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.
âCan you manage for yourself?â he asked. âIf you tear that wound open, itâll set the healing back a long time.â
âAnd we canât have that, can we?â she said, but the bitter bite she tried to put in the words wasnât there. She just sounded sad and tired instead. âWeâve got to get on the trail to Fort Smith.â
He didnât 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.
âIf I spill that pan of water, itâll be a terrible mess,â she said. âIâm not going to try to wash my hair.â
âGo ahead and bathe,â Black Fox said, âthen Iâll help you with your hair.â
He paused at the door just before he closed it.
âPut that shirt back on until weâre done,â he said, the teasing grin playing on his lips again. âI might accidentally get your fresh one wet.â
She narrowed her eyes at him and said, âIs that a threat? Are you wanting a water fight?â
âDepends on how good you feel,â he said. âI wouldnât want to take advantage of a wounded woman.â
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, âenjoy his companyâ 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.
âHmm, smells good,â he said, and drew in a deep breath of the soapâs scent.
He started rubbing it between his strong, wethands and she watched him. She couldnât help it. She couldnât help wondering what it would be like to have his hands on her.
âNice soap for a girl on the run,â he said wryly.
âIf youâre asking where I got it, Mr. Glass furnished it to me.â
He raised his eyebrows. âGood of him, wasnât it?â
âWould be if he knew about it,â she said.
âNow Iâm compromised as a Lighthorseman,â he said, âusing stolen property right here in my own house.â
âThink of it as Tasselâs charity to the poor,â she said. âItâs the only luxury I ever took for myself.â
âDid you take luxuries for other people?â
âSometimes,â she said defensively. âMostly for children.â
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 Foxâs 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.
âTell me if Iâm too rough,â he said.
âNo,â she murmured, âyouâre not.â
Youâre 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