"You didn't." He met her green gaze when he admitted that. "I don't like to waste food, and to kill a large animal when we don't have time to preserve the meat to take with us would be a waste."
It was amazing how quickly her temper shot to the surface, but even more amazing how he defused it simply by raising a questioning brow at her. And then he laughed when he saw she wasn't going to explode.
"Are you still afraid I'll quit on you, Duchess?" he asked knowingly.
"No, you don't quit, or so you've assured me. I guess I deserved that little lie about the animals, how-ever. I shouldn't have greeted you the way I did after you went to so much trouble to lay a feast before me."
"Yet you were worried," he said with a slight frown. "I wouldn't go so far off that I couldn't hear you if you needed me. You had nothing to fear in that respect. But how could you think I wouldn't come back to you?"
She lowered her eyes again. "I remembered how much you dislike white women."
"And you're whiter than most, aren't you?" The back of one finger grazed her cheek as he said that.
"You've never tried to hide how you feel."
"I see. Well, I disliked you a helluva lot today, didn't I?"
Her head shot up. "You lost control again, like before. That's perfectly understandable, given the way I fell asleep on you."
She was blushing furiously by the time she had finished explaining away his actions for him. But Colt was shaking his head at her, and she had the feeling he was angry now, though she couldn't be sure. He was wearing that stoical expression of his that could be so exasperating.
"The only control I lost today was of my patience, woman. And if I disliked you, there's no way in hell you could heat my blood the way you do."
"I do?" she asked stupidly.
"You know damned well you do."
His tone annoyed her, even as his words pleased her. "Well, you dislike that, don't you?"
"If you haven't noticed, I've stopped fighting it." He leaned forward to grind his lips against hers as if to prove his point, but his voice was less harsh when he added, "If it hasn't sunk into that pretty head of yours yet, you'll be sharing my blankets until we reach Cheyenne, and that, Duchess, pleases the hell out of me. So don't doubt I'll be back each day. There isn't much that could keep me away."
Jocelyn couldn't mink of a single thing to say to that. To have their arrangement spelled out so literally was disconcerting. So was the warmth flowing through her bloodstream after hearing it. She should protest that he had taken too much for granted. She had never agreed they would be lovers for the dura-tion. The very idea. was so thrilling it stole her breath away. And what, after all, could she say about it? As he had pointed out, the choices were all his to make for the time being.
As if he had read her mind, Colt smiled at her in what was possibly the most beautiful smile she'd ever encountered — then moved off to see to the food. She found that rather arrogant of him, but still said noth-ing. What was the point? Even if she tried to argue about their arrangement for propriety's sake, her heart wouldn't be in it, and he would know that. And she wasn't a hypocrite. She had honestly thought she wouldn't want him again, but he had proved her wrong.
Her eyes moved leisurely over his body as he dug a hole next to the small fire she had started. She had heard of people baking things in the ground before, and assumed that was what he was going to do with their birds. Not that she was interested in food just then, for her eyes noticed the way his leg muscles bulged when he squatted like that. She recalled that she hadn't seen him completely without clothes yet, and realized that she soon would, perhaps even to-night. Good Lord, just thinking about it caused a fluttering in her belly. Safer thoughts were definitely called for.
"You aren't going to ask me if I can cook, are you?"
He shook his head without glancing at her. "If you said yes, I'd be forced to give you a try at it, whether you were lying or not. I'd rather have a full belly."
Jocelyn laughed, well aware he wasn't teasing. "So would I, so I'm grateful that at least one of us knows how. I was never allowed near the kitchen myself— the servants' domain, you know. Not that I had any great desire to learn how to cook when I was growing up. I preferred the stables, actually, and no one thought to refuse me access there. But even my mother knew how to make pies, I'm told. I suppose I should have learned to cook at least one specialty, though. Every woman should have one thing she is especially good at, don't you think?"
"You don't do so bad, Duchess… at certain things."
His pause brought color to her cheeks. "I meant in the kitchen."
"I meant your way with horses."
She couldn't help grinning. "You're a terrible tease, Colt Thunder."
He caught her grin and returned it. "You're not so bad with a rifle either."
"Well, if we're going to get into talents in general, then I must confess I don't do badly at all. I'm rather good at sailing, archery, tennis, and bicycling."
"And what?"
"Bicycling. You know, that contraption with two wheels and—"
"I know what it is. A damned two-legged horse. I saw plenty of them on the streets of Chicago, spook-ing the real thing and crashing into buildings. And you're good at that?"
"I can get on the thing and off without a single fall, though I don't like to count the numerous scrapes and bruises I received while learning to master it. But I agree they can be dangerous in the city. In the country, however, they are quite fun to drive. You ought to try it."
"No, thanks, I'll stick to the real thing."
She tried to imagine Colt on a bicycle and almost laughed. No, she didn't think he would like something that was so difficult to control.
The meal they shared was pleasant, the food deli-cious. The birds might have looked terrible since they hadn't been plucked, but the meat inside was tender and tasty. She teased Colt about making a good wife for someone, but didn't think he appreciated her hu-mor.
Her humor didn't last long, however. After she'd rinsed off the utensils in the creek — she thought she ought to do at least something to help, since he didn't want her near the cook fire — she found herself over-come with shyness, especially when Colt very casually moved his blankets from where she had earlier placed them, to lay them next to hers.
She sat in the middle of hers, fully clothed, not knowing what to do, what was expected. She'd had this problem before, she remembered, but he'd helped her then, told her what to do, led her through it. And desire, hot and impatient, had been present. Sponta-neously coming together was different from this, however. Waking up in his arms was different too. Even thinking about going to bed with him wasn't the same as actually doing it.
She wasn't feeling desire at the moment, she was feeling extremely nervous, so much so that when Colt began to remove his jacket, she blurted out, "Shouldn't you leave that on… because of the cold?"
"I won't need it."
"Oh."
This just wouldn't do. She needed time to calm her nerves. How could he be so nonchalant about it, to stand there in front of her and undress as if he did it every day?
When he unbuckled his gun belt, she quickly racked her brain for a subject to divert him and settled on Angel. "Tell me about your friend Angel."
That arrested his movements. It also made him frown. "What about him?"
"I was wondering why he would do what he did for you, simply at your request. To insinuate himself with a band of dangerous brigands just to be available to help me in case I was captured, mat was a bit much to ask of any man. Yet he did it for you."