something?”
His cool voice from the doorway startled her so that she slammed her fingers into a drawer, yelped and spun around to meet his demand with guilt written clearly across her face. “I—uh—I—”
“Yes?”
“Socks!” Whitney blurted, watching the cynical interest in his unfathomable blue gaze. Was he angry? Sometimes it was impossible to tell. “Socks,” she repeated, lowering her squeaky tone to a more moderate pitch. “I only have the one pair with me and I was sure that you wouldn’t mind.”
“No, I don’t mind at all.” Sedately walking past her, he reached into a drawer and handed her a pair of neatly folded blue socks. The drawer, which Whitney had not had a chance to return to its original state, gave evidence of having been thoroughly searched. “Sorry you had such a rough time finding them,” Eagle said politely.
“Yes, well, uh, thank you,” Whitney stammered, backing away from him. “I’ll, uh, just run out and lock up the car.”
“Yes, do that,” Eagle agreed pleasantly.
With an artificial smile plastered to her face, Whitney continued to back to the doorway. She backed all way to the steps, then went crashing down them with a small, startled cry of alarm.
White Eagle was leaning over her before she had a chance to gather together either her bruised body or ego. “You really do need to learn to watch where you’re going,” he told her with mock concern. “Can I give you a hand?”
“No, you may not!” Whitney snapped from her totally undignified sprawl. Damn him! He had watched her! He had known perfectly well that her steps were leading her to the graceless fall.
“As you wish.” Shrugging, Eagle turned back into the cabin, a grin playing at the corner of his lips. Whitney winced and pushed the ground with her palms to propel her smarting flesh back to a stand. At least she hadn’t really harmed anything except her pride!
“Where are your things?” the voice bellowed irately from the cabin.
“Right there!” Whitney returned exasperated. “My travel bag and the case. They’re on the couch—”
White Eagle poked his head from the cabin with an incredulous expression of pure disbelief. “Whitney,” he groaned, “we are not going for a week to the Waldorf-Astoria. We are going into the swamp for you to assimilate a different culture. One change of clothing will be sufficient.”
“One change of clothing?” Whitney sputtered. “For a week?”
“In the most contemporary of societies,” Eagle said with pointed patience, “people do wash clothing.”
Glaring at him belligerently, Whitney limped back up the steps and furiously ripped open her suitcase. Grabbing a second pair of jeans and a shirt and a set of matching lacy panties and bra, she stuffed them into her overnight bag and shoved it into his arms. “I am bringing my toothbrush!” she declared haughtily. “I don’t feel like rotting my teeth for you to prove some elusive point!”
“By all means, bring your toothbrush,” Eagle said with a laugh. He flung the bag back to her and she caught it by reflex. “Sorry, no porters. You carry your own gear.” With a mocking bow and quick turnabout, he was out the door.
Throwing the leather shoulder bag over her arm, Whitney followed him outside. The jeep, a new though rugged vehicle, had been pulled around in front, with the large, propellered airboat in tow. Randy was at the wheel with Katie beside him, both patiently waiting.
“I’ll just be a second!” Whitney called, racing around the corner of the cabin. Her BMW had been pulled beneath a rear, partially sheltered overhang. Throwing open the driver’s door, she pulled her keys from the ignition and hurriedly glanced through the car. Retrieving several packs of cigarettes from the glove compartment, she decided there was nothing else she would need—or be allowed to take!
Eagle was waiting impatiently by the rear of the jeep, his fingers drumming a rhythm on the side of the metal
His cool voice from the doorway startled her so that she slammed her fingers into a drawer, yelped and spun around to meet his demand with guilt written clearly across her face. “I—uh—I—”
“Yes?”
“Socks!” Whitney blurted, watching the cynical interest in his unfathomable blue gaze. Was he angry? Sometimes it was impossible to tell. “Socks,” she repeated, lowering her squeaky tone to a more moderate pitch. “I only have the one pair with me and I was sure that you wouldn’t mind.”
“No, I don’t mind at all.” Sedately walking past her, he reached into a drawer and handed her a pair of neatly folded blue socks. The drawer, which Whitney had not had a chance to return to its original state, gave evidence of having been thoroughly searched. “Sorry you had such a rough time finding them,” Eagle said politely.
“Yes, well, uh, thank you,” Whitney stammered, backing away from him. “I’ll, uh, just run out and lock up the car.”
“Yes, do that,” Eagle agreed pleasantly.
With an artificial smile plastered to her face, Whitney continued to back to the doorway. She backed all way to the steps, then went crashing down them with a small, startled cry of alarm.
White Eagle was leaning over her before she had a chance to gather together either her bruised body or ego. “You really do need to learn to watch where you’re going,” he told her with mock concern. “Can I give you a hand?”
“No, you may not!” Whitney snapped from her totally undignified sprawl. Damn him! He had watched her! He had known perfectly well that her steps were leading her to the graceless fall.
“As you wish.” Shrugging, Eagle turned back into the cabin, a grin playing at the corner of his lips. Whitney winced and pushed the ground with her palms to propel her smarting flesh back to a stand. At least she hadn’t really harmed anything except her pride!
“Where are your things?” the voice bellowed irately from the cabin.
“Right there!” Whitney returned exasperated. “My travel bag and the case. They’re on the couch—”
White Eagle poked his head from the cabin with an incredulous expression of pure disbelief. “Whitney,” he groaned, “we are not going for a week to the Waldorf-Astoria. We are going into the swamp for you to assimilate a different culture. One change of clothing will be sufficient.”
“One change of clothing?” Whitney sputtered. “For a week?”
“In the most contemporary of societies,” Eagle said with pointed patience, “people do wash clothing.”
Glaring at him belligerently, Whitney limped back up the steps and furiously ripped open her suitcase. Grabbing a second pair of jeans and a shirt and a set of matching lacy panties and bra, she stuffed them into her overnight bag and shoved it into his arms. “I am bringing my toothbrush!” she declared haughtily. “I don’t feel like rotting my teeth for you to prove some elusive point!”
“By all means, bring your toothbrush,” Eagle said with a laugh. He flung the bag back to her and she caught it by reflex. “Sorry, no porters. You carry your own gear.” With a mocking bow and quick turnabout, he was out the door.
Throwing the leather shoulder bag over her arm, Whitney followed him outside. The jeep, a new though rugged vehicle, had been pulled around in front, with the large, propellered airboat in tow. Randy was at the wheel with Katie beside him, both patiently waiting.
“I’ll just be a second!” Whitney called, racing around the corner of the cabin. Her BMW had been pulled beneath a rear, partially sheltered overhang. Throwing open the driver’s door, she pulled her keys from the ignition and hurriedly glanced through the car. Retrieving several packs of cigarettes from the glove compartment, she decided there was nothing else she would need—or be allowed to take!
Eagle was waiting impatiently by the rear of the jeep, his fingers drumming a rhythm on the side of the metal
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