Page 58 of Conveniently Wed
“Fine,” he muttered.
He’d ridden through this area before and knew of a little stream farther past the wooded area. It was a little bit more of a hike than they’d had the first two nights out on the prairie, but by the time he’d built that fire the day before it seemed silly to move the wagon for a little less of a walk to do dishes and water the horses.
He followed her there and stood on the still-swollen bank, waiting for her to tell him what she had planned. He took off his Stetson and tossed it up the bank a few feet for its own protection.
“Why don’t you…” She looked him up and down and he felt the full difference in their heights.
She set down the wooden bucket and a towel he hadn’t realized she was carrying and plunked her hand on her hip, biting her lip and assessing him with her eyes.
He wasn’t going to make this any easier on her. It had been her idea, after all.
Even though he knew his ma would appreciate the thought.
“I suppose you should sit here.”
He followed her directions to kneel on the bank of the creek—a little too close for his comfort, but he supposed he’d been dunked the night before and this clean stream wouldn’t hurt none. It wasn’t deep, even with the extra inch or two from the recent rain.
Then with a little pressure from her hand on his shoulder she had him bent over the water and he heard the soft swoosh as she dipped the bucket.
He yelped at the icy sensation of the entire bucket being poured on his head and splashing onto his shoulders.
Water sluiced down his face and cooled him all the way down the neck of his shirt.
Then she pressed on his shoulders and he sat back on his heels. Her palm rested against his forehead, hot on his now-chilled skin, and she flipped back the hair that had been dripping in his face.
He squinted up at her.
She grinned. “Sorry.”
“Sure you are,” he growled. But he wasn’t angry.
It was a little like when she’d served him the frogs’ legs. He could appreciate a good prank, couldn’t he?
She combed his hair back from his face with her fingers and her touch sent the same jolt through him that he’d felt when he’d kissed her the night before.
He needed to distract himself from that. Dwelling on that connection could only bring trouble.
“You’re not going to scalp me as punishment for kissing you last night, are you?” he blurted.
Then winced. Way to bring their kiss back to the forefront by throwing it out there in conversation.
“No.” She smiled again, a little ornery this time. Both a niggle of worry and a tingle of attraction shivered through him. Or maybe it was the cold bead of water that slid down the back of his collar.
She reached and pulled a bar of soap from the towel. She worked up a lather and then slid her fingers into his hair, massaging the suds into his scalp.
It felt amazing.
He normally didn’t give so much attention to his hair during his twice-weekly baths, and even if he did, he doubted his own hands could make his head feel this good. Why was she doing this to him?
“You done this before?” he asked grumpily. He closed his eyes so at least he couldn’t see her.
“No. Well, a few times bathing Emma when she was a tot.”
He grunted.
“You haven’t told me much about yourself,” she said as she moved closer and reached around to scrub the back of his scalp.
He squinted one eye at her. At that moment, a few soapsuds slid down over his brow and he squeezed his eye shut, but not before it stung with the soap.
