'I was,' he lied. 'Where'd you get it?'
'My mother sent it to me. It was a gift for my sixteenth birthday.
The locket doesn't open, but I don't mind. Can you see the engraved rose on the front?'
She started to walk to him so he could get a closer look. He put his hand up.
'I can see it.'
'She said she chose the heart-shaped locket because our hearts are entwined. Isn't that sweet? One day I shall pass it down to my daughter.'
'It's very nice,' he remarked.
She nodded. 'When I wear it, I feel closer to her, so of course I wear it all the time,' she explained.
She patted the locket, let out a little sigh, and returned to the business of getting warm.
She handed her socks to Harrison across the fire. 'Hold these for me please. They're just a little bit damp. Don't let them hang too close to the flames.'
He was happy to help her because he thought she wanted her hands free so she could put her blouse back on.
'Don't stand too close, Harrison. Travis will be furious if I ruin them.'
'You wear your brother's socks?'
He didn't know whether to laugh or shake his head. She smiled at him while she worked on undoing the ribbon at the back of her neck. He tried to stare at the ledge behind her right ear and not think about the white lacy underthing that was plastered against her skin. Every single time she moved, the swell of her breasts caught his attention. He could feel himself breaking into a cold sweat.
'Only when I can sneak them off the line before he notices.'
What in thunder was she talking about? 'Sneak what off the line?'
'His socks.'
'Why don't you wear your own? Don't you have any?'
'Of course I have socks. I prefer wearing my brothers' though. They're thicker. I don't care what they look like. I only wear them with my boots, so no one ever sees them. Besides, they keep my feet warm. Isn't that all that should matter?'
She was only being practical, but he still didn't want her wearing any man's socks, not even her brothers'. That thought immediately led to another one. He wouldn't mind if she wanted to wear his socks. Fact was, he'd like it.
God help him, his mind had snapped. Happy now? he wanted to ask her. It was all her doing, driving him to distraction with every little movement she made.
'Put your blouse back on,' he snapped.
She ignored him again. She spread her hair out behind her shoulders so the curls wouldn't clump together and take forever to dry, dropped the pink ribbon on the blanket, and only then gave him her full attention.
'Why would I want to put my blouse back on? I only just took it off. It's wet,' she reminded him. 'Oh, for heaven's sake. Quit looking like you want to strangle me. I'm only being practical. Do you want me to catch my death? You'd better get over your embarrassment and take your clothes off too. You'll get consumption, and then I'll have to take care of you. Do you think I want that duty? No, I don't, thank you. You would do nothing but complain the entire time.'
Her hands had settled on the tilt of her hips while she argued her case, but once she'd made her position clear, she started fiddling with the back of her waistband.
His mind was simply too befuddled to realize what she was doing. He was occupied trying not to look at the front of her and turned his gaze to the fire a scant second after her skirt dropped to the ground. He should have kept staring at the wall, because the path his gaze took gave him an ample view of her legs. They were incredible. Long, shapely, perfect.
Exactly how much was he supposed to endure before this godawful night was over? Harrison didn't know, but he was certain his situation couldn't get any worse. This hope was all he had, he decided, and so he grasped it with the desperate determination of a drowning man clinging to a rope.
He stomped over to his saddlebag to see if he could find something for her to put on. He muttered obscenities about his lack of discipline all the while he searched.
He tried to get angry so he wouldn't think about anything else. Like her legs… her tiny waist… her creamy skin…
'Embarrassment has nothing to do with the problem of your undressing,' he gritted out, just to set the record straight.
He tossed her a dark flannel shirt and barked out the order for her to put it on.
'Won't you need this to keep warm?'
'Put it on.'
His tone of voice didn't suggest she argue with him. She put the shirt on. She had to roll the cuffs back twice, and after she'd secured all the buttons, she felt warm again. The shirt was gigantic on her, of course, and covered most of her thighs.
'Thank you.'
He ignored her gratitude. He sat down across from her with the fire between them and stared into her eyes. She sat down, folded her legs just the way he had, covered them with her blanket, and then picked up her blouse to hold it close to the fire so it would dry.
'I cannot help but notice you're glaring at me. Your voice was downright surly too. Have I done something to offend you?'
The look he gave her made her toes curl. Scorching didn't adequately describe it.
'I am not one of your brothers.'
'I didn't think you were.' She thought she sounded reasonable.
He thought she was as dense as a rock. 'I'm not going to be able to take much more.'
'Much more what? For heaven's sake, haven't you ever had to sleep outside? Haven't you ever been caught in a storm before? I can't help it if you're feeling uncomfortable.'
He unbuttoned his shirt, took it off, and then held it up by the fire.
'I'm extremely comfortable.'
'Are you going to take your pants off?'
'Hell, no.'
'You don't have to get angry. Aren't they wet?'
'Not wet enough.'
'I don't believe it's necessary for me to put up with your bad mood.'
'You really don't understand, do you? No, I don't believe that, not for one second. You know damned well I want you, and you're deliberately tempting me. Stop it immediately, and I'll get over my bad mood.'
The light was slow to dawn, but once it had, she found she wasn't embarrassed about her stupidity.
He wanted her. And she'd been wearing her brother's socks. Her face turned pink with mortification. Oh, God, she was dressed like a lumber lug. She just bet Catherine Morrison never wore her father's socks. No respectable, eligible woman with marriage on her mind would.
'Are we agreed?' he demanded.
'Yes, we are agreed.'
Silence followed the truce. Mary Rose waited several minutes so he would have time to get over his anger.
'I usually wear silk stockings with lace around the tops,' she blurted out.
He couldn't imagine why she wanted him to know that. She wasn't quite finished discussing her clothes, however.
'I rarely wear my brother's socks. I certainly wouldn't want you to get the idea I like wearing men's clothing. I don't.'
'The thought never crossed my mind.'
'Good, because I don't.'
'This shirt is never going to dry.'
Harrison turned the shirt over and only then looked at her face. Her complexion was as red as the
