all the rules and regulations the army puts such importance on."
He looked at Raegan and grinned. "I like to go my own way, I guess."
Raegan studied the strong face turned to her, the clear eyes, straight nose, and square jaw. Yes, she thought, you are a law unto yourself, Chase Donlin—making up your own rules, biding by no one else's.
From the corner of her eye, she saw steam rising from the large tea kettle spout and was thankful for the excuse to pull her eyes away from the disturbing ones that were suddenly locked with hers.
She forced herself to look away, to mutter, "The water's hot. I'd better start on these dishes so I can begin supper."
"Yes," Chase answered curtly, turning quickly away from her, forcing back the desire to kiss her soft lips. "There's soap in the cabinet below
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