An Outlaw's Christmas by Linda Lael Miller

“I couldn’t accept,” she said hurriedly. “It would be improper.”
    He grinned. “We’re way past what’s proper already, wouldn’t you say?”
    It was all too true. Piper colored up again. “You needn’t remind me,” she said.
    The grin held. “I ruined your other cloak, didn’t I?” Sawyer asked. “The least I can do is replace it, so you don’t freeze to death this winter.”
    “I’ll manage,” Piper insisted.
    He concentrated on consuming his supper after that, even had a second helping of ham, but his gaze found her every few moments, and each time he looked at her, she saw a twinkle in his eyes.
    At last he tired, gathered up his plate and silverware, and looked around for a place to put them.
    “I’ll take those,” Piper said, and did. Since there wasn’t a sink in the schoolhouse, she’d wash them later in a basin she reserved for the purpose. By then, she was thinking about the bath she’d take in the cloakroom, once Sawyer had retired to his bed.
    Presently, he said good-night and left her alone.
    Piper immediately put water on the stove to heat, then hurried outside, to the shed, where she kept the washtub she meant to use.
    The snow seemed to be melting, but by the time she returned to the schoolhouse, the hem of her dress was soaked and she was shivering with cold.
    It would only be slightly warmer in the cloakroom, she knew, than it was outside, but there was nothing for it. She’d worn these same clothes all of yesterday, then slept in them, and then worn them all day today. Now, she felt grimy.
    She set the washtub in the cloakroom, filled it bucket by bucket, a process that took a very long time. Sneaking into her bedroom, relieved to see that Sawyer was sleeping peacefully, she collected a flannel nightgown, a washcloth, soap and a towel.
    Inside the cloakroom, with a kerosene lantern to light her way, Piper moved the food box in front of the door, just in case, and quickly stripped off her clothes.
    Goose bumps sprang up on her bare flesh, and her teeth chattered, but she was resolute. She would bathe, even if it was agony, because being dirty was far worse.
    The lantern flickered—there was a breeze coming up through the cracks between the planks in the floor—and the bathwater, having taken so long to prepare, was lukewarm when she stepped into it.
    Piper scrubbed diligently, dried off with the towel, and donned the flannel nightgown.
    The prospect of sleeping on the floor again loomed before her and, as she moved the food box aside, took up the lantern and fled the cloakroom with her discarded day garments wadded up under one elbow, she wondered just how much one small, well-meaning and wholly decent person was meant to endure for the sake of propriety. Especially when that particular horse was already out of the barn, so to speak.
    She stopped suddenly when she realized Sawyer was seated at her desk again, wearing half a shirt, since he hadn’t been able to put his injured arm through the appropriate sleeve.
    He looked up from the book he was reading and smiled. “I wondered if you were shut up in there,” he said, with a nod toward the gaping door of the cloakroom. “Even considered coming to your rescue.”
    “I thought you were asleep,” Piper said, still shivering even though—or perhaps because —she was wearing her warmest nightgown.
    Sawyer’s blue-green gaze moved over her like a caress, came back to her face. “Yes,” he agreed. “I suppose you did think that. As it happens, though, I woke up and that was that. So I came out here, expecting to find you asleep on the floor, since you’re probably too stubborn to use that bed even after all the trouble Clay went to to bring it here.”
    Piper shifted yesterday’s clothes, petticoat, bloomers and camisole included, from her side to her front, like a rumpled shield. “Don’t look at me,” she said.
    He chuckled, averted his eyes. “That’s a tall order,” he replied, “but whatever else I am,