eyes was a bit unnerving. He might have been just one more gold- and horse-hungry man, but he had the strength, intelligence, and determination to succeed where other men never got past the point of daydreaming.
“Are you still hungry?” she asked, her voice low and husky.
“Did you cook up poor old Zebra for me?”
The slow smile that followed his words made Janna’s nerve endings shimmer. Even covered with beard stubble and lying flat on his back, Ty was one of the most handsome men she had ever seen.
“No,” she said, smiling in return. “Zebra was too big for my pot.” With unconscious grace, Janna sank to her knees next to Ty, balancing the tin plate in her hands without spilling a drop. “A few weeks back I traded a packet of dried herbs, three letters, and a reading of
A Midsummer Night
’
s Dream
for thirty pounds of jerked beef.”
He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
She laughed softly. “I’ll tell you while I feed you soup. Can you sit up?”
Cautiously, then with greater assurance, he sat up. He started to say that he could feed himself before he realized that he was light-headed. He propped his back against the gently sloping stone cliff that was both wall and, eventually, ceiling to the natural shelter. The blanket covering him slid from his shoulders, down his chest, and finally rumpled across his lap.
Her pulse gave an odd little skip at the sight of the dark, masculine patterns of hair curling out from beneath his bandages and down his muscular body. The temptation to trace those patterns with her fingertips was almost overwhelming.
Don
’
t be a goose
,
she told herself firmly.
I
’
ve been washing, feeding and caring for Ty like a baby for four days. I
’
ve seen him wearing nothing but sunlight and soapy water, so why on earth am I getting all foolish and shivery now?
Because he
’
s awake now, that
’
s why.
Ty looked down at his own body, wondering why he was being stared at. What he saw made him wince. Spreading out from beneath his rib bandage were bruises every color of the rainbow, but the predominant hues were black and blue with garish flourishes of green.
“I’m a sight, aren’t I?” he asked wryly. “Looks worse than it feels, though. Whatever medicine you’ve been using works real well.”
She closed her eyes for an instant, then looked only at the plate of soup in her hands. The surface of the liquid was disturbed by delicate rings, the result of the almost invisible trembling of her hands while she had looked at him.
“Don’t go all pale on me now, boy. You must have seen worse than me.”
Boy.
And thank God for it,
she reminded herself instantly.
I have no more sense than a handful of sand when he looks at me and smiles that slow, devil-take-it smile.
But, God, I do wish he knew I was a woman!
She took a deep, secret breath and brought her scattering emotions under control.
“Ready?” she asked, dipping the spoon into the soup.
“I was born ready.”
She put the spoon into his mouth, felt the gentle resistance of lips and tongue cleaning the spoon, and nearly dropped the plate of soup. He didn’t notice, for the taste of the soup had surprised him.
“That’s good.”
“You needn’t sound so shocked,” she muttered.
“After that horse piss you’ve been feeding me, I didn’t know what to expect.”
“That was medicine. This is food.”
“Food’s the best medicine save one for what ails a man.”
“Oh? What’s the best?”
Ty smiled slowly. “When you’re a man you won’t have to ask.”
The spoon clicked rather forcefully against his teeth.
“Sorry,” Janna said with transparent insincerity.
“Don’t look so surly, boy. I felt the same way you did when I was your age. You’ll grow into manhood with time.”
“How old do you think I am?”
“Oh...thirteen?”
“Don’t try to be kind,” she said between her teeth.
“Hell, boy, you look closer to twelve with those soft cheeks and fine bones, and you know it.
T. J. Brearton
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