But Cash saw both the heat in Mariah's cheeks and the trembling of her fingers as she handed him dry jeans without looking around.
"Sorry," he said, taking the jeans from her and stepping into them. "In these days of co-ed dorms, I didn't think the sight of a man in underwear would embarrass you."
"There's rather a lot of you," Mariah said in an elaborately casual voice, then put her face in her hands. "I didn't mean it the way it sounded. It's just that you're bigger than most men and… and…"
"Taller, too," Cash said blandly.
Mariah made a muffled sound behind her hands, and then another.
"You're laughing at me," he said.
"No, I'm strangling on my feet."
"Try putting them in your mouth only one at a time. It always works for me."
Mariah gave up and laughed out loud. Smiling, Cash listened to her laughter glittering through the drumroll of rain on the roof. He was still smiling when he went down on one knee in front of the fire and stirred it into life.."
"What do you say to an early dinner and a game of cards?" Cash asked.
"Sure." What kind of game?"
"Poker." Is there any other kind?"
"Zillions. Canasta and gin and Fish and Old Maid and-"
"Kid games," Cash interrupted, scoffing. He looked over his shoulder and saw Mariah watching him. "We're too old for that."
The gleaming intensity of Cash's eyes made Mariah feel weak.
"I just remembered something," she said faintly.
"What?"
"Never play cards with a man called Cash."
"It doesn't apply. My name is Alexander."
"I'm reassured."
"Thought you would be."
"I'm also broke."
"That's okay. We'll play for things we have lots of."
"Like what?"
"Pine needles, smiles, puddles, kisses, raindrops, that sort of thing." Without waiting for an answer, Cash turned back to the fire. "How hot do you need it for trout? Or do you want to cook them over the camp stove?"
Blinking, Mariah tried to gather her scattered thoughts. Cash couldn't have mentioned kisses, could he? She must have been letting her own longing guide her hearing down false trails.
"Trout," she said tentatively.
"Yeah. You remember. Those slippery little devils you cleaned." He smiled. "The look on your face… Never bet anything you mind losing, honey."
Abruptly Mariah was certain she had heard his list of betting items very clearly, and kisses had definitely been one of them.
And he had nearly gotten away with it.
"Cash McQueen, you could teach slippery to a fish."
He laughed out loud, enjoying Mariah's quick tongue. Then he thought of some other ways he would like to enjoy that tongue. The fit of his jeans changed abruptly. So did his laughter. He stood in a barely controlled rush of power and turned his back on Mariah.
"You'll need light to cook," he muttered.
He crossed the shack in a few long strides, ignoring the puddles, and yanked a pressurized gas lantern from its wall hook. He pumped up the lantern with short, savage strokes, ripped a wooden match into life on his jeans and lit the lantern. Light pulsed wildly, erratically, until he adjusted the gas feed. The lantern settled into a hard, bright light whose pulses were so subtle they were almost undetectable. He brought the lantern across the room and hung it on one of the many nails that cowhands had driven into the line shack's walls over the years.
"Thank you," Mariah said uncertainly, wondering if Cash had somehow been insulted by being called slippery. But his laughter had been genuine. Then he had stopped laughing and that, too, had been genuine.
With a muffled sigh Mariah concentrated on preparing dinner. While she worked, Cash prowled the six-foot-by-nine-foot shack, putting pans and cups and other containers under the worst leaks. Rain hammered down with the single-minded ferocity of a high-country storm. Although it was hours from sunset, the light level dropped dramatically. Except for occasional violent flashes of lightning, the hearth and lantern became isolated islands of illumination in the gloom.
Both Cash and Mariah ate quickly, for the metal camp plates drained heat from the food. Cash stripped the sweet flesh from the fish bones with a deftness that spoke of long practice. Cornbread steamed and breathed fragrance into the chilly air. When there was nothing left but crumbs and memories, Mariah reached for the dishes.
"I'll do them," Cash said. "You've had a hard day."
"No worse than yours."
Cash didn't argue, he simply shaved soap into a pot with his lethally sharp pocketknife, added water that had been warming in the bucket by the hearth and began washing dishes. Mariah rinsed and stacked the dishes to one side to drain, watching him from the corner of her eyes. He had rolled up his sleeves to deal with the dishes. Each movement he made revealed the muscular power of his forearms and the blunt strength in his hands.
When the dishes were over and Cash sat cross-legged opposite Mariah on the only dry patch of floor in the cabin, lantern light poured over him, highlighting the planes of his face, the sensual lines of his mouth, and the sheer power of his body. As Cash quickly dealt the cards, Mariah watched him with a fascination she slowly stopped trying to hide.
The cards she picked up time after time received very little of her attention. As a result, the pile of dried pine needles in front of her vanished as though in an invisible fire. She didn't mind. She was too busy enjoying sitting with Cash in a cabin surrounded on the outside by storm and filled on the inside by the hushed silence of pent breath.
"Are puddles worth more than pine needles?" Mariah asked, looking at the three needles left to her.
"Only if you're thirsty."
"Are you?"
"I've got all the water I can stand right now."
Mariah smiled. "Yeah, I know what you mean. Well, that lets out raindrops, too. I guess I have to fold. I'm busted."
Cash nudged a palm-size pile of needles from his pile over to her side of the "table."
"What's that for?" she asked.
"Your smile."
"Really? All these needles? If that's what a smile is worth, how much for a kiss?"
Abruptly Cash looked up from his cards. His glance moved almost tangibly over Mariah's face, lingering with frank intensity on the curving line of her lips. Then he looked back at his cards, his expression bleak.
"More than either of us has," he said flatly.
Several hands were played in silence but for the hissing of the lantern and the slowly diminishing rush of rain. Cash kept winning, which meant that he kept dealing cards. As he did, the lantern picked out various small scars on his hands.
"How did you get these?" Mariah asked, touching the back of Cash's right hand with her fingertips.
He froze for an instant, then let out his breath so softly she didn't hear. Her fingers were cool, but they burned on his skin, making him burn, as well.
"You pan gold for more than a few minutes in these streams and your hands get numb," Cash said. His voice was unusually deep, almost hoarse, reflecting the quickening of his body. "I've cut myself and never even known it. Same for using the rock hammer during cold weather. Easiest thing in the world to zing yourself. What my own clumsiness doesn't cause, flying chips of rock take care of."
"Clumsy?" Mariah laughed. "If you're clumsy, I'm a trout."
"Then you're in trouble, honey. I'm still hungry."
"I'm a very, very young trout."
Cash smiled grimly. "Yeah. I keep reminding myself of that. You're what
… twenty-two?"
Startled by the unexpected question, Mariah nodded.