The Loner by Genell Dellin Page A

forever. It sounded as if he liked her.
    Then he put a hand behind her good shoulder to help her sit up. For some reason, the gesture made a hard, quick lump form in her throat.
    â€œCan you manage for yourself?” he asked. “If you tear that wound open, it’ll set the healing back a long time.”
    â€œAnd we can’t have that, can we?” she said, but the bitter bite she tried to put in the words wasn’t there. She just sounded sad and tired instead. “We’ve got to get on the trail to Fort Smith.”
    He didn’t reply to that. He simply helped her the rest of the way as she carefully sat up and swung her feet off the side of the bed. She was dizzy. Not a whole lot, but definitely dizzy.
    â€œIf I spill that pan of water, it’ll be a terrible mess,” she said. “I’m not going to try to wash my hair.”
    â€œGo ahead and bathe,” Black Fox said, “then I’ll help you with your hair.”
    He paused at the door just before he closed it.
    â€œPut that shirt back on until we’re done,” he said, the teasing grin playing on his lips again. “I might accidentally get your fresh one wet.”
    She narrowed her eyes at him and said, “Is that a threat? Are you wanting a water fight?”
    â€œDepends on how good you feel,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to take advantage of a wounded woman.”
    He closed the door behind him and she smiled in spite of herself. At that moment, she decided to give up her plan altogether. She might as well enjoy his company until she escaped.
    But when she was clean and lying across the bed on her back with her hair hanging off, when Black Fox was pouring fresh, warm water through it into a bigger pan on the floor, bending over her just like in her imagination, “enjoy his company” was too weak to express what she was feeling. He was sweeping her against her will into an even better dream.
    He leaned over her and reached for the chamomile soap she liked. It felt almost like an embrace as his big body surrounded her.
    It felt almost like a safe, warm place.
    â€œHmm, smells good,” he said, and drew in a deep breath of the soap’s scent.
    He started rubbing it between his strong, wethands and she watched him. She couldn’t help it. She couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to have his hands on her.
    â€œNice soap for a girl on the run,” he said wryly.
    â€œIf you’re asking where I got it, Mr. Glass furnished it to me.”
    He raised his eyebrows. “Good of him, wasn’t it?”
    â€œWould be if he knew about it,” she said.
    â€œNow I’m compromised as a Lighthorseman,” he said, “using stolen property right here in my own house.”
    â€œThink of it as Tassel’s charity to the poor,” she said. “It’s the only luxury I ever took for myself.”
    â€œDid you take luxuries for other people?”
    â€œSometimes,” she said defensively. “Mostly for children.”
    She could hardly remember what or for whom now, though. Her old life was beginning to feel like a dream and this dream was beginning to feel real. Black Fox’s nearness was filling her senses and stilling all her memories.
    He lifted her head in his hands in a gesture that ran all through her and made her take a deep, deep breath. Then he began to work the soap into her hair.
    Every move he made was rhythmic and gentle, yet every one sent his touch flowing into her blood and along the length of her limbs. Even her wound somehow felt better.
    â€œTell me if I’m too rough,” he said.
    â€œNo,” she murmured, “you’re not.”
    You’re wonderful, this is heavenly.
    Then his big palms moved in and cupped her head and his strong, calloused fingertips found her scalp. He began to move them, slowly and surely, making small, tantalizing circles all over her head. He began to loosen every