Several minutes went by while she tried to convince herself to move from the blanket and retrieve the bag.
I should get that flour sack. It probably has food in it.
If you bring food over here, it could attract the bears.
You ARE food. What’s the difference?
Several minutes passed as she waited, anxiety growing with every second. She felt hundreds of ants crawling up her spine, but when she shook, she felt a bit foolish that her imagination had fooled her. A tear of anger and frustration trickled down her cheek when she realized Sadie might not even come back.
You could be here all night. You need the food.
But I’m safe on this blanket.
That blanket won’t protect you from anything, stupid.
The sun crept lower in the horizon, and her hopes lowered with it. She’d sat so long, probably more than an hour, that her legs were numb. Her stomach growled. It’s not smart to be hungry with a bag of food thirty feet away, she thought.
A suffragist can meet any challenge.
Mustering all her courage, she pried herself from the protective blanket and stood on wobbly legs. She stretched her back and patted her behind to get the blood circulating. Ever so calmly, Lucinda walked the thirty feet and picked up the bag.
A twig snapped. Oh, my heavens! I’ll be scalped! Panic stabbed her throat and she raced back to the blanket and sank to her knees. Her heart raced. Sweat beaded on her brow. A rabbit darted to the stream.
“ Some Indian, you fool,” she muttered. She took a few deep breaths to calm her trembling body and pounding heart. Nothing like swooning over a silly rabbit.
After a few minutes, her hunger overcame her anxiety. She opened the bag and started taking out the food. “Mmmm, fried chicken—my favorite.” She removed the cover from another bowl. “Tapioca!”
“ What the hell are you doing here?” boomed a man’s voice.
Lucinda threw the chicken and tapioca ten feet in the air. “Don’t hurt me!” she cried as she spun around. Chicken pieces rained on her head. The tapioca bowl bounced off her chest, covering her breasts with pudding.
Reese McAdams, a varmint worse than Indians, bears or snakes, stood with his feet spread, his arms crossed, and a very annoying smirk on his all-too-handsome face.
“ I’m here on a picnic. What are you doing here?” she demanded.
The vile man licked his lips. “I’m here for dessert. Tapioca—my favorite.”
* * * * *
Reese tried not to smile at the hundred and twenty pounds of pure mad, but he couldn’t help it. The pudding dripping off her breasts drove him crazy. He would have offered to clean her dress with his tongue, but he doubted she’d appreciate it—at first. Her eyes sparked with anger and a promise of…he couldn’t think about it.
He looked away in an attempt to control his desire as his body threatened to embarrass him. Don’t think about tapioca, either . “I’m here because this is my place.” He pointed over his shoulder. I plan to build a house right over there next year,” he nodded downstream, “and this year I’m building a barn and corrals.”
“ How very nice.”
Her sarcastic remark made it clear she didn’t believe him. He could have kicked himself for sharing his dream. Obviously, she wanted to think the worst of him. All in all, it was probably better if she did. Even if she did thaw, which he had no doubt she would, this prissy woman would never make a rancher’s wife. He shuddered. Where the hell did that word, wife , come from?
“ No use for this chicken going to the squirrels.” He picked up a drumstick from the grass and took a bite.
“ And why did your employee bring me here, to this exact spot?” She collected the chicken pieces on the blanket and slapped them on a plate, with salad and a baked potato, offering it to him. Her glower wasn’t all that inviting, but she didn’t budge from the blanket, so he came to her.
In perfect hostess mode, she poured him a drink. Damn! Lemonade. He hated
I should get that flour sack. It probably has food in it.
If you bring food over here, it could attract the bears.
You ARE food. What’s the difference?
Several minutes passed as she waited, anxiety growing with every second. She felt hundreds of ants crawling up her spine, but when she shook, she felt a bit foolish that her imagination had fooled her. A tear of anger and frustration trickled down her cheek when she realized Sadie might not even come back.
You could be here all night. You need the food.
But I’m safe on this blanket.
That blanket won’t protect you from anything, stupid.
The sun crept lower in the horizon, and her hopes lowered with it. She’d sat so long, probably more than an hour, that her legs were numb. Her stomach growled. It’s not smart to be hungry with a bag of food thirty feet away, she thought.
A suffragist can meet any challenge.
Mustering all her courage, she pried herself from the protective blanket and stood on wobbly legs. She stretched her back and patted her behind to get the blood circulating. Ever so calmly, Lucinda walked the thirty feet and picked up the bag.
A twig snapped. Oh, my heavens! I’ll be scalped! Panic stabbed her throat and she raced back to the blanket and sank to her knees. Her heart raced. Sweat beaded on her brow. A rabbit darted to the stream.
“ Some Indian, you fool,” she muttered. She took a few deep breaths to calm her trembling body and pounding heart. Nothing like swooning over a silly rabbit.
After a few minutes, her hunger overcame her anxiety. She opened the bag and started taking out the food. “Mmmm, fried chicken—my favorite.” She removed the cover from another bowl. “Tapioca!”
“ What the hell are you doing here?” boomed a man’s voice.
Lucinda threw the chicken and tapioca ten feet in the air. “Don’t hurt me!” she cried as she spun around. Chicken pieces rained on her head. The tapioca bowl bounced off her chest, covering her breasts with pudding.
Reese McAdams, a varmint worse than Indians, bears or snakes, stood with his feet spread, his arms crossed, and a very annoying smirk on his all-too-handsome face.
“ I’m here on a picnic. What are you doing here?” she demanded.
The vile man licked his lips. “I’m here for dessert. Tapioca—my favorite.”
* * * * *
Reese tried not to smile at the hundred and twenty pounds of pure mad, but he couldn’t help it. The pudding dripping off her breasts drove him crazy. He would have offered to clean her dress with his tongue, but he doubted she’d appreciate it—at first. Her eyes sparked with anger and a promise of…he couldn’t think about it.
He looked away in an attempt to control his desire as his body threatened to embarrass him. Don’t think about tapioca, either . “I’m here because this is my place.” He pointed over his shoulder. I plan to build a house right over there next year,” he nodded downstream, “and this year I’m building a barn and corrals.”
“ How very nice.”
Her sarcastic remark made it clear she didn’t believe him. He could have kicked himself for sharing his dream. Obviously, she wanted to think the worst of him. All in all, it was probably better if she did. Even if she did thaw, which he had no doubt she would, this prissy woman would never make a rancher’s wife. He shuddered. Where the hell did that word, wife , come from?
“ No use for this chicken going to the squirrels.” He picked up a drumstick from the grass and took a bite.
“ And why did your employee bring me here, to this exact spot?” She collected the chicken pieces on the blanket and slapped them on a plate, with salad and a baked potato, offering it to him. Her glower wasn’t all that inviting, but she didn’t budge from the blanket, so he came to her.
In perfect hostess mode, she poured him a drink. Damn! Lemonade. He hated
Similar Books
