5

Wolfe watched Jessica as she knelt over a washtub in the lean-to at the side of his house.

«You’re supposed to be washing the shirt, not making rags of it,» he said.

«I see little difference in the process.»

«Not the way you’re going about it, certainly. Tell me, your ladyship, while the servants accomplished all the useful work at Lord Robert’s house, what did you do?»

«I read, I played the violin, I oversaw the staff, I embroidered —»

«My God,» Wolfe interrupted. «Something useful. How did that creep into your daily regimen? Does that mean you’ll be able to repair the seams you’re pulling apart under the guise of washing my clothes?»

«Would you prefer initials, a coat of arms, or Jacobean-style flowers embroidered in your seams?» Jessica asked pleasantly.

Wolfe made a sound of disgust.

She didn’t bother to look up from the washtub and the lean-to’s widely spaced wooden slats. She knew what she would see if she looked at her husband. He would be watching her with cold eyes and an unforgiving line to his mouth. It had been that way for the three days since he had so startled her by running the tip of his tongue over her burned fingers.

And for those same three days, she had kept a smile pinned on her lips until her face ached.

Unfortunately, by now her face wasn’t the only part of her body that ached. She was as exhausted this afternoon as she had been at the end of the stage ride. When she wasn’t pumping water to wash and rinse clothes, she was carrying bucket after bucket to the stove to heat. From the stove she hauled buckets to the lean-to, poured water into the big tub, knelt, and went to work rubbing and scrubbing every piece of clothing. It usually took three or four times before the shirts pleased Wolfe’s critical eye.

«That’s about as much scrubbing as the poor shirt can take,» Wolfe said.

«I think not, my lord. It’s not perfectly clean.»

«Enough, your ladyship. That’s my favorite shirt. Willow made it for me last summer.»

The sound of ripping cloth carried very clearly over Wolfe’s last words.

«Jessica!»

«Oh, dear, look at that. One would think a paragon would choose cloth that was less frail, wouldn’t one?» Jessica dragged the ruined shirt from the water and wrung it out with real pleasure. «But all isn’t lost, my lord. It will make a wonderful rag for cleaning the privy.»

«You little witch! I should —»

Wolfe’s words ended in a curse as he leaped aside, barely avoiding the torrent of soapy water that came when Jessica upended the washtub.

«Sorry, did you say something?» she asked.

There was a simmering silence while husband and wife looked at each other. Then Wolfe smiled. Jessica smiled in return.

«I think it’s time your ladyship learned to scrub something more durable than a shirt,» Wolfe said.

«What’s that?»

«Floors.»

Jessica’s smile slipped, then was resurrected. «Ah, another quaint wifely ritual. It occurs to me, my Lord Wolfe, why Americans don’t have servants. Wives are ever so much cheaper.»

«Too bad you dumped all that hot, soapy water,» Wolfe said, turning away. «Now you’ll have to get more. You do remember where the wood pile is, don’t you?»

«Quite well.»

«Then hop to it.»

«Do I look like a rabbit?» Jessica asked beneath her breath.

Wolfe turned back. «Hurry up, my red-haired bunny. Daylight is free, but lamplight is expensive. Those of us not fortunate enough to be born into the aristocracy have to be concerned about such things.»

Standing up was easier said than done for Jessica. With an effort, Wolfe restrained his instinctive move to help her. Instead, he watched impassively while she struggled to her feet.

Despite her best effort to be silent, a groan got past her lips. Wolfe took it as a sign that he was finally winning the contest of wills. At least, he hoped he was. He didn’t know how much longer he could bear to twiddle his thumbs while the shadows beneath Jessica’s eyes deepened more each hour. The hard physical labor of housekeeping under his critical eye was draining what strength had remained after the long, strenuous trip to his home.

Even though Jessica had trapped Wolfe into marriage, he had too many good memories of times past to enjoy grinding her down in such a manner. Yet he forced himself to watch Jessica’s stiff movements without flinching. If he showed kindness, it would be mistaken for weakness, which would only prolong the process of getting Jessica to accept the futility of their marriage.

But even while he was telling himself to be strong, he was speaking.

«Just say the word and you’ll never put those delicate hands into wash water again.»

