Page 30 of Double Take

“Whoever lived here must have liked potatoes and peaches,” she said.

“Or disliked potatoes and peaches and left them behind,” he suggested.

“What’s not to like?”

“Nothing, but I could sure go for bacon this morning. Or sausage. Or a sweet-roll. Hot coffee—”

“Stop! Stop! You’re killing me.”

He laughed. “Sorry.” His stomach rumbled for the foods he couldn’t have, but if he had to choose between bacon and Faith, she’d win every time.

After hanging the pot on the swivel arm in the fireplace, he added a large log to get the fire burning hotter, spread his blanket atop the one on the mattress, and crawled under the covers to wait for the water to heat. He pulled her close.

“Your feet are like ice!” she exclaimed.

“The floor is cold. I recommend we stay in bed until the place warms up.”

“Good idea.”

In companionable silence, they held each other, listening to the fire pop. Her breasts were soft against his ribs, and he could feel the beat of her heart. He reveled in being stranded—thanking the deer that darted across the road—yet couldn’t forget how fleeting time was.

Her stomach growled.

“Sounds like somebody’s ready for breakfast.” He grinned.

She eyed the jar on the table across the room. “Somebody’s going to have to get those peaches.”

“I get the hint. That means me.” He started to fling off the covers.

“I’ll do it. I need to use the bathroom anyway.” She slipped out of bed. “Holy beejeezus, it’s cold!”

Not as cold as it had been. The fire had already taken the edge off. He tossed her the second blanket from the bed. “Wrap yourself in this.”

She draped the blanket around her shoulders. “Have some p-p-peaches.” She handed him the jar and a scoop and then darted into the water closet. He got out of bed and checked the pot of water. Getting warm! She emerged a minute or two later with the shower bladder, set it by the hearth, and dove into bed.

“Now, who has cold feet?” he asked.

“You didn’t eat,” she said.

“I waited for you.”

They passed the jar and scoop between them, finishing off the peaches. “You want more?” he asked. “Or some potatoes? There are those extra jars.”

“Let’s save them for the next guests,” she said. “I wonder how many pots of hot water we’ll need.”

“Two.”

“You sound sure.”

“I estimate the bag holds three pots. One pot of boiling water would be enough to heat two pots of cold, but pouring boiling water into the bladder without scalding myself will be tricky. So, two pots of hot-not-boiling plus one of cold should give you a decent shower.”

“What about you?”

“While you’re cleaning up, I’ll heat the next batch. The first batch is probably hot enough now.”

Pouring the water from the pot into the narrow neck of the bladder proved tricky until Bragg figured out he could use a jar to scoop and pour. He set the bladder on the hearth, refilled thepot with cold, and hung it over the fire to heat up. The fireplace threw good heat, so he moved the chairs closer in to hasten the drying of their clothing.

“You take good care of me,” she said when he was back in bed.

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