“We’re just an hour ahead of the usual camper trade. By eight o’clock, those ducks will be so full they’ll sink if they try to swim, and Rochester-the owner of the campground-will pocket mucho dinero for every wee handful of feed he sells.”
“Oh? He sells the feed?” Anne questioned absently, her hand still stroking the silky feathers of the closest duck. She glanced up a moment later to find Jake studying her with one of his half-baked grins.
“Anne, don’t you think you’d better free yourself from your admirers before they nibble your immaculate nylon stockings to shreds?”
Anne threw him a speaking glance and waded through the ruffled feathers and outraged quacks to head for the door of the A-frame office. The screen door clapped shut behind her as she entered. Inside was a dizzying array of products for sale, from milk to Penthouse magazine, from ivory chess sets to canned soup. Behind the long counter, she noticed travel guides, diapers next to spark plugs, sunglasses next to aspirin. A short, cigar-smoking man stood waiting; a plaid shirt was stretched tightly over his watermelon-sized stomach. “Well, hi, little honey.”
“Hi.” She spotted the cardboard box filled with cellophane-wrapped packages of duck feed. Fifty cents for a handful. Robbery, sheer robbery. Instinctively, Anne clutched her purse in tight fingers for a second. She never even allowed pennies to collect in the bottom of her purse; it wasn’t in her nature to let herself be taken in by the owner of a tourist trap. On the other hand, it wasn’t in her nature to let the poor ducks be victimized, either.
“One or two, ma’am?”
Her voice seemed to come from a distance as her left hand forced her right hand to release its hold on her purse. “I’ll take all of it,” she told the man grimly.
“I beg your pardon, ma’am?”
“If they eat all of what you have in that box in a day, I’ll take it all,” Anne enunciated clearly.
Jake burst out laughing when he saw her emerge from the building laden with little cellophane packages, but the ducks bore down on her like an attacking little army. “Darn it! Don’t you say one word,” she ordered Jake.
He reached her side in seconds and dived for the two bags she dropped, at the same time shooing away the persistent white duck who wanted her skirt hem for dinner. She tossed a cascade of mixed corn and other grain to the ground. The ducks dived for it with their beaks, their fat, feathered bottoms wiggling furiously in the air. Anne heard herself helplessly giggling, but there wasn’t time to enjoy the scene. Suddenly, dozens of beaks were poised expectantly in her direction again. Jake reached in front of her with another bag. She started laughing again as she tossed another handful of grain on the ground. “You don’t have to tell me this is ridiculous. It just went against the grain to know the poor creatures had to wait for a bunch of tourists to dole out their dinner. It’s cruel, Jake…”
“Went against the grain?” Jake groaned.
That started more giggles. The white duck sat on Anne’s foot. She ripped open three bags at once, and then had to swoop down and chase one brightly feathered bird who was taking off with an empty cellophane package in its beak, like a prize. When all the bags were empty, she held up her empty hands. “That’s all,” she told the ducks. “You guys are supposed to be full.”
Full or not, the ducks were irritated. They waddled off to splash one by one in the S-shaped creek beyond the maple trees, with a loud chorus of disgruntled quacks. “Did you hear that?” Anne brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, put her hands on her hips and suddenly whirled to face Jake indignantly. “They’re maligning my character. After going through all th-this…”
Her tongue seemed to trip. Jake was no longer smiling. He was staring at her, his silver-gray eyes intensely warm on hers. Boldly warm, vibrant. She caught her breath in sudden confusion. “I-I know it was…foolish,” she said hesitantly. “I don’t know what got into me. That man is a thief. Lord, I don’t even know anything about animals, let alone ducks.”
“Yes, you do. You had a puppy once, don’t you remember?” Jake crumpled the empty cellophane packages and tossed them into the closest litter bin, then brushed against Anne’s shoulder as he led her back to the motor home. “You and that puppy were inseparable. Then, when your mother married what’s-his-name, you had to give the pup away. The next time I saw you, I tried to give you a kitten. Have you forgotten that, too, Anne? But you wouldn’t take it. You said you’d never again accept anything that could later be taken away from you.”