Jessica stretched her back and sighed. «The last time you made that offer, you objected to the word I said.»

Bastard.

Unwillingly, Wolfe smiled as he remembered. Jessica caught the softening of his expression and prayed that he would relent on the matter of scrubbing floors.

Wolfe saw her hopeful expression and knew he must not give in. Silently, he picked up the bucket and held it out to her. He saw both the dismay in her eyes and the straightening of her spine as she took the bucket from his hands.

Reluctant admiration grew in Wolfe. Jessica’s sheer determination was greater than that of men twice her size. But no matter how stubborn she was, her endurance was limited by her strength. In the end, he would use her own stubbornness as a weapon against her. In the end, he would win.

All he had to do was endure his own self-disgust while he wore her down.

«Jessi,» Wolfe said gently, «give it up. You aren’t cut out to be a commoner’s wife. You know it as well as I do.»

«Better your wife than Lord Gore’s.»

Wolfe’s temper slipped, for there was nothing he could force himself to do to Jessica that would equal Lord Gore’s drunken brutality, which put Wolfe at a disadvantage when it came to convincing Jessica to give up this farce of a marriage.

«Better for you,» Wolfe retorted coldly, «but not for me. There are many better wives for me than you.»

«Don’t count on it,» Jessica said, turning away. «Paragons aren’t so thick upon the ground that you can just pluck one like a daffodil in spring.»

«I don’t want a paragon. I wantawife.»

«How fortunate for the paragon Willow that she is already married. Her heart would be broken if she knew that even her astonishing perfection wasn’t enough to satisfy Tree That Stands Alone.»

At first Wolfe didn’t understand what Jessica meant. When he did, he smiled. It was the first real sign that his frequent praising of Willow’s accomplishments had rankled Jessica. She had just given him a tool with which to chip away at her own monumental confidence that their marriage would work.

«Willow has passion,» Wolfe said. «That’s something a nun wouldn’t understand, much less be able to equal.»

There was no answer but that of the pump handle being worked inside the kitchen as Jessica drew more water for scrubbing the floor.

FORWARD, back, forward, back, dip into the water, lean hard, harder, forward, back, forward, back…

The silent chant had been repeated in Jessica’s mind so often that she wasn’t aware of it any longer. Nor was she aware of the lateness of the hour. Her world had shrunk to no larger a space than the bricks within reach of her scrub brush.

At first look, Wolfe’s kitchen had struck her as small. Now it seemed the size of a ballroom.

Forward, back, forward, back.

The wind had risen with the descending sun. Now the wind moaned hungrily around the eaves and pried with transparent fingers at every crevice, searching for a way inside. Jessica began humming to shut out the horrifying, soulless cries that had disturbed even the exhausted sleep she succumbed to at night. No matter how forcefully she hummed, the sound of the wind was louder.

Lean hard, harder.

The brush moved sluggishly over brick despite Jessica’s desire to finish. Despairingly, she realized that her arms had no more strength. She locked her elbows and leaned her full weight on the brush. It rolled in her soapy fingers and rattled across the floor. She barely caught herself before she went sprawling.

By the time Jessica set aside the brush and rinsed the whole floor with clean water, it was past time to be preparing supper. Not that it mattered. Whatever she prepared, Wolfe would look at it as though it had crawled from a chamber pot onto his plate.

«Ah well, I can hardly fault him for that. Even the skunk passed up the stew I made last night. Nor can I fairly be blamed. No one told me to cover the pot and keep adding water while I cooked.»

The memory of the silent, nighttime visitor made Jessica laugh despite the steady aching of her body. She shook out the ruins of her once-fine traveling outfit. The skirt no longer matched the aquamarine of her eyes. Instead, the fabric more resembled a muddy pool, with dense black patches where her knees had ground the cloth against brick or the wooden slats of the lean-to where she had toiled over the washtub.

«Bother,» Jessica muttered. «I should have taken the charwoman’s clothes and left mine in England.»

She went to the stove, flipped open the door with a metal hook, and looked inside. As always, more wood was required. The same was no doubt true for the living room hearth, which also cleverly served to heat the bedroom as well. She had been quite intrigued with the double-sided fireplace, and the artistry of the stonemason who had built it. Discovering that Wolfe had been the builder had surprised her.

