She awoke to the crackling of a campfire, surprised that she’d fallen asleep on the hard ground after all. And it wasn’t dusk, but full dark. That was disappointing. She had counted on seeing the sun setting so she could get her bearings. She was also facing her parasol now, but didn’t remember opening it and positioning it on the blanket with her. Had Morgan done that to give her extra shade? She doubted he could be so considerate. She must have done it.
The day’s heat was gone. She had no idea how long she’d slept, but she felt refreshed. And hungry again. And cold. But when she sat up, all the pain came rushing back. How on earth had she managed to sleep at all when the slightest turn would have hurt like this?
She didn’t think she could make it to Carla to fetch her jacket, but detested the idea of asking Morgan to get it for her. She was not helpless. And her abused muscles would never get better if she didn’t use them. And then she felt her jacket slide down from her shoulders to her lap. Thank God for small favors. Morgan had probably just tossed it toward her and it had ended up covering her. She didn’t, couldn’t, credit him with actually placing it carefully over her, but she slipped her arms into it.
He was sitting on the other side of the fire watching her. He was wearing a cream-colored jacket now, made of some sort of smooth animal skin. She saw the vest beneath it, but still no shirt.
He’d built the fire at the foot of her blanket. She started to get up but was brutally reminded by the pain in her legs that she couldn’t. He’d predicted that she’d be crying from it. She fought back the tears by getting angry—at herself. Why did she have to be so bloody stubborn? She could have ridden on his horse from the start and avoided the worst of these aches and pains. He’d offered, but she’d been too furious to accept.
She managed to roll toward the fire without leaving her blanket. And saw two fish resting on some twigs next to it, already cooked, as well as another chunk of bread and an apple.
She didn’t try to sit up again, just lay there on her stomach resting on her elbows within reach of the food. “Have you changed your mind about continuing on in the dark?” she asked.
“No.”
“Then why didn’t you wake me before dusk?”
“Maybe I like watching you sleep.”
That was absurd when she had to look a fright, her face dirty and dusty, her hair a wild mess, so she put him on the spot, asking, “Why?”
“Why not? For all your lies, you’re still a damn fine-looking woman. ’Sides, look at my choices.”
She followed his gaze as it turned to his mules and almost laughed, since only their rumps were within view. A joke. Who would have thought a bear could joke?
Glancing at the food again, she asked, “Is half of this repast for me?”
“All of it is,” he said. “I’ll store whatever you don’t eat.”
Then he’d already eaten? And caught the fish. Which had her ask, “You didn’t sleep a’tall?”
“I will, later,” he said, and got up to resaddle his horse. “Just hurry it up, lady. Time’s wasting.”
She picked apart just one of the fish, then ate all the bread and the apple, but now her fingers were utterly sticky from eating without utensils. She glanced toward the river longingly, before he said, “Here,” and turned back to see that he was tipping his canteen toward her. She quickly stuck out her hands, and he poured the last of the water over them before he went to the river to refill his canteen. Then he did the same with hers while she flicked her hands to dry them.
Then she became uncomfortably aware that she couldn’t leave yet, and started looking around for a bush. And she had to do this on her own. She couldn’t very well mention it to the bear.
But she was scooped up in his arms. “Wait! I’m not ready to leave yet. Put me down!”
She started to struggle when he didn’t, until she saw he wasn’t taking her to his horse yet. He set her down, taking a moment to steady her, then simply walked away.
Grateful for the bush between them and yet so utterly embarrassed, she found it hard to reconcile the two strong feelings. Her only consolation was that it was dark and he wouldn’t notice how red her cheeks were. And then she chided herself for being so silly. Clinging to her civilized mantle was ridiculous when she was smack in the middle of the wilderness. But the conventions of polite behavior were ingrained in her! She wasn’t sure she could shed them.
Morgan came back to carry her to his horse. She knew he only did it because he was impatient to leave. So even though she was nestled against his chest and had one arm around his neck, she was compelled to admonish him, “Your helping me this way doesn’t improve my opinion of you one bit. You shouldn’t have stolen me away from my hotel. You should have given me a chance to buy a horse and hire servants so I could travel to my father’s mine in a more civilized fashion. Which, I should add, would have caused less trouble and work for you.”
“You’re no trouble—well, let me rephrase that: you’re no trouble when your mouth is shut. How about you thank me by shutting it now? Or do you need help with that, too?”
He’d stopped and was glancing down at her. His face was awfully close to hers. Was he talking about a gag or a kiss? She wanted neither from him, so she kept quiet and shook her head vigorously. She was done complaining for the moment and back to blushing.
When she was seated on the horse, she saw that he’d already put out the fire and repacked. Before mounting, he handed her the hotel blanket. She didn’t need it yet, but probably would as the night wore on since her jacket was designed to look pretty, not to keep her warm. But she didn’t expect this ride through the darkness to last very long, not when he hadn’t gotten any sleep at the last campsite.
The sky was filled with stars and the moon was indeed bright. The crickets were loud, but a roar in the distance prompted her to put her arms around Morgan. He made no comment, so she kept them there since it made for a steadier seat.
They continued east, at least she assumed so because he didn’t recross the river they’d camped by. But the shadowed landscape became barren again, so she gave up trying to find some sort of landmark in the dark.
Two or three hours later, Morgan finally stopped and said, “I need some sleep,” and abruptly dismounted.
Before he lifted her down, she had a brief unobstructed view of the dark shape of a mountain rather close by in front of them and another in the far distance to her left. Then his hands were around her waist again, only this time he set her down more slowly and she felt her body brush against his. He was standing too close to the horse. Was the man half-asleep already, not extending his arms fully this time to prevent them colliding?
He made no apology, probably wasn’t even aware that their bodies had touched so intimately. The moment her feet were on the ground he moved away from her, so she didn’t give it another thought. She didn’t move, and wouldn’t until she saw where he was going to place the campfire. She assumed he was going to make one, if only for warmth. It was much chillier now. She felt it even with the blanket wrapped about her like a cloak.
Following him with her eyes, she saw that he’d apparently gathered a large armful of dried branches at their last camp while she was sleeping and had tied them to one of the mules. She was glad that he’d thought ahead, since there were no trees anywhere in sight, just a few scraggly bushes and a lot of dead grass. And she didn’t see any water nearby.
Once he got a fire started, she slowly moved over to it and sat down. He tossed her another blanket before unsaddling his horse and spreading out his horse blanket on the other side of the fire. He immediately lay down, using his saddlebag for a pillow.
He did all this without saying a word to her. Was he not talking because he believed she was an impostor, or was this how he behaved with everyone? It was probably true that he’d become a hermit. He was simply accustomed to silence. Or was he just too tired to talk?
She wasn’t, and stated emphatically, “I need to reiterate that I am who I say I am. And I know you knew my father.”