“Well…” She remembered, unwillingly; that hadn’t been the happiest time of her life. She gave a short, quick, cover-up laugh as Jake started the motor home to drive them to their campsite. “You have a good memory, Jake,” she said lightly. “I couldn’t have been more than seven, and you were no more than ten at the time.”
“You adored that puppy. And you’re right, I was exactly ten, but I can still remember wishing your mother would fall into a deep, dark pit.” Jake flashed her a crooked smile so fast she thought she’d imagined the flecks of steel in his eyes, and the unexpectedly bitter comment about her mother. “You were very pretty when you were seven.”
She couldn’t help chuckling. “You like pigtails, do you?”
“What I like, Anne,” Jake said quietly, “is your laughter.”
Chapter 6
Dinner was over, and Anne sighed with satisfaction as she picked up their plates from the small table. Jake had just gone outside. Something to do with starting their hot-water heater. Anne had seen the myriad dials and compartments on the side of the motor home, but she was more interested in playing housewife in the dollhouse on wheels, for the moment.
The dishes were few. Jake had grilled steaks outside, and Anne had complemented them with baked potatoes dripping with melted cheese and bacon bits, and a salad of fresh greens. She usually found cleaning up a nuisance, but it wasn’t so bad with only two plates and a few pieces of silverware in the tiny powder-blue porcelain sink. After adding soap and water, she reached to pick up the two empty wineglasses, and noticed a pair of keys next to Jake’s plate.
Pushing open the door, she called out, “There’s already plenty of hot water. You don’t have to worry.”
“I wasn’t sure. The pilot light’s kind of fussy.” He was bending over the dials, looking as blissful as a teenage boy with a hot rod.
Anne chuckled, and then remembered. “What are the keys on the table for?”
“I thought we could both use a chance to spruce up after a long day of traveling. One key’s for the shower room for you. The other’s for the hot tub for me,” he said absently.
“Sounds good,” she agreed, and went back to her chores. She swiped at the table with a damp sponge, washed the two crystal goblets in steaming water, and frowned. A moment later she pushed open the door again. “What hot tub?” she called out.
It had turned dark since they’d sat down to dinner. Jake emerged from behind the motor home, his wolfish features accented by the yellow light of the outdoor lamp. He wiped one hand on the hip of his jeans, motioning vaguely to her with a screwdriver in the other hand. “You’ll be happier with the shower, Anne. Take my word for it.”
He disappeared into the shadows; she returned inside. Two china plates, two sets of silver, two salad plates… She unplugged the drain and watched the water swirl in rapid circles on its way down. Weariness flooded through her. It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation, just the kind of fatigue that came from traveling. Or perhaps that was how she excused a sudden unsettled feeling. The circle of light around the tiny kitchen area felt like an oasis. To her left was the double bed where Jake would sleep; to her right was the upper berth where she was sleeping-of course. Jake had made that clear. Twice. Her eyes flicked again to the keys on the kitchen table.
The motor-home door clattered open behind her; she all but jumped. “Actually, I would prefer the hot tub,” she remarked promptly, as if they were in the middle of a conversation.
Jake didn’t have any problem following her. �
�No, you wouldn’t.” He motioned toward the window in front of her. “There is the hot tub, honey.” She peered out at the crazy-looking redwood structure she’d noticed before, the one that resembled a child’s fort. At the moment, it was hidden in dusky shadows, but she could still make out the ladder and the redwood siding. Suddenly, as she peered at it, she realized that it had no roof.
“Bathing under the stars isn’t at all your style, Anne. It’s not as if you’d brought a bathing suit. In the shower, you’ll have your privacy.”
“Privacy? You’ve got a key that locks the gate, haven’t you?”
He brushed past her, a hand just drifting along the small of her back as he moved by to put his toolbox away. “Forget it, Anne. The women’s shower is more private. The last time I was here, a family of six descended on the hot tub while I was soaking in it. They had a key, too. That didn’t bother me, but it would certainly bother you.”
