Raven hadn’t intended to maneuver Cale into washing dishes, and when she thought about it as she swept the cabin, she began to regret the impish impulse that had provoked her into sending him down to the creek. It was an indisputable fact that washing dishes was woman’s work. Maybe that partly explained the filth. She knew a man could lose face with other men if he was caught doing a job that was meant only for women. Cale had been without a woman for years; thus, the woman’s work had remained undone.
Raven snorted in disgust. She couldn’t imagine a woman living in such filth because a man wasn’t around to help with the work. She had never understood men, and she supposed she never would. It had surprised her when Cale hadn’t argued about washing the dishes. But he had been gone a long time and still hadn’t returned. Perhaps she should go and find out what was keeping him.
She stopped outside the small, one room cabin and turned to admire the construction. That, at least, had been done with care. The logs were fitted snugly at the corners and were chinked with mud and grass to keep out the cold winter winds. Of course, she mused with a smile, the same windproofing that kept the cabin warm in winter was what had kept in the rancid smells that permeated the place.
She was still smiling when she reached the creek. The smile slowly faded as she realized the odd stone in the creek bed wasn’t a stone at all. It was moving. It had arms and legs and a furry beard. Cale Landry was sitting buck naked in the middle of the water. He was taking a bath!
Beside the creek, stacked haphazardly, were the dishes she had sent him to fetch. They were clean, she quickly noted. As he soon would be, as well.
Her smile returned, and with it a bubble of laughter.
Cale was appalled to discover Raven standing on the bank gawking at him. More to the point, he was astonished that anyone had been able to sneak up on him like that. Over the years he had honed his senses to detect even the slightest noise. Staying alive depended on staying alert. So how the hell had he ended up getting caught with his pants down like some Eastern yokel?
“Shall I come in and wash your back?” she teased.
Cale had a vivid image of what it would be like to have her standing behind him, equally naked, scrubbing his back. Despite the cold water, his pulse leaped. “Come on in,” he said.
The smile froze on her face. “The water’s cold.”
“I ought to know,” he replied. “I’m sitting in it. Come on in,” he urged. “My back could use a scrubbing.”
He hadn’t expected her to comply. After all, she hadn’t done much else he had asked of her. To his amazement, she slipped off her moccasins and waded into the water. The fringe of her dress floated on top, acting like lures for the fish, as she walked toward him.
She traversed a wide berth around him, so she ended up behind him. He tensed, waiting for the first touch of her fingertips against his skin. The water didn’t feel cold anymore. On the contrary, he had lit his very own bonfire. Cale was chagrined at how swiftly and powerfully his body responded to her presence. He brought his knees up to hide his arousal. He didn’t figure it was any of her business.
Raven told herself that the only reason she had succumbed to Cale’s taunt to wash his back was because she would be the one to benefit. After all, so long as she was cleaning the house, she might as well go all the way and clean the man who lived in it.
As she stood there, staring at his broad, muscular back, she felt an urge to caress the smooth skin that covered bone and sinew. Instead, she reached down and scooped up a handful of coarse sand, applying it to his back and rubbing energetically.
“Ouch! You’re going to take off a layer of skin,” Cale protested.
“And four layers of dirt,” she retorted. “When was the last time you took a bath?”
He didn’t answer. He wouldn’t lie, and he wasn’t about to tell the truth. Instead, he sat there in mute defiance, daring her to rub him raw.
She damn near did.
Once she was started, Raven took her work to heart. She used all her strength, rubbing until Cale’s skin was pink all over, a sign that it was finally clean.
Then she scooped handfuls of the frigid water and rinsed off the sand, painfully aware that the water had to be stinging his raw skin.
He never made a sound.
She suddenly felt remorse for her harsh treatment. Surely Cale didn’t deserve her anger. It was her father who had put her in this position. The mountain man had not been given much choice. It was either take her or forfeit any payment at all for his skins. Of course, he could simply have killed her father. All things considered, he had chosen the more humane alternative.
So why had she scrubbed his skin raw? More to the point, why had he allowed it?
Raven was confused by her conflicting feelings about the mountain man. She should have been terrified to be alone with him, naked as he was. Instead, she had been drawn to touch him . She had been rough because she was daring Cale to respond with roughness. That would have given her the excuse she needed to put him in the same category as Ribbon Jack.
But Cale had endured her ministrations without so much as a grunt of discomfort. In so doing, he had planted a small seed of trust, the suggestion that with this man she did not need to fear his strength. His calm acceptance of her hands on him led her to indulge her curiosity about how it would feel to touch what she found so attractive to the eye.
Raven ran her fingertips soothingly over Cale’s pinkened shoulders. Down across the muscular back. Then back up the narrow indentation along his spine. His skin was warm and resilient. The muscles flexed involuntarily beneath her fingertips, and she could feel his massive strength.
Cale tried not to move, because he didn’t want Raven to stop what she was doing. She was caressing him, touching him in ways that made his body sing hosanna. As much as he wanted to return the favor, he felt certain that if she realized what she was doing, she would stop. So he held himself still, as though he had come upon a fawn in the forest, and didn’t want to spook it into running.
Her fingertips slid up to his nape, and his neck hairs stood on end. A frisson of desire skittered down his spine. He couldn’t stand it. He would surely die if he couldn’t touch her soon.
“Dammit to hell!” He rose in a flurry of spraying water and turned to grab her in his arms.
It was then he realized why she had stopped. She was staring with a look of horror at the opposite bank.
It was occupied by Old Three Toes.