worth it. He didn't even like the woman. She was one level worse than the plagues of Job.
“Morning, Danny boy. Wearing your coffee these days?” Wolf chuckled. “The politeness of the honeymoon doesn't last as long as it used to.”
A dry towel hit Daniel's chest as he heard the chair beside him groan under Wolf's weight. The huge man seemed to think every chair in the house was a rocker.
“I wanted to allow you two newlyweds some time alone before the house wakes up, but Karlee just stormed into the kitchen and told me she'd guard the savage while she fixed breakfast. From the look in her fiery green eyes, I'd feel sorry for the boy if he picked her watch to try and break free.”
Daniel wiped off his chest, feeling the coffee grounds against his skin. “She still hasn't learned to make a decent cup of coffee,” he mumbled. “And the woman has no gentle spirit, I can testify to that. She also has no patience or understanding about a man getting up on the wrong side of the bed.”
“Maybe you'd better learn which side is the right side, Danny, if you plan on waking up at all. Trust me, next time the cup could be a frying pan.”
Daniel didn't get Wolf's humor. “Why couldn't I have found a kind soul to marry, with soft ways and a sweet heart? Why'd I have to pick the one woman I've ever met who might truly be insane? She's cursed, double-odd, from a family too imbalanced to notice. She's more than twenty and can't make coffee. There's something seriously wrong with a woman who can't cook. It's not natural.”
Wolf seemed to have gone deaf.
“I'm an even-tempered man.” Daniel tossed the towel so hard it hit the opposite wall with a thud. He'd resigned himself to coffee grounds in his chest hair. “I never do a thing or say words to anger anyone. Why would the woman throw a cup at me?”
“Maybe you'd better ask her. If you've calmed down enough,” Wolf reasoned.
“I'm calm enough. I'm always calm enough.” He heard movement on the other side of the bed. “She's back, isn't she?”
“I'm here,” Karlee answered, “with your breakfast. And I'll thank you to address me directly.”
“I would if you'd make enough noise when you enter. I can hear everyone in this house walking from room to room, but you manage to sneak up on me again and again.”
The front two feet of Wolf's chair bumped to the floor. “I need to be getting back to the kitchen.” He scrambled away.
Daniel sat very still, his muscles tight, anticipating another blow. “If you're expecting me to say I'm sorry, you'll have a long wait.” He wasn't in the habit of apologizing when he couldn't see he'd done anything wrong.
“So will you,” she answered.
“Then I suspect, Mrs. McLain, we will have very little to say to one another in the future.”
“I suspect so,” she snapped. “Would you like to eat your breakfast or wear it?”
A smile fought its way through Daniel's anger, despite his efforts to keep it down. “I'll eat it. And I'll have another cup of coffee. My cup's around here somewhere, or at least the dent of it is still here.”
He sat up in the bed, pulling the sheet around him. “I've night shirts in a trunk in my study, if you don't mind bringing me one. I might look more presentable dressed in it than bare-chested.”
She sat a tray beside him. “I don't mind.”
Unsure how she meant the words, he heard her cross to his little study and open the old trunk he used for a footstool when reading. Her step was so light he couldn't help but wonder if she'd practiced it since childhood. If so, he imagined she surprised a great many people in private conversations. That might explain why she was passed from place to place so often.
But of late, he could think of a few other reasons as well. The idea of shoving her in a trunk and shipping her back crossed his mind.
She returned before he managed to swallow the first bite of a flour-crusted biscuit. The half left in his fingers crumbled. He could smell the eggs and wondered if they were encased in a crispy layer, burned beyond taste as usual.
“Would you like me to help you put on the shirt?” Her voice could have frozen the Mississippi.
“No, thank you. If you'll just lay it on the bed, I can manage from here on.” The coffee actually tasted good as it softened the biscuit in his throat. “If you'll close the door, I think I can bathe without help.”
“All right.”
That was it then. They'd settle into the politeness of strangers.
The moment he heard the door click, he set the tray aside and stood, letting the sheet fall away from his bare body. Careful not to put any weight on his leg, he hopped the few steps to where he'd heard her get water. As he'd expected, a bucket stood beside the washstand.
He felt for the washcloth and soap. The scissors, he guessed, might be near, for he'd heard her lay them again and again on the night stand while she sewed. His fingers patted the corner of the table. Her scissors were exactly where he'd thought she left them.
Carefully, he cut the bandages from his hands. The burns felt healed enough to take the air. It was time to let his skin breathe.
Ignoring the pain, he dipped the rag into the cold water and began to wash. Jefferson was warm enough to swim in the river most of the year. He'd give a great deal to float in the water now, for hard as he scrubbed, he couldn't feel clean with cold water and hard soap. The smell of the fire still lingered on his skin.
The cool morning breeze dried his flesh as he worked down his body, rubbing away coffee grounds.
When he finished, he hopped back to the bed and felt for his nightshirt. He'd never liked the things, but since the twins needed him in the middle of the night, he'd taken to wearing one. That way he didn't have to search the darkness for clothes while one or both of them cried upstairs.
The sheets were twisted and damp with cold coffee, but he couldn't locate the shirt. His large hands spread out, searching.
He straightened slightly, planning to hop further along the length of the bed. As his hand moved in the air, he touched cotton. The night shirt seemed to be floating in front of him.
Daniel stiffened and took the shirt from her hand. “Thank you,” he managed to say. Every ounce of his being wanted to turn around and run. But he was just as bare from the backside and, with his leg, all he could have managed was a hop. He figured a hopping nude man might look fairly ridiculous.
“You're welcome,” she answered as formally as if she'd just handed him a songbook in church.
He knew she was grinning. He could feel it.
Daniel squared his shoulders and mustered enough dignity to put on his shirt. She'd watched the whole time he'd bathed. Watched him boldly, like no woman would watch a man. He'd heard his mother say once that she'd never seen his father completely nude. Even when he'd bathed and she washed his back, he had the decency to cover his private parts.
He pulled the shirt down. He had no private parts. She'd seen all of him. And from the time he took bathing, she'd stared for quite a while.
“If you can stand on that leg a few seconds more, I'll change the sheets.” The polite coldness was back in her voice.
He didn't trust words, all he could do was nod. There were a few hundred things he thought about saying to her. She was no lady to stand silently in a room and watch him. A respectable woman would have made her presence known.
Maybe she wasn't insane, but she'd surely drive him over the edge at this rate. What kind of wife watches her husband?
Then it hit him… probably every one with the exception of his mother. What Karlee had done was a normal act. She'd stood near while her wounded husband bathed after he'd told her he needed no help.
“I'm finished.” She touched his arm lightly. “The bed is ready.”
She was close, very close.
“Would you like me to help you?”
He brushed the edge of the mattress. “I can manage.” He sank down, slowly moving his leg into place. “In truth, I think I'll go back to sleep. I feel as though I've walked miles.”
He didn't protest when she helped him straighten up and tucked him in. Then she was gone, as silently as she'd appeared.