In between feeding the stove and feeding the hearth fire so that it could take the chill from the buckets of water she had arrayed on either side for her bath later, Jessica barely had time to deal with preparing any food.

«Blazes!» she muttered when the paring knife slipped repeatedly in her inexperienced hands. «Tonight I’ll surprise Wolfe. Tonight we’ll havericed potatoes, fried pork chops from his neighbor’s pig, and tinned cherries. Little enough could go wrong with that lot.» Jessica sighed. «Tonight I won’t have to listen while Wolfe sings the praises of that paragon of the culinary arts, Willow Black.»

Jessica continued talking aloud to herself while she worked. Talking helped to hold the sound of the wind at bay, but the sustained moans still ate away at her composure. She was grateful when the vigorously boiling water added its bit to the kitchen sounds.

Soon the smell of potatoes cooking drove out the pungent lye scent that lingered after the bricks had been so thoroughly scrubbed. The clatter of a cast iron frying pan as she hauled it onto the stovetop was almost cheerful, as was the sizzle of chops when the pan warmed enough to cook the meat.

Humming despite the numbing fatigue that was creeping through her body, Jessica primed the pump and filled a huge soup pot with water. She spilled about a quart on the way to the big stove, but barely noticed. The remaining two gallons were quite enough for her to lift. She opened the stove’s front gate, stuffed in several more lengths of wood and slammed the gate shut.

«What next?» Jessica asked, running through the list in her mind. «Ah, yes, the table must be readied. Another cloth to dirty, to wash, to hang out to dry, and then to put in that great pile awaiting the flatiron. Praise God, Wolfe hadn’t insisted that I iron another shirt after the first one. How was I to know cloth burned so quickly?»

Jessica went to the sideboard, ran her hand admiringly across its beautifully made top, and opened a drawer. To her relief, there was another cloth left. Last night’s cloth had been ruined when Wolfe had taken a swallow of coffee and then spewed it all over while swearing that she was trying to poison him.

Closing her eyes, Jessica reminded herself that someday she would find this all as amusing as Wolfe sometimes did. Until then, she must continue to smile and learn to do chores as quickly as possible.

There was no other choice. Every time her smiles faltered or she showed how weary she was becoming, she would turn around and see Wolfe watching her, cataloging each sign of weakness, waiting for the moment she gave up on being a Western wife.

Say the word, Jessica.

Wolfe didn’t even have to speak the command aloud any more. It was there in the line of his mouth, the scrutiny of his eyes, his predatory attention like a cold wind blowing through her. Yet she couldn’t give up, no matter how tired she was, no matter how strange her new life was, no matter how desperately lonely it was to be in a foreign land with no friend but Wolfe.

Wolfe, who wanted her out of his life.

«Never,» Jessica vowed aloud. «You will see, Wolfe. We will laugh again, sing again, read by the fire again. We will be friends once more. It will happen. It must. And if it doesn’t…»

Jessica’s throatclosed.Itmust happen.

«I’ll get stronger,» she vowed. «I’ll learn. Whatever happens to me as a Western wife can’t be worse than what my mother endured being married to a Scots aristocrat who wanted nothing from her but a male heir.»

The sound of the wind rose to an eerie cry, the wailing of a woman giving way to despair, screaming in agony. Jessica put her hands over her ears and began singing as loudly as she could. The wind howled unabated, for it blew only in her mind, not in the wild Western land.

With a stifled cry, Jessica hurried from the kitchen to check on the hearth fire. She added wood, then went into the bedroom and looked longingly at the big hip tub. The thought of it filled with hot water and laced with drops of fragrant rose oil madegoosebumps course pleasurably over her skin. Never had she understood what an extraordinary luxury a hot bath was.

Now she did. Since they had arrived at Wolfe’s home, Jessica had made do with French baths taken from the basin before she dressed. She had been too busy during daylight and too exhausted by nightfall to draw, heat, and haul bath water to the hip tub.

Tonight she would do all of that if she had to do it on her hands and knees. She simply couldn’t bear going without a true bath for one more night.

