the ducks bore down on her like an attacking little army. “Darn it! Don’t you say one word,” she ordered Jake.
He reached her side in seconds and dived for the two bags she dropped, at the same time shooing away the persistent white duck who wanted her skirt hem for dinner. She tossed a cascade of mixed corn and other grain to the ground. The ducks dived for it with their beaks, their fat, feathered bottoms wiggling furiously in the air. Anne heard herself helplessly giggling, but there wasn’t time to enjoy the scene. Suddenly, dozens of beaks were poised expectantly in her direction again. Jake reached in front of her with another bag. She started laughing again as she tossed another handful of grain on the ground. “You don’t have to tell me this is ridiculous. It just went against the grain to know the poor creatures had to wait for a bunch of tourists to dole out their dinner. It’s cruel, Jake…”
“Went against the grain?” Jake groaned.
That started more giggles. The white duck sat on Anne’s foot. She ripped open three bags at once, and then had to swoop down and chase one brightly feathered bird who was taking off with an empty cellophane package in its beak, like a prize. When all the bags were empty, she held up her empty hands. “That’s all,” she told the ducks. “You guys are supposed to be full.”
Full or not, the ducks were irritated. They waddled off to splash one by one in the S-shaped creek beyond the maple trees, with a loud chorus of disgruntled quacks. “Did you hear that?” Anne brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, put her hands on her hips and suddenly whirled to face Jake indignantly. “They’re maligning my character. After going through all th-this…”
Her tongue seemed to trip. Jake was no longer smiling. He was staring at her, his silver-gray eyes intensely warm on hers. Boldly warm, vibrant. She caught her breath in sudden confusion. “I-I know it was…foolish,” she said hesitantly. “I don’t know what got into me. That man is a thief. Lord, I don’t even know anything about animals, let alone ducks.”
“Yes, you do. You had a puppy once, don’t you remember?” Jake crumpled the empty cellophane packages and tossed them into the closest litter bin, then brushed against Anne’s shoulder as he led her back to the motor home. “You and that puppy were inseparable. Then, when your mother married what’s-his-name, you had to give the pup away. The next time I saw you, I tried to give you a kitten. Have you forgotten that, too, Anne? But you wouldn’t take it. You said you’d never again accept anything that could later be taken away from you.”
“Well…” She remembered, unwillingly; that hadn’t been the happiest time of her life. She gave a short, quick, cover-up laugh as Jake started the motor home to drive them to their campsite. “You have a good memory, Jake,” she said lightly. “I couldn’t have been more than seven, and you were no more than ten at the time.”
“You adored that puppy. And you’re right, I was exactly ten, but I can still remember wishing your mother would fall into a deep, dark pit.” Jake flashed her a crooked smile so fast she thought she’d imagined the flecks of steel in his eyes, and the unexpectedly bitter comment about her mother. “You were very pretty when you were seven.”
She couldn’t help chuckling. “You like pigtails, do you?”
“What I like, Anne,” Jake said quietly, “is your laughter.”
Chapter 6
Dinner was over, and Anne sighed with satisfaction as she picked up their plates from the small table. Jake had just gone outside. Something to do with starting their hot-water heater. Anne had seen the myriad dials and compartments on the side of the motor home, but she was more interested in playing housewife in the dollhouse on wheels, for the moment.
The dishes were few. Jake had grilled steaks outside, and Anne had complemented them with baked potatoes dripping with melted cheese and bacon bits, and a salad of fresh greens. She usually found cleaning up a nuisance, but it wasn’t so bad with only two plates and a few pieces of silverware in the tiny powder-blue porcelain sink. After adding soap and water, she reached to pick up the two empty wineglasses, and noticed a pair of keys next to Jake’s plate.
Pushing open the door, she called out, “There’s already plenty of hot water. You don’t have to worry.”
“I wasn’t sure. The pilot light’s kind of fussy.” He was bending over the dials, looking as blissful as a teenage boy with a hot rod.
Anne chuckled, and then remembered. “What are the keys on the table for?”
“I thought we could both use a chance to spruce up after a long day of traveling. One key’s for the shower room for you. The other’s for the hot tub for me,” he said absently.
“Sounds good,” she agreed, and went back to her chores. She swiped at the table with a damp sponge, washed the two crystal goblets in steaming water, and frowned. A moment later she pushed open the door again. “
It had turned dark since they’d sat down to dinner. Jake emerged from behind the motor home, his wolfish features accented by the yellow light of the outdoor lamp. He wiped one hand on the hip of his jeans, motioning vaguely to her with a screwdriver in the other hand. “You’ll be happier with the shower, Anne. Take my word for it.”
He disappeared into the shadows; she returned inside. Two china plates, two sets of silver, two salad plates… She unplugged the drain and watched the water swirl in rapid circles on its way down. Weariness flooded through her. It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation, just the kind of fatigue that came from traveling. Or perhaps that was how she excused a sudden unsettled feeling. The circle of light around the tiny kitchen area felt like an oasis. To her left was the double bed where Jake would sleep; to her right was the upper berth where she was sleeping-of course. Jake had made that clear. Twice. Her eyes flicked again to the keys on the kitchen table.
The motor-home door clattered open behind her; she all but jumped. “Actually, I would prefer the hot tub,” she remarked promptly, as if they were in the middle of a conversation.
Jake didn’t have any problem following her. “No, you wouldn’t.” He motioned toward the window in front of her. “
“Bathing under the stars isn’t at all your style, Anne. It’s not as if you’d brought a bathing suit. In the shower, you’ll have your privacy.”
“Privacy? You’ve got a key that locks the gate, haven’t you?”
He brushed past her, a hand just drifting along the small of her back as he moved by to put his toolbox away. “Forget it, Anne. The women’s shower is more private. The last time I was here, a family of six descended on the hot tub while I was soaking in it. They had a key, too. That didn’t bother me, but it would certainly bother you.”
She could still feel the imprint of his splayed palm on her back. “Only two other motor homes have come in since we’ve been here. They’re both retired couples, and both already have their lights out, for heaven’s sake.” He was facing away from her, almost as if he wasn’t listening, and was opening drawers to get fresh clothes. “I’ll get the towels,” she said swiftly.
He stood up straight, so she could get past him. All very considerate. And offering her the shower, under the circumstances, was very considerate, too. Anne valued her privacy… There was no reason at all for her to feel miffed. Jake wasn’t the type to get upset if other people saw him naked; she very definitely wasn’t into community baths.
Fine. Only there wasn’t any “community” to worry about. Except for the “community” of the two of them. And in total darkness, with Jake, she was hardly worried about anyone else anyway.
When she moved past him again, Jake moved forward to get out of her way. The motor home had ample space except when two adults were trying to negotiate the walkway at the same time. It took some effort to avoid touching each other-and Jake was certainly making the effort. Anne added a hairbrush to her pile of bath supplies. “Unless you have some objection, I’d prefer the tub over the shower,” she said stiffly.
