Page 25 of Texas Destiny
“You may sleep in the tent,” she repeated slowly as though he hadn’t a lick of sense, and he was beginning to think that he might not have any sense at all. “Undress. Wash up. Do whatever it is men do before they go to sleep.” She dropped to the log, placed her elbows on her thighs, cupped her chin, and smiled sweetly. “And I’ll watch.”
“Are you out of your mind?” he roared.
“You said you’d do anything. Well, Mr. Leigh, you have just heard my idea of anything.”
He glared at the tent. The goddamn moth was still flying around. If he stepped into that tent, his first order of business would be to murder that pesky critter. He glanced at the woman sitting on the log. “No, ma’am, I can’t do it.”
“Why not? What’s good for the goose is good for the gander.”
“It ain’t the same at all. I’ll know you’re watching.”
She came off the log like vengeance sweeping through hell. “And you think mynotknowing made what you did acceptable?”
No, it didn’t make it acceptable at all. “What if I gave you a real pretty apology with some fancy words—” “No.”
“If I don’t do this, you’re gonna stay mad, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
Good Lord, based on the delivery of that one simple word, she’d stay angry until they reached the ranch … and maybe beyond that. He’d be traveling through hell when he was just getting used to being near heaven.
His stomach was knotted so tightly that he didn’t know if he could even walk into the tent. But it was the tear shimmering in the corner of her eye that decided him. The firelight caught it, and he could see himself as she must see him: a man who had shattered her trust.
Without another word, he flung back the tent flap and stormed inside, allowing the flap to fall behind him, encasing him in the golden haze that filled the tent.
He could smell her sweetness surrounding him. He couldn’t identify the scent. It wasn’t horses, or leather, or sweat. It was soft, reminding him of something so far back in his memory that he didn’t know if he could pull it forward. His mother, perhaps, leaning over him, brushing the hair off his brow, telling him not to be afraid.
“You can’t just stand there, Mr. Leigh. You have to wash up!”
Her voice penetrated his memories, reminding him more of his father than his mother. “Don’t just stand there, boy! When the battle starts, you march into the thick of it.”
And he’d marched, while everything inside him had screamed for him to run.
He took a step toward the small bucket and glanced at the water. With no steam rising up, it looked cold, but he’d taken cold baths before.
“Mr. Leigh!”
“All right!” Damn impatient woman. He tore his hat off his head and tossed it onto the rumpled covers of the bed where she’d been sleeping before he’d cried out like a baby. He was tempted to place his palm on the bed and see if it still carried her warmth, but she was watching him now, watching him as he’d watched her. Damn his eye for remaining open when it should have been closed.
Rolling his shoulders, he worked his way out of his duster and laid it beside his hat. He sat on the edge of the cot and discreetly placed his hand near her pillow. His fingers lightly brushed the area, searching for her warmth and finding only the cold.
She wouldn’t be giving off any warmth until he’d done what she asked.Anything,he’d said. In the future, he wouldn’t usethatword around her.
He jerked off his boots. Unbuttoning his shirt, he stood, pulled it over his head, and dropped it on his duster.
He turned, presenting the silhouette of his backside to the front of the tent. Praying that she wasn’t circling the tent, he began to unbutton his trousers.
Amelia watched, mesmerized. The shadows were distorted, not nearly as clear as she’d imagined, but that didn’t change the fact that he’d wronged her. Considering the slowness with which he was removing his clothing, she assumed he was beginning to understand that.
With a quickness she wasn’t expecting, he dropped his trousers. She buried her face in her hands. Dallas would no doubt send her back to Georgia if he found out what she’d required of his brother. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t actually see his flesh or the rigid contours that probably ran along his body.
He was standing inside her tent, buck naked. Whatever had she been thinking to require such a thing of him? She had wanted him to experience the humiliation that she’d felt when she’d discovered that he’d been watching her.
Only now mortification swamped her. The warmth flamed her cheeks as her mind brought up images of Houston washing himself. She couldn’t bring herself to look, but in her mind’s eye, she could see the glistening drops of water trailing down his throat, over his chest, along his stomach, traveling down …
She doubled over and pressed her face against her knees, but she couldn’t block out the images. She had always been a dreamer, but no decent woman would conjure up the fantasy swirling inside her head.
Had he been content to stare at her silhouette or had he imagined the drops of water—