Jessica looked longingly at the soft invitation of Wolfe’s bed, but didn’t want to soil its exquisite fur covering with her grubby clothes. Grimacing, she sat by the hearth, leaning against the fire-warmed stone. The nights of broken sleep on her hard pallet by the hearth and the days of unaccustomed work had drained her. Very quickly she fell asleep.

The sound of Wolfe shouting from the front of the house startled Jessica awake. The first thing she saw was a layer of smoke hanging just below the ceiling and curling out an open window.

«Jessi! Answer me! Where are you?»

Her first attempt to come to her feet failed because her overworked arms refused to cooperate. Her second try was more successful.

«Wolfe?» she called, her voice hoarse with sleep.

The front door banged open and Wolfe leaped inside. His dark face was grim.

«Jessi, are you all right?» he yelled, looking toward the kitchen where smoke boiled thickly.

«I’m fine,» she said.

Wolfe spun and saw Jessica standing in the bedroom doorway, her hair half-unraveled and her eyes very pale against the dark lavender circles that surrounded them. He closed his eyes and let out an explosive breath as the urgency went out of him.

«Wolfe? What’s wrong?»

His eyes snapped open. They were narrowed and frankly dangerous. «I thought the house was burning down, and you with it.»

«Burning — oh, dear God, the chops!»

Wolfe followed Jessica’s rush into the kitchen. When she reached for the frying pan, he struck her hand aside.

«No! You’ll blister yourself!»

He went into the living room and returned with fire tongs. Using them, he managed to get the cheerfully burning chops outside. He placed the smoking pan in the dirt just beyond the back steps.

Behind him, Jessica sighed deeply. «Do you suppose the skunk will be any hungrier tonight than he was last night?»

Wolfe took a long time turning around, because he didn’t trust himself not to laugh out loud. He, too, had wondered if the skunk’s appetite would be up to the challenge of Jessica’s cooking.

But sharing laughter with his irrepressibleJessi was too enjoyable, too arousing, too…addictive. Each time he let her get past his guard, it encouraged her to believe she would ultimately win him over. He must not do that, for it wasn’t true. He would never accept the sham marriage, which meant that any kindness from him would be cruelty in disguise. Kindness would only draw out the painful process of getting Jessica to accept an annulment.

Wolfe didn’t want to extend the process by so much as one second. He didn’t know how much longer he could look at his frazzled aristocrat and not gather her into his arms.

When Wolfe turned around to face Jessica once more, his face was expressionless.

«What else is the skunk having for dinner tonight?» he asked in a carefully neutral voice.

Jessica smiled rather grimly. «Not a blasted thing. I put plenty of water in the potatoes and I haven’t opened the tinned cherries yet.»

«Canned.»

«What?»

«Canned cherries in the West, tinned cherries in England.»

«Oh.»

Wolfe could practically see Jessica’s agile mind noting the peculiarity of speech for future use. She was losing the last bits of her British accent and idioms as quickly as she had once lost her Scots speech patterns. Like Wolfe, she had learned as a child the survival value of camouflage. Being the daughter of a Scots commoner mother couldn’t be changed any more than the circumstances of Wolfe’s own birth could be altered. But clothing and patterns of speech could be changed, and were, depending on the people Wolfe found himself among.

Few people looked past the outward appearance, which suited Wolfe just fine. It allowed him to move freely where he pleased. He wondered if Jessica had found — and cherished — a similar personal freedom beneath the appearance of conformity. He suspected she had.

The thought didn’t please him. It would only make her fight that much harder against an annulment, for her continued freedom depended on the same marriage that so badly restricted Wolfe’s own freedom.

Jessica walked past her silent husband into the smoky kitchen. He followed her, noting the many gaps between the tiny buttons on her back. She hadn’t been able to fasten the dress herself, or had fastened it incorrectly.

This further proof that Jessica didn’t want Wolfe’s hands on her at all, even to fasten her impossible dress, made anger uncurl in him. Though he knew he should be grateful she wasn’t bent on seducing him into a real — and disastrous — marriage, he wasn’t the least bit pleased by her aversion to being touched by him in even the most casual way.

Bloody little nun. Why did you choose me to torment with that perfect body?