She could still feel the imprint of his splayed palm on her back. “Only two other motor homes have come in since we’ve been here. They’re both retired couples, and both already have their lights out, for heaven’s sake.” He was facing away from her, almost as if he wasn’t listening, and was opening drawers to get fresh clothes. “I’ll get the towels,” she said swiftly.
He stood up straight, so she could get past him. All very considerate. And offering her the shower, under the circumstances, was very considerate, too. Anne valued her privacy… There was no reason at all for her to feel miffed. Jake wasn’t the type to get upset if other people saw him naked; she very definitely wasn’t into community baths.
Fine. Only there wasn’t any “community” to worry about. Except for the “community” of the two of them. And in total darkness, with Jake, she was hardly worried about anyone else anyway. Bathing under the stars isn’t at all your style, Anne… She piled two thick terry-cloth towels in her arms, added her soft navy velour robe, and felt as if there were five tons of irritation in her bloodstream. No one liked to be pegged.
When she moved past him again, Jake moved forward to get out of her way. The motor home had ample space except when two adults were trying to negotiate the walkway at the same time. It took some effort to avoid touching each other-and Jake was certainly making the effort. Anne added a hairbrush to her pile of bath supplies. “Unless you have some objection, I’d prefer the tub over the shower,” she said stiffly.
“Why would I have any objection?” He paused. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong.”
They both stepped outside into the darkness. A little wispy mist was starting to rise from the creek, illuminated by occasional yellow yard lights strung haphazardly through the camp’s park. The charcoal dusk seemed to mute all sounds. It was nearing ten. The two other mobile homes in the distance were dark; they might as well not have existed.
Jake raised his arm and just looked at her. Anne walked into the hollow of his shoulder with a small smile and they started along the shadowed path. Jake’s arm offered a simple promise of reassurance, as if her body had just plugged in to a powerful source of warmth. She had a sudden whim to be kissed in Iowa.
Their eyes met, and Jake’s lips suddenly curled in an almost imperceptible smile. Anne’s lashes lowered at the speed of light. “You can’t use the motor home for daily travel around Idaho, can you?” she said.
“I drive a Jeep, which I keep there. And the motor home isn’t the only place I lay my head, Anne, but I’d prefer to save a few surprises-most of the surprises-until we get there.”
“You haven’t really told me much about what you do in Idaho. Just knowing you’re involved in silver mines doesn’t tell me much.”
“Anything to do with silver doesn’t make any sense until you see it. As you will, Anne.” He shifted the clothes under his free arm. “In the meantime, somehow I didn’t expect you to spend your days staring at cornfields.”
“No?” she asked wryly. “What else did you want me to look at?”
“Finances. Mine. The ones you told your boss you would handle.”
His voice was light, but Anne’s mood changed abruptly. “Then he’ll have to fire me. Jake, that’s between you and you, your money. Don’t play games.”
“I’m not playing games. I want a trust. You’re a trust officer.”
She pushed a branch out of their way as they neared the redwood structure. Was he teasing? Unfortunately, she’d always found it very difficult to view finances in a humorous light. “If I were to handle your business-which I will not do-the last thing I would set up for you is a trust. A trust is set up primarily to protect heirs, so-”
“Exactly,” he said swiftly.
“Pardon?”
“Heirs, Anne. That’s exactly what I’ve in mind. Heirs out of wedlock, since we’re no longer talking marriage.”
Anne’s heart skipped a beat and a half. “Well, fine then,” she said cheerfully. “Give me the names and Social Security numbers of your illegitimate children, Jake, and then if you absolutely insist…”
His low, throaty laughter echoed in the stillness. “At least you didn’t panic when I said the word, sassy.”
The word marriage. Anne hugged the towels and robe to her chest, suddenly unable to concentrate.
At the foot of the wooden ladder, Jake offered, “If you’d rather have the hot tub to yourself, I’ll wait here until you’ve had a turn.”
“Don’t be silly,” Anne said irritably. They were both adults, it was dark and they’d certainly seen each other’s bare bottoms before. Jake’s arm on her shoulder could not have been more brotherly, and furthermore, she resented being treated like a prudish Victorian miss.
