A Wolf in the Desert by BJ James

Author:BJ James
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 1995-11-27T05:00:00+00:00

Seven

She swam, basked in the kinder late-afternoon sun, and swam again. Water as delightful as liquid silk caressed her skin, sunlight refurbished her strength. Like a desert sprite, she whiled away the time. Minutes grew into an hour, then two, then slipped away, and she never knew.

Patience was in a world apart, where there were no Blue Doggies, no Snakes, no Evas. A world where there was only she, the sun, the water, and somewhere near, Indian.

The rapidly changing cant of the sun dappled the mirrored surface of the pool with deepening green-gold shades of aspen. Grass and shrub rustled not quite soundlessly with the secret retreat of creatures ceding prior claims. Dauntless hummingbirds came to drink, hovering indignantly, fussily chittering their displeasure with her. Laughing at their antics, she felt a twinge of guilt, yet not enough to leave the pool. It was the scent of food, borne on a drift of wood smoke that pulled her at last from the water.

Smoke rose in a thin, transparent column from the direction Indian had pointed out as their campsite. Glancing at the angle of the sun, reckoning with surprise the passage of time, she knew he’d attended the tasks he’d set for himself. Once he had erased their trail, obscured the entrance to the canyon, and taken the catch from his snares, by a path other than the one that led past the pool, he’d returned to camp.

And thereby lay an unexpected dilemma. Her own clothing was soaked, scrubbed with the fragrant soap and draped over a juniper to dry. The packet of clothing Indian had provided still lay in its place by the camp fire. Unless she chose to cover herself with jeans and shirt still dripping puddles in the dust and squish her way to the fire and food, she had her hat, her boots, and a towel.

Undecided, she stood at the water’s edge, her hair streaming down her back, the towel wrapped sarong fashion around the tops of her breasts. Looking from jeans and shirt, dark and weighted with water, to lingerie so delicate it drifted in a breeze she couldn’t detect on her damp skin, she made her choice.

Moments later, ravenously hungry, dressed in panties, boots, a hat and a towel, she crossed the grassy expanse that led to the copse of trees and Indian’s camp. With what dignity she could muster, she forced herself to walk nonchalantly to the circle of the fire. Something like small chickens roasted over a spit. There was coffee in the dented tin pot Indian used regularly, and a can of peaches lying on the ground. Patience’s bedroll was spread over a gathering of grasses, and on it lay a package wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine.

“All the comforts of home,” she muttered. “But where is our host?”

“Right behind you, Pocahontas.”

Patience spun around as Indian stepped from shadows gathering beneath the trees. “Goodness! You startled me.”

“Sorry.” The canteen he’d refilled in the nearby stream was forgotten as he

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