Throughslitted eyes, Wolfe watched while Jessica propped the kitchen door open to let out the smoke before she went to check on the potatoes. She lifted the lid and looked into the pot.

«Blazes,» she said unhappily. «Where did they go?»

«Where did what go?»

«The potatoes.»

Wolfe looked over Jessica’s head into the pot. Nothing resembling a potato was visible in the opaque water.

«Last night the potatoes were scorched on the outside and raw in the middle. Tonight they have no middle. No top, bottom, or sides, either.»

«I had no idea potatoes were such perverse vegetables,» Jessica muttered.

«No wonder people leave out milk and cookies for elves. The silly bastards would starve to death otherwise.» Wolfe shook his head and looked at Jessica with open curiosity. «What have you done to the canned cherries? Buried them in salt or soda?»

«It’s unreasonable to expect me to learn in three days a skill chefs spend years learning on the Continent,» Jessica said, keeping her voice level with an effort. «I’m doing my best to be a good wife, truly I am.»

«A frightening thought. What happened to the cherries?»

She grimaced and admitted, «I couldn’t open them.»

«For these small things, Lord, I am damned grateful.»

Wolfe grabbed a potholder, hooked his finger around the handle of the kettle of potatoes, and strode out the back door. Jessica heard a sudden hiss and explosion of steam as he poured the contents of the pot over the smoldering chops.

«Bonappetit, monsieurleskunk,» Wolfe said.

The sardonic words made Jessica flinch. She doubted the wee striped beastie would be any more interested in her cooking than Wolfe was.

Jessica discovered she wasn’t hungry either. Her stomach was in a knot, her throat ached, and her eyes burned with tears she would not shed. She suspected by the hard line of Wolfe’s shoulders and jaw when he stepped back into the kitchen that he was waiting for a sign of weakness on her part. There would be no relenting in him, no understanding of her predicament, no comfort when she tried and failed spectacularly.

He couldn’t wait to be rid of his unwanted wife.

With the last of her strength, Jessica straightened her spine, grabbed two potholders, and went to the stove. The first time she attempted to lift the big soup pot, her arms failed her before the pot was a half-inch off the stove. The pot banged back onto the black metal amid a hissing fury of spilled water. More by chance than anything else, Jessica avoided being burned by the boiling water.

Gritting her teeth, she shifted the potholders and reached for the big pot again, determined to have her hot bath no matter what. Before she had fully extended her arms, she was snatched off her feet, spun around, and found herself facing Wolfe’s furious indigo eyes at a distance of bare inches.

«Are you too stupid to know that boiling water will raise blisters on your aristocratic hide?»

At Wolfe’s words, Jessica’s eyes narrowed until they were splinters of pale blue. For a moment she didn’t answer, because she didn’t trust herself not to scream like a fishwife at him.

«Even you aren’t that stupid, my lord,» she said finally, softly. «Or have you managed to teach a boiling pot to come to your heel like a long-tongued hound?»

«What are you talking about?»

«Getting a pot of water from the stove to the bath,» she said succinctly.

«If you think you can soothe my ire over dinner by offering me a hot bath…»

Jessica opened her mouth to object that it was her own bath she was speaking about, not his, but Wolfe was talking again.

«You’re right,» he continued. «I’ve been looking forward to a bath much more than to eating whatever dinner you cooked. Clever of you to realize it.»

«We non-paragons do our best,» she said between her teeth.

«I’ll remind you of that while you scrub my back.» Wolfe smiled at the furious young woman suspended between his strong, dark hands.

«Tell me, husband dear, are all paragons also Amazons?»

«Willow is only an inch or two taller than you.»

«But broad in the shoulders and thick in the arms?» Jessica suggested sweetly.

«She’s as delicate and feminine as her name-sake.»

«Then how does she get hot water to her bath — one delicate demitasse at a time?»

«Paragons don’t have to carry hot water to their baths. Nature does it for them.»

«Ah, I knew it,» Jessica purred. «She’sawitch.»

Wolfe pressed his lips together firmly, determined not to let Jessica beguile him with her quick mind and quicker tongue.

«Nothing that sinister,» he said smoothly. «Caleb built their house near a hot spring. Reno put in pipes to the house.»

