off. The smell of roasting rabbits replaced the scent of his skin. She couldn’t decide what was more delicious. The rabbits were propped over the fire and drippings sizzled in the flames. Saliva flooded her mouth. The rabbits won for the moment.
“Where did you get the wood to rekindle the fire?”
“I had some behind the lean-to.”
“There’s a ledge behind the lean-to.”
“There’s a small cave. It stays dry there.”
A place for everything. She smiled. “I’ll remember.”
He went behind the lean-to and pulled out a large, shallow wooden bowl. She admired the line from his broad shoulders to his lean hips as he poured water into it from a flask. Clearly she should have explored more. He bent over the bowl. Her eyes jerked up as he did . . . something.
“Did you just spit in that water?”
He turned, holding the bowl carefully. “Why would I do that?”
She didn’t know. “I just thought—”
“Take off your shoes.”
She eyed the water. “Why?”
“So we can soak your feet.”
“What are those green things floating about?”
“Herbs for healing.”
They didn’t smell obnoxious. And now she knew what he’d been doing. She took off her shoes and gingerly placed her feet in the cold water. After the initial shock there was a strange tingling. The area around the blister felt warm. And then the burning pain eased.
“Better?” he asked, turning the spitted rabbits.
“Actually, yes.” She twisted her foot into the bottom, enjoying the smooth wood against her soles. “What kind of herbs are these?”
“A concoction I picked up somewhere.”
She wiggled her toes, admiring the utter symmetry of the bowl. Whoever had crafted it had an eye for detail. “Can I see the bag?”
A stillness took Isaiah, and for a second she didn’t think he was going to answer, but then he shrugged and said, “That was the last of it.”
“Oh.” So much for learning the recipe. Which was a shame, because her feet felt miraculously better. Her stomach rumbled.
Isaiah looked over. “It will be a few minutes before the rabbits are ready.”
She kept her expression neutral while she cursed the blush that heated her cheeks. What was it about the man that kept her so unsettled ? A woman her age, with her experience, should be long past blushing.
She let the pelt slide off her shoulders. “Then, I’ll set the . . .” Isaiah stared at her. Too late she remembered there wasn’t a table. “I’ll get the silverware.”
His stare got harder.
“We do have silverware?”
“Does this look like a fancy hotel?”
“No.” It looked like a hole in the side of the mountain, but that didn’t mean the basics couldn’t be observed. “You must at least have a fork.”
He reached for his hip and pulled out a big knife. He handed it to her, hilt first. She didn’t take it. “I don’t think so.”
“It’s either this or your fingers.”
Her fingers were as dirty as the knife. “Is there a place I can wash?”
“There’s a stream to the left.”
“Soap?”
Another stare. Eating with her fingers was distasteful. She looked at the knife. It at least was a utensil. She reached for it and then stopped. How many men had he killed with it? She caught herself before she could ask the question. “Then I guess I’ll be eating with my hands.”
He put the knife back in the sheath. “I thought so.”
She bit her lip on a sharp retort and tugged the pelt up. If he continued to be this much of an ass, he was going to end up with one of those spitted rabbits up alongside his head, which was going to make dinner conversation extremely awkward.
7
IF THE MEAL WAS AWKWARD, THE AFTERMATH WAS WORSE. Isaiah was sullen and quiet. Addy was exhausted and could barely keep her eyes open. All she wanted to do was go to sleep, but there was only one pallet on which to sleep, and quite frankly, Isaiah wasn’t a man with whom she felt comfortable just closing her eyes and letting down her guard. Quite the
“Where did you get the wood to rekindle the fire?”
“I had some behind the lean-to.”
“There’s a ledge behind the lean-to.”
“There’s a small cave. It stays dry there.”
A place for everything. She smiled. “I’ll remember.”
He went behind the lean-to and pulled out a large, shallow wooden bowl. She admired the line from his broad shoulders to his lean hips as he poured water into it from a flask. Clearly she should have explored more. He bent over the bowl. Her eyes jerked up as he did . . . something.
“Did you just spit in that water?”
He turned, holding the bowl carefully. “Why would I do that?”
She didn’t know. “I just thought—”
“Take off your shoes.”
She eyed the water. “Why?”
“So we can soak your feet.”
“What are those green things floating about?”
“Herbs for healing.”
They didn’t smell obnoxious. And now she knew what he’d been doing. She took off her shoes and gingerly placed her feet in the cold water. After the initial shock there was a strange tingling. The area around the blister felt warm. And then the burning pain eased.
“Better?” he asked, turning the spitted rabbits.
“Actually, yes.” She twisted her foot into the bottom, enjoying the smooth wood against her soles. “What kind of herbs are these?”
“A concoction I picked up somewhere.”
She wiggled her toes, admiring the utter symmetry of the bowl. Whoever had crafted it had an eye for detail. “Can I see the bag?”
A stillness took Isaiah, and for a second she didn’t think he was going to answer, but then he shrugged and said, “That was the last of it.”
“Oh.” So much for learning the recipe. Which was a shame, because her feet felt miraculously better. Her stomach rumbled.
Isaiah looked over. “It will be a few minutes before the rabbits are ready.”
She kept her expression neutral while she cursed the blush that heated her cheeks. What was it about the man that kept her so unsettled ? A woman her age, with her experience, should be long past blushing.
She let the pelt slide off her shoulders. “Then, I’ll set the . . .” Isaiah stared at her. Too late she remembered there wasn’t a table. “I’ll get the silverware.”
His stare got harder.
“We do have silverware?”
“Does this look like a fancy hotel?”
“No.” It looked like a hole in the side of the mountain, but that didn’t mean the basics couldn’t be observed. “You must at least have a fork.”
He reached for his hip and pulled out a big knife. He handed it to her, hilt first. She didn’t take it. “I don’t think so.”
“It’s either this or your fingers.”
Her fingers were as dirty as the knife. “Is there a place I can wash?”
“There’s a stream to the left.”
“Soap?”
Another stare. Eating with her fingers was distasteful. She looked at the knife. It at least was a utensil. She reached for it and then stopped. How many men had he killed with it? She caught herself before she could ask the question. “Then I guess I’ll be eating with my hands.”
He put the knife back in the sheath. “I thought so.”
She bit her lip on a sharp retort and tugged the pelt up. If he continued to be this much of an ass, he was going to end up with one of those spitted rabbits up alongside his head, which was going to make dinner conversation extremely awkward.
7
IF THE MEAL WAS AWKWARD, THE AFTERMATH WAS WORSE. Isaiah was sullen and quiet. Addy was exhausted and could barely keep her eyes open. All she wanted to do was go to sleep, but there was only one pallet on which to sleep, and quite frankly, Isaiah wasn’t a man with whom she felt comfortable just closing her eyes and letting down her guard. Quite the
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