uneasy.
Lydia, oblivious to their audience, brushed past him. Her brisk movement stirred the hair on his chest and stomach. He ducked out of sight into the wagon. God, the girl was shameless. Didn't she nave one ounce of propriety?
"I folded them up over here," she was saying as she rummaged through tne supplies which she had neatly stacked out of the way. It occurred to Ross suddenly that the interior of the wagon no longer painfully reminded him of Victoria. All traces of her clutter were gone. Things were more neatly arranged to save space and make room.
Lydia handed him a clean shirt that had been folded carefully. She had almost gasped at the sight of the scar. It was above his left breast ana had gouged out part of the muscle. She tried not to let him know she had noticed it.
"Thanks," he said tersely, hoping that she would leave the wagon so everyone could see her outside instead of in there with him.
He should have known that was too much to ask of her. "Mr. Coleman, would you teach me to drive the wagon?" she asked, looking up at him. Even stooped over as he was, she came no higher than his breastbone.
"Drive the wagon?" he repeated vaguely. He was wondering if he should pull his shirt on or wait until she left. Better to put it on now. The way her eyes wandered curiously over his chest was making him perspire even though he had just washed. "I don't think so," he said, cramming his arms into the sleeves. Was she looking at his nipple or at the scar?
"Why?"
"Because the team would probably pull you off the seat, that's why. You're not . . . nusky . . . enough." His fingers were behaving as though they had never buttoned a shirt before.
"Did your wife . . . did Victoria drive the team?"
When he reached the last button, he discovered he had matched them all up with the wrong holes. He cursed under his breath and nearly ripped them free before starting all over again. "Yes, she did."
"She was husky?"
"Dammit, no, she wasn't husky!" he shouted. Nervously he glanced over his shoulder. He lowered his voice to a vicious hiss. "No, she wasn't husky."
"And you taught her."
"Yes."
"Then why can't you teach me?"
"Because you've no business driving my team."
"Why?" she repeated.
Unconsciously he unbuttoned his pants to cram his shirttail in. The men Lydia had known wore suspenders to hold up their breeches. Even the dim memories of her father pictured him with suspenders. Her eyes were on Ross's hands as he secured the buttons on his pants and refastened the buckle of his wide leather belt, slapping it lightly when he was done.
"You have to take care of Lee, that's why."
She dragged her eyes up the long length of his torso, not knowing how provocative that sweep of her lashes was to watch. "But he sleeps so much. I enjoyed riding on the seat today. There's no reason why I couldn't be useful while I'm sitting there. That would free you to ride your horses if you wanted to. I'm not saying I'd drive all the time. If Lee was fretful, I couldn't, but I should know how."
More to end the conversation and get out into the open where he could breathe normally again, he said, "I'll think about it. It's not easy, you know." With that he stamped out of the wagon, leaving her with a satisfied smile on her lips.
* * *
The noise and general state of confusion at the Langston wagon served to camouflage the tension between Ross and Lydia. The two roosters were honored with hearty appetites that didn't leave one bone unpicked.
Only Bubba didn't enjoy the meal. After eating only half a plateful, he slunk away in the darkness, ostensibly to check on the horses. A few minutes later Luke found him leaning against a tree, absently peeling a twig of its bark.
"What's the matter, Bubba? Got a bellyache?"
"Go away," Bubba sighed. Privacy in a family the size of his was rare and valuable.
"I know what's wrong with you," Luke said cockily. "You couldn't eat on account of lookin' at Lydias titties."
Bubba sprang to his feet poised
Lydia, oblivious to their audience, brushed past him. Her brisk movement stirred the hair on his chest and stomach. He ducked out of sight into the wagon. God, the girl was shameless. Didn't she nave one ounce of propriety?
"I folded them up over here," she was saying as she rummaged through tne supplies which she had neatly stacked out of the way. It occurred to Ross suddenly that the interior of the wagon no longer painfully reminded him of Victoria. All traces of her clutter were gone. Things were more neatly arranged to save space and make room.
Lydia handed him a clean shirt that had been folded carefully. She had almost gasped at the sight of the scar. It was above his left breast ana had gouged out part of the muscle. She tried not to let him know she had noticed it.
"Thanks," he said tersely, hoping that she would leave the wagon so everyone could see her outside instead of in there with him.
He should have known that was too much to ask of her. "Mr. Coleman, would you teach me to drive the wagon?" she asked, looking up at him. Even stooped over as he was, she came no higher than his breastbone.
"Drive the wagon?" he repeated vaguely. He was wondering if he should pull his shirt on or wait until she left. Better to put it on now. The way her eyes wandered curiously over his chest was making him perspire even though he had just washed. "I don't think so," he said, cramming his arms into the sleeves. Was she looking at his nipple or at the scar?
"Why?"
"Because the team would probably pull you off the seat, that's why. You're not . . . nusky . . . enough." His fingers were behaving as though they had never buttoned a shirt before.
"Did your wife . . . did Victoria drive the team?"
When he reached the last button, he discovered he had matched them all up with the wrong holes. He cursed under his breath and nearly ripped them free before starting all over again. "Yes, she did."
"She was husky?"
"Dammit, no, she wasn't husky!" he shouted. Nervously he glanced over his shoulder. He lowered his voice to a vicious hiss. "No, she wasn't husky."
"And you taught her."
"Yes."
"Then why can't you teach me?"
"Because you've no business driving my team."
"Why?" she repeated.
Unconsciously he unbuttoned his pants to cram his shirttail in. The men Lydia had known wore suspenders to hold up their breeches. Even the dim memories of her father pictured him with suspenders. Her eyes were on Ross's hands as he secured the buttons on his pants and refastened the buckle of his wide leather belt, slapping it lightly when he was done.
"You have to take care of Lee, that's why."
She dragged her eyes up the long length of his torso, not knowing how provocative that sweep of her lashes was to watch. "But he sleeps so much. I enjoyed riding on the seat today. There's no reason why I couldn't be useful while I'm sitting there. That would free you to ride your horses if you wanted to. I'm not saying I'd drive all the time. If Lee was fretful, I couldn't, but I should know how."
More to end the conversation and get out into the open where he could breathe normally again, he said, "I'll think about it. It's not easy, you know." With that he stamped out of the wagon, leaving her with a satisfied smile on her lips.
* * *
The noise and general state of confusion at the Langston wagon served to camouflage the tension between Ross and Lydia. The two roosters were honored with hearty appetites that didn't leave one bone unpicked.
Only Bubba didn't enjoy the meal. After eating only half a plateful, he slunk away in the darkness, ostensibly to check on the horses. A few minutes later Luke found him leaning against a tree, absently peeling a twig of its bark.
"What's the matter, Bubba? Got a bellyache?"
"Go away," Bubba sighed. Privacy in a family the size of his was rare and valuable.
"I know what's wrong with you," Luke said cockily. "You couldn't eat on account of lookin' at Lydias titties."
Bubba sprang to his feet poised
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