«Lacking a husband as clever as Caleb and a brother as skilled as Reno, I’ll have to manage getting hot water to my bath in the usual Western fashion — one bucket at a time.»

Wolfe measured the determination in Jessica’s eyes and knew she wouldn’t back down on this issue. He could either carry the pot for her or stand by and watch her pour two gallons of scalding water over herself.

«I’ll carry the bloody water,» he snarled.

Ten minutes later, Wolfe had filled the long, narrow tub, drawn more buckets to heat, and stoked the stove. He stripped off his clothes and lowered himself into the water.

«All right, your ladyship,» he called. «Come and wash your husband.»

«What?»

«Wash me,» Wolfe said impatiently. «That’s something even you should be able to manage.»

The stunned look on Jessica’s face as she came to the doorway should have made Wolfe laugh; instead, it made him angry. He had been looking forward to putting Lady Victoria’s advice towork: Teachthe little nun not to fear a man’s touch.

«Don’t worry, Sister Jessica,» Wolfe said curtly, turning his back as she edged up to the tub, «washing me won’t make you pregnant.»

She didn’t answer. She didn’t even hear Wolfe’s words. The sight of him naked in his bath had taken her breath away. She had been too shaken that night in Lord Stewart’s house to realize how physically magnificent Wolfe was, but now there was no wild panic or pain to distract her.

Now there was nothing but Wolfe’s tawny body gleaming with water and rippling with masculine power.

A curious heat stirred in the pit of Jessica’s stomach, as though she had swallowed a tiny butterfly with wings of golden flame. It reminded her of the hotel in St. Joseph, when the feel of Wolfe brushing her hair had sent heat and pleasure cascading through her.

There’s passion in you, Jessi.

Fear burst in Jessica, chilling the soft heat that had come at the sight of Wolfe sitting in his bath.

I can’t be passionate. I’m not some stupid lamb frisking off to slaughter. If my stomach feels odd, it’s because I’m so tired I’m cross-eyed.

«I’m waiting, wife,» Wolfe said.

Jessica opened her mouth. All that came out was a breathless sound. Wolfe rose from the dark, gently steaming water of the bathtub like a torso by an Italian sculptor: smoothly muscled, poised, powerful, quintessentially masculine in its elegance.

Candlelight rippled over sleek flesh like sunlight over water, heightening the play of muscle beneath skin that was as fine-grained as amber. The combination of stark male power and equally stark male beauty sent heat rushing through Jessica, shortening her breath, making her feel as though Wolfe were running his hands over her.

The thought was both frightening and fascinating. With fingers that trembled, Jessica scooped up soft, rose-scented soap and began rubbing it into Wolfe’s hair. For a few moments, there was silence except for the splashing of water when Wolfe shifted in the tub and the soft, whispering sounds of Jessica’s fingers as she worked rose-scented soap into Wolfe’s hair.

Little of Wolfe was visible but his head, shoulders, and much of his back. The rest of him was hardly more than a golden blur beneath water that looked black but for streaks of lather and the shimmering of candlelight across the water’s surface.

Despite the aching of her arms after hours of scrubbing, Jessica found that she enjoyed washing the thick, black pelt of Wolfe’s hair. Working her hands through it caressed the sensitive inner surfaces of her fingers. The heat and softness of the lather sliding over her hands was another lure. When she went from his scalp to the taut skin of his neck, she found herself wanting to stroke him, testing his strength and resilience.

The golden butterfly in Jessica’s stomach spread its wings again, sending heat streaking through her, making her catch her breath in pleasure.

No, not abutterfly, shetold herselfharshly.It’sa moth. A stupid little thing flying around a greathotflame, never knowing that the next second could be the last!

Fear and passion warred within Jessica, making her tremble. Despite that, she couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to spiral closer and closer to the flame, letting fire consume her to her very core.

Wolfe shifted abruptly, sending dark waves lapping at the sides of the tub. The slow rubbing of Jessica’s fingers over his scalp was causing a heat greater than that of the bath water to gather between his legs.

«Am I doing it correctly?» Jessica asked.