Her calf muscles tightened as she mounted the steps ahead of him. There were no yellow camp lights near the tub house. She reached out in search of something to hold on to as she climbed up to the tub; she could barely see the ladder. The owner was rather eccentric, Anne decided, between his ducks and a hot tub built in the air.
“Can you see to unlock the door?” she asked when they’d both reached the platform at the top of the ladder.
“My night vision’s always been better than yours,” Jake replied.
“Hate carrots,” Anne murmured absently. He opened the wooden gate, ushered her into the enclosure and relatched it with the two of them locked inside. Vaguely, she could make out a narrow deck surrounding a square pool large enough for perhaps six adults to sit in. Steam rose from the surface, a stark contrast to the chilly night air. The stars above the redwood fence seemed hung so low as to be touchable.
Anne set down the towels, heard Jake popping the buttons on his flannel shirt and froze for one odd second. From behind her, she heard shoes clump on the deck. Then a zipper being pulled down. A zipper had such a distinct sound… Instantly she decided that she would definitely prefer to bathe alone. Jake could go first; she could go first; it didn’t make any difference. Just not together. Only it was too late to make that decision…
When she no longer heard the sounds of clothing being removed, she hurried to fill the silence. “The air is absolutely freezing,” she mentioned with a little laugh.
“And the water is very, very warm. You won’t be cold, Anne.”
Hmm. The water surged noisily when he stepped in; Anne’s eyes darted nervously to the wooden gate.
“It’s locked,” he assured her. The thread of lazy humor in his voice was unmistakable. “I could have sworn you could hardly wait to get in the hot tub.”
“I can’t,” she agreed vaguely, and dropped down on the rough wooden bench by the towels. She slid off her pumps slowly, one at a time, and set them neatly side by side under the bench. She felt…set up. Stepping back into the shadows, she turned away from Jake and reached under her skirt to pull down her pantyhose, not a graceful action at the best of times.
“Anne?”
She refused to look up. The button on her skirt wouldn’t budge, probably because her fingers had suddenly turned cold and clumsy. The zipper got caugh
t on the sole stray thread in the placket. Finally, the skirt was off and folded neatly on the bench. Her pulse pounded as if she were having an anxiety attack. She felt like a stripper about to walk on stage for the first time.
Her half-slip had turned icy the way only cold satin can. Night air whispered intimately up her legs. If the wind had been a man, she would have slapped it for its brash familiarity with that feminine triangle between her thighs. Still turned away from Jake, she started undoing the dozen tiny pearl buttons on her blue blouse.
She could feel Jake’s eyes on her back, waiting. He knew what she was feeling. He was the one who’d shifted their relationship into neutral, and he knew perfectly well that it put nakedness in a different light. Undressing for a lover was one thing, but she was not supposed to want an intimate relationship with him these two weeks. She didn’t. Not again, Anne, you’ll go to pieces when it’s over. So…it should be nothing, slipping off a few clothes in the dark. Jake had seen her nude before; they were both adults, and Jake had made it very clear that he wasn’t going to make a pass. She had no reason at all to feel suddenly as vulnerable and fragile as a cotton puff.
Slowly, she pulled off her blouse, one sleeve and then the other. Pearl-smooth shoulders gleamed their softness from the dark water’s reflection. She could keep her bra and panties on, of course; they covered more than a bathing suit. She could keep them on if she was willing to admit to herself that she still wanted him, that she cared too much, that nakedness plus closeness plus Jake was a very risky combination in her mind. Her limbs moved like satin in shadow as she unhooked the front catch of her bra. Her bare breasts protested the sudden exposure to the cold, and the nipples tightened vulnerably.
“Turn around, Anne.” His voice soft, the humor all gone. Just a husky, vibrant baritone talking only to that very tiny, very primitive part of Anne…
“I’ll be in in a moment.” She rapidly stripped off the half-slip and panties, and her whole body began to tremble with cold. She turned toward the tub then, head lowered as she carefully negotiated the steps. The steaming hot water surged around her slim calves, then her waist, and she hurriedly crouched down so that the water came up to her shoulders.
Silver and Spice Page 8
