Her Cold Revenge

Chapter 10

"You'd better come in and dry off," Grace muttered over her shoulder, embarrassment making her words stiff and unwelcoming.

"I'm better off out here," Joe said, his own voice a little hoarse.

She turned and looked down at him with a sigh. "Joe, don't be ridiculous. You're soaked, and the storm is still fierce."

Joe looked at her a moment longer, and then clumped up onto the porch. "I won't stay long, maybe just help you get a fire going."

"I can . . ." Grace wanted to say she could do it herself, but she wouldn't be able to keep her shawl wrapped around her like this and carry logs. Besides, she realized she shouldn't be so hard on him — he was only trying to help.

They went inside and Joe headed for the log pile beside the fireplace. He muttered something under his breath, and then said, "I . . . I should take off my shirt; I'm dripping everywhere. I better wring it out so it can dry."

Grace stared as he pulled the buckskin shirt over his head. She'd seen Joe without a shirt before, but he'd been covered in war paint or bear grease. And it hadn't been so noticeable in the Indian camp where children ran around naked. But here, alone in the cabin, watching his muscles ripple as he wrung the shirt into the sink and lay it flat near the fire, then as he picked up logs and stacked them in the fireplace — it did dangerous things to her insides. She should turn away, but she couldn't.

Joe turned and surprised her, catching her staring. Grace's face burned once more, her body growing hot, although he hadn't yet lit the logs.

He stood silent for a moment and studied her, from her tumbled hair to her flaming cheeks, to her shawl held out like a shield, to the water that encircled her feet. "You're dripping," he murmured. "Shouldn't you get changed?"

"I-I'll be fine once the fire gets started. I'll dry off quickly."

He sighed. "Go ahead and put on dry clothes. I'll keep my back to you."

Just thinking about changing while Joe was in the cabin made Grace nervous, but she could climb up and get changed in the loft. True to his word, Joe turned his back and, keeping an eye out to make sure he wasn't peeking, Grace tossed her sopping shawl into the tin basin so she could climb the ladder. Once in the loft, she changed quickly, relieved at the feel of dry clothes on her skin, and then rebraided her hair. By the time she climbed back down, the kindling was crackling welcomingly. Joe squatted beside the fireplace, shivering and rubbing his hands together.

"You need to get dry too," Grace said. "You should change the . . . the rest of your clothes."

"Change into what?"Joe stood up and faced her, and her mouth went dry at the sight of his bronze chest in the flickering firelight.

"Oh, um . . ." She was having trouble putting together coherent thoughts. Perhaps the widow still had some of her husband's old clothes. "I'll see if Miz Burns has anything for you to wear . . ."

He smiled a little. "Think I'd look good in her Sunday best? That is, if she didn't take it with her into town."

"No, I was thinking she might have some . . ." Why was it so hard to talk? "Some shirts or pants. She's a recent widow like Caroline, so maybe . . . I'll go see." Grace had to get away from him. Tearing her gaze away, she scurried up the ladder again to have a look, but she couldn't find any clothes, not even the widow's. All she had was her own buckskin shirt — the shirt Sequoyah had given her in the Ndeh camp. Joe would never get her shirt over his broad . . . strong . . . shoulders . . . She shook her head, trying to clear the thoughts crowding her mind. She was sorry she'd hurt him, but Grace was sure she'd done the right thing in trying to keep him at arm's length for now. She couldn't get into a relationship.She swallowed, realizing she still hadn't found anything for Joe to wear. Maybe he could wrap himself in a blanket? She pulled the quilt off the feather bed and tossed it down to Joe.