The sound of her own voice alarmed her. It was much too husky, reflecting the tug-of-war between ingrained fear and blossoming desire. She enjoyed touching Wolfe far too much. Yet she was willing to risk it. Being close to him was an incredible lure.

«Yes,» Wolfe answered. «You’re doing very well.»

His voice was deep, dark, warm. It made Jessica feel as though she had been caressed. Gentle fingertips traced the line of Wolfe’s neck and shoulders. Muscles bunched and slid beneath skin that was the color of gold brushed with copper. The power in him fascinated Jessica, for he took it as much for granted as he did the air he breathed. She couldn’t take him for granted in that way. Not any longer. The realization made her tremble.

«W-what did you do before I came here?» Jessica asked hurriedly.

Wolfe closed his eyes and fought the primal stirring of his body at the husky music of Jessica’s voice and the magic of her fingers transforming him. Then he shrugged and let it happen, knowing there was nothing he could do to prevent it.

«I hunted, bought, sold, bred, and trained horses,» he said.

Jessica’s hands paused. «But there are no horses here, save for the one you purchased with the wagon in Denver.»

«I sold all but my best horses when I decided to go to England for your engagement ball.»

«Where are the rest of your horses?»

«At Caleb’s. I spent most of the year there, helping him build his house. In return, he and Willow are taking care of the mares for me. They’ll be bred by her Arabian stallion.»

«Are they all mustangs?»

«Yes. One of them is an extraordinary animal, elegant and strong, fierce and intelligent. She’s the color ofsteeldust. She’ll be the foundation of my future herd.»

«When will you bring your horses back here?»

«I don’t think I will. This side of the Rockies is getting too settled. It’s time for me to pull up stakes and move on.»

«Too settled? You’re joking.»

«No. For the most part I get along all right with ranchers and soldiers, but townspeople take a narrow view ofhalfbreeds. If anything goes wrong, they come looking for the nearest Indian to blame.»

Jessica’s hands paused. «That’s terrible.»

Wolfe shrugged again. «It’s simply human. If I lived here long enough, I’d get around most of the townspeople. The rest I’d fight until they changed their minds, shut their mouths, or left for more healthy climates.»

«If you can make the townspeople accept you, why don’t you stay?»

«My Cheyenne name is Tree That Stands Alone. It suits me.»

«But you built such a cozy home here.»

«I’ll build another one somewhere else. Maybe up over the Great Divide, where Caleb and Willow have their ranch. Sure to God it would be easier than riding back and forth as often as I have to see them.»

Jessica’s hands tightened in Wolfe’shair.Willowagain. Blast that paragon. What chance do I have to persuade Wolfe of my worth as a wife when he is forever yearning after her?

«Take a breath,» Jessica muttered.

As she spoke, she pushed Wolfe’s head quite forcefully under the water. He emerged instantly and shook his head like a hound, spraying water all over her.

«Again,» she said sweetly.

Jessica pushed. Hard.

Smiling to himself, Wolfe slid under the water once more. This time he stayed under long enough to worry her.

«Wolfe?»

She tugged at his shoulders. He didn’t budge.

«Wolfe, that’s enough. Wolfe? Are you —»

Water erupted as Wolfe rose halfway out of the tub, grabbed Jessica, and held her poised over the dark water.

«Put me down!» she demanded breathlessly.

«With pleasure.»

«On the floor, you devil! On the floor!»

But Jessica was laughing too hard to stand, so Wolfe had to hold her. He leaned his elbows against the tub, supporting her, smiling, calling himself every kind of idiot. He should be withdrawing from her, not teasing smiles and laughter from her beautiful mouth, and feeling as proud as a hen with a new chick because there was color in her cheeks once more.

He would never win the war if the kept siding with the enemy. Very carefully, he released her.

«I think you’re well-rinsed now,» Jessica said, turning to leave. «By the time the rest of the water is heated, you should be finished with your bath.»

Again, her voice was alarmingly husky. At the sound of it, Wolfe narrowed his eyes. Little nun or not, she had liked washing his hair. He wondered how she would like washing the rest of him.

Abruptly he knew he was going to find out. His arm snaked out, grabbing Jessica around her hips before she could leave.

«You’ve forgotten something,» Wolfe said.

«What?»

«The rest of me. It needs washing, too.»