The Hopechest Bride by Kasey Michaels

pulling off his cowboy boots, and listened as he grunted a few times, probably having to wrestle with the tight, wet jeans in order to remove them. Then the slap of heavy denim being unfolded and shaken and, at last, the sound of a zipper being zipped.
    Emily exhaled, not realizing until then that she’d been holding her breath. She turned and looked at him as he sat down on the saddle, began pulling on warm woolen socks before reaching for his boots.
    â€œAll done, and you didn’t peek. Good for you, Miss Colton. Now, if you give me a minute to pull on these boots, I can turn around so I can do you the same favor. Unless you plan to sleep in those damp clothes?”
    Did she trust him? Perhaps more to the point, did she really want to climb into her sleeping bag while wearing jeans damp at the hips, nearly dripping wet at the hems? No, she didn’t. Not really.
    Glaring at him, she unzipped her backpack and pulled out her only change of clothes, a flannel shirt in a plaid closely resembling the one he wore, and a pair of jeans. She withdrew two pair of woolen socks and some fresh underwear, which she first rolled into a ball inside the backpack and then hid inside her folded shirt before he could see them.
    The last thing she needed was for Josh Atkins to learn that she’d brought along tiger-patterned bikini underpants and a matching underwire bra.
    â€œTurn around, please, Mr. Atkins,” she ordered, tipping up her chin.
    Josh’s smile was rather like Toby’s, except not quite so innocent. “For a quarter,” he said, holding out his hand. “One of those from the Denver mint, with the states printed on the back. I still need Pennsylvania to complete my set.”
    â€œGo to hell,” she said, heading for the darkest part of the cave. She undressed quickly, trying to stay as “dressed” as possible even as she stripped, pulled on dry clothes. All the while, she had one eye trained on Josh Atkins, making sure his back stayed turned.
    â€œYou may now resume your customary sarcastic stance,” Emily gritted out, knowing she was being petty.
    â€œYou’re welcome,” Josh answered brightly, and Emily shivered, her nerves bristling. There was no dealing with this man. None.
    She peeked at her slim gold wristwatch as she walked back toward the fire, skirting the now cold camp stove, the plastic container and her unzipped backpack. The cave was large, but getting more claustrophobic by the minute. She hesitated, stopped and then laid out her damp clothes over the container, before stuffing her discarded underwear in a zippered compartment of her backpack.
    She unzipped another compartment, bringing out her wide-toothed comb and a fabric-covered elastic band, plus her folding toothbrush and travel-size tube of toothpaste. A small burgundy hand towel, asqueeze tube of liquid soap, and she was ready for her nighttime rituals. She might be in the wilderness, but there were certain amenities of civilization she would never abandon.
    Surprisingly, she saw that Josh was holding his own toothbrush as she joined him at the fire. “I didn’t know cowboys paid much attention to the National Dental Association recommendations,” she said, reaching for her cup of water that she’d left on the ground.
    â€œWhat’s the matter, Miss Colton? Too domestic for you? Don’t worry, I won’t be asking for a kiss good night…or anything else.”
    There was nothing to say to follow up such a statement, so Emily chose not to answer, possibly prolong this uncomfortable conversation. She just sat down on her favorite flat rock, turned her back and brushed her teeth, the sound of the brush seemingly echoing off the walls of the cave. She rinsed her mouth with water from the cup, but couldn’t bring herself to spit it out on the ground, so she swallowed it. He was right. This was all just too domestic, too intimate…too unnerving.
    She kept her back