"Darn, I was hoping that- trout!" Mariah said excitedly, pointing toward the stream.
"What?"
"I just saw a trout! Look!"
Smiling down at Mariah, barely resisting the urge to fold her against his body in a long hug, Cash didn't even glance at the stream that had captured her interest.
"Fish are silver," he said in a deep voice. "We're after gold. We'll catch dinner on the way back."
"How can you be so sure? The fish could be hiding under rocks by then."
"They won't be."
Mariah made an unconvinced sound.
"I bet we'll catch our fill of trout for dinner tonight," Cash said.
"What do you bet?"
"Loser cleans the fish."
"What if there are no fish to clean?"
"There will be."
"You're on," she retorted quickly, forgetting Nevada's advice about never gambling with a man called Cash. "If we don't get fish, you do dishes tonight."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"You're on, lady." Cash laughed softly and tugged at a silky lock of Mariah's hair once more. "Candy from a baby."
"Tell me that while you're doing dishes."
Cash just laughed.
"It's not a bet until we shake on it," she said, holding out her hand.
"That's not how it works between a man and a woman."
He took her hand and brought it to his mouth. She felt the mild rasp of his growing beard, the brush of his lips over her palm, and a single hot touch from the tip of his tongue. She thought Cash whispered candy when he straightened, but she was too shaken to be sure.
"Now it's a bet," he said.
8
"How's it going?" Cash asked.
Mariah looked up from the last fish that remained to be cleaned. "Better for me than for the trout."
He laughed and watched as she prepared the fish for the frying pan with inexpert but nonetheless effective swipes of his filleting knife.
Cash had expected Mariah to balk at paying off the bet, or at the very least to sulk over it. Instead, she had attacked the fish with the same lack of complaint she had shown for sleeping on the shack's cold, drafty floor. Only her unconscious sigh of relief as she rinsed the last fish – and her hands – in the icy stream told Cash how little she had liked the chore.
"I'll do the dishes," he said as she finished.
"Not a chance. It's the only way I'll get the smell of fish off my hands."
Cash grabbed one of Mariah's hands, held it under his nose and inhaled dramatically. "Smells fine to me."
"You must be hungry."
"How did you guess?"
"You're alive," she said, laughing up at him.
Smiling widely, Cash grabbed the tin plate of fish in one hand. The other still held Mariah's water-chilled fingers. He pulled her to her feet with ease.
"Lady, you have the coldest hands of any woman I've ever known."
"Try me after I've done the dishes," she retorted.
He smiled down at her. "Okay."
Mariah's stomach gave a tiny little flip that became a definite flutter when Cash pulled her fingers up his body and tucked them against the warm curve of his neck. Whether it was his body heat or the increased beating of her own heart, Mariah's fingers warmed up very quickly. She slanted brief, sideways glances at Cash as they walked toward the line shack, but he apparently felt that warming her cold hands on his body was in the same category as helping her over rough spots in the trail – no big deal. Certainly it wasn't something for him to go all breathless over.
But Mariah was. Breathless. Each time Cash touched her she felt strange, almost shaky, yet the sensations shimmering through her body were very sweet. Even as she wondered if Cash felt the same, she discarded the idea. He was so matter-of-fact about any physical contact that it made her response to it look foolish.
"Listen," Cash said, stopping suddenly.
Mariah froze. From the direction of Devil's Peak came a low, fluid, rushing sound, as though there were a river racing by just out of sight. Yet she knew there wasn't.
"What is it?" she whispered.
"Wind. See? It's bending the evergreens on the slope like an invisible hand stroking fur. The rain is about a quarter mile behind."
Mariah followed the direction of his pointing finger and saw that Cash was right. Heralded by a fierce, transparent cataract of wind, a storm was sweeping rapidly toward them across the slope of Devil's Peak.
"Unless you want the coldest shower you ever took," Cash said, "stretch those long legs."
A crack of thunder underlined Cash's words. He grabbed the plate of fish from Mariah and pushed her in the direction of the cabin.
"Run for it!"
"What about you?"
"Move, lady!"
Mariah bolted for the cabin, still feeling the imprint of Cash's hand on her bottom, where he had emphasized his command with a definite smack. She barely beat the speeding storm back to the line shack's uncertain shelter.
Cash, who had the plate of slippery fish to balance, couldn't move as quickly as Mariah. The difference in reaching shelter was only a minute or two, but it was enough. He got soaked. Swearing at the icy rain, Cash bolted through the line shack's open door and kicked it shut behind him. Water ran off his big body and puddled around his feet.
"Put all the stuff that has to stay dry over there," Cash said loudly, trying to be heard over the hammering of rain on the roof.
Mariah grabbed bedding, clothes and dry food and started stacking them haphazardly in the corner Cash had indicated. He set aside the fish and disappeared outside again. Moments later he returned, his arms piled high with firewood. The wood dripped as much as he did, adding to the puddles that were appearing magically on the floor in every area of the cabin but one – the corner where Mariah was frantically storing things. Cash dumped the firewood near the hearth and went back outside again. Almost instantly he reappeared, arms loaded with wood once more. With swift, efficient motions he began stacking the wood according to size.
"Don't forget the kindling," he said without looking up.
Quickly Mariah rescued a burlap sack of dry pine needles and kindling from the long tongue of water that was creeping across the floor. Before the puddle could reach the dry corner, gaps in the wooden planks of the floor drained the water away.
"At least it leaks on the bottom, too," Mariah said.
"Damn good thing. Otherwise we'd drown."
Thunder cracked and rolled down from the peak in an avalanche of sound.
"What about the horses?" Mariah asked.
"They'll get wet just like they would at the home corral."
Cash stood up and shook his head, spraying cold drops everywhere.
"We had a dog that used to do that," Mariah said. "We kept him outside when it rained. In Seattle, that was most of the time."
She started to say something else, then forgot what it was. Cash was peeling off his flannel shirt and arranging it on a series of nails over the hearth. The naked reality of his strength fascinated her. Every twist of his body, every motion, every breath, shifted the masculine pattern of bone and muscle, sinew and tendon, making new arrangements of light and shadow, strength and grace.
"Is something wrong?" Cash said, both amused and aroused by the admiration in Mariah's golden eyes.
"Er… you're steaming."
"What?"
"You're steaming."
Cash held out his arms and laughed as he saw that Mariah was right. Heat curled visibly up from his body in the line shack's chilly air.
"I'll get you a shirt before you freeze," Mariah said, turning back to the haphazard mound she had piled in the corner. She rummaged about until she came up with a midnight-blue shirt that was the color of Cash's eyes in the stormy light. "I knew it was here."
"Thanks. Can you find some jeans, too?"
The voice came from so close to Mariah that she was startled. She glanced around and saw bare feet not eight inches away. Bare calves, too. And knees. And thighs. And – hastily she looked back at the pile of dry goods, hoping Cash couldn't see the sudden color burning on her cheeks or the clumsiness of her hands.