And when her feet sank into the muck, it put it nearly to her chin.
“Oh, ick.”
Thinking it might be better to swim rather than walk her way out of the pond, she tried pushing off the bottom, which only served to push her toes deeper into the pond floor.
Attempting to kick free, she discovered, only served to create enough space for mud to slide, thick and heavy, into her boots.
“Oh, damn.”
Disgusted, she twisted, jerked, paddled, and yanked, and accomplished absolutely nothing beyond further churning up the already murky water.
“Um, McAlistair?” She looked to him, and found him calmly watching her from the shore.
“Having a bit of trouble?” he inquired.
“Yes, I…” She trailed off, noticing for the first time that his tone was condescending, his hands were gripped behind his back in the manner of a man patiently waiting, and he was grinning like an utter loon. He knew. “You knew the bottom was muddy.”
“I might have noticed.”
“You knew I’d be stuck.”
“I might have considered the possibility.”
“You…I…” A thousand ugly names and a thousand more dire threats occurred to her, but not one of them would sound anything short of ridiculous coming from a head floating in the water. She tilted her face back to avoid getting water up her nose, then sniffed with all the haughtiness and dignity she could rally, which was really none at all.
“Are you going to help me, or not?”
“Wouldn’t you prefer to be self-sufficient?”
She glowered at him. Likely the impression wasn’t any more impressive than the name-calling and threats, but it made her feel a tad better.
She sniffed again, because that too made her feel better. “Very well.”
Unable to think of any other way, she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and dunked herself back under.
It was impossible to see through the murk, but vision wasn’t necessary for what Evie had in mind. She intended to undo her boots and slip out of them with the hope that without her weight pushing them down, she could pull them from the mud. She ran the very real risk of losing track of them once she was free, which was the only reason she’d asked for help initially, but it was a gamble she was now willing to take. Better she go barefoot for the rest of the day than suffer McAlistair’s condescension.
It was no easy feat to unknot wet laces, but she managed to loosen the first before needing to come up for air. Straightening, she broke the surface and took another deep breath. She heard McAlistair call her name, but she ignored him and went back under.
It took three successive rounds of dunking herself, but eventually she succeeded in slipping out of one boot and pulling it free from the mud. She broke the surface for the fourth time with a triumphant, “Aha!” And came within an inch of smacking McAlistair in the chin with her boot—would have, in fact, if he hadn’t caught her wrist at the last second.
“What the devil are you doing?” he demanded.
She blinked water out of her eyes. “I should have thought that fairly obvious. I’m taking off my boots.”
He took the boot with his free hand. “You looked as if you were drowning.”
“In four feet of water?” she scoffed. “I’m not quite that short. Although it would have served you right, abandoning me to the mire, as you did. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have another boot—No!” She held her hand out when he reached for her. “I can do this myself.”
“You’ve made your point.” He pushed aside her hand, wrapped an arm under her shoulders and hauled her up against him.
There was nothing else for Evie to do but slip her arms around his neck and grin at him. “And what point was that?” she inquired, eager to draw out her victory.
He hooked his other arm under her knees and carried her toward the shore. “That you’ve a clever mind.”
Not quite the same as admitting she was self-sufficient, but she’d take it. At any rate, she wasn’t capable of forming a coherent argument at present, not with his arms around her again.
Would he kiss her? she wondered as they neared the bank.
Did she want him to?
She studied his handsome face—the full lips that were too often serious, the hard jaw that was too often clenched, and those wonderful dark eyes that were quite obviously avoiding her.
He’d said she wasn’t meant for him, and—despite the fact that she’d told him she was meant for whoever she was meant for—Evie had always believed that, in truth, she hadn’t been meant for anyone. She was, and thought she’d always prefer to be, a woman of independence.
But she wasn’t so certain of that now. How could she be, when a mere touch, sometimes no more than a single look from the man, sent her heart racing?