Chinook, Wine and Sink Her. Morgan Q O'Reilly

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СКАЧАТЬ her into standing still.

      When he spoke, his voice was muffled against her stomach. “Linnet, I’m sorry. I keep saying the wrong things.”

      “Please.” She pushed at his shoulders, finding strength at last. “Keep your hands to yourself. I’m here to work and not provide entertainment for lonely oilfield workers on leave. I’m a biologist, not a good-time girl.”

      Like stones, his arms dropped away and the expression on his face made her nearly regret her words. Determined not to give in and become a doormat—yet again—she stalked away from him. Agitated, her gaze fell on her plastic bucket of bath supplies at the foot of her bunk. A long-handled brush, wash cloth and bottle of castile soap were nestled in beside her comb and razor. Yeah, a good long soak sounded great right now.

      The thought of clean clothes made her gaze fly to the laundry line behind the woodstove and she strode that direction. Of all the displays...! Plucking her towel from the laundry line, she also pulled down clean sets of lacy lingerie dangling from the line after yesterday afternoon’s washing session.

      With a burning face and jerky movements, she gathered them and rushed to stuff the pile in her duffel. The socks, jeans and tees weren’t quite dry enough yet. At least she had one more clean set of dry clothing. Normally she would have undressed and just worn a long shirt and sandals to the stream, but not with him here.

      Clothes, towel and bucket in hand, she hurried to the cabin door.

      “Linnet…”

      “Help yourself to anything you need,” she cut him off and pushed the screen door outward.

      Laughing at himself, and feeling like ten different kinds of an ass, the words left Creed before he could censor them. “What if I need you?”

      His voice stopped her but she didn’t turn around. “I’m not on the list of items available for public use.”

      The extra loud slap of the door closing, sounded like a shot propelling her forward as she rushed off, taking her sweet scent with her. Citronella, fresh air, and woman, what a combination, he chuckled to himself. Add a little gun oil and he’d probably combust on the spot.

      Creed flinched and dropped his head back to stare at the ceiling. The cleaned ceiling.

      Hardly able to believe what he was looking at, he sat up straight. She’d cleaned the peeled-log rafters and rough-cut cedar-planked ceiling? When the woman cleaned, she didn’t leave anything untouched. Amazed, he turned to look over the interior of the cabin more carefully.

      It had been easy to see the big differences at first glance, especially her lacy underthings on the line, but the details were astounding. The old large wooden bunks had never looked better. The cooking area was organized with dishes stacked neatly on new shelves, pots and pans stored under the counters. Glass jars of all sizes held basic staples of sugar, flour, coffee, tea and cocoa. The sitting area was comfortably arranged around the woodstove scrubbed and freshly blacked.

      Even the indoor woodpile looked swept and sorted. Kindling on top, dried and split logs below. Old newspapers stacked off to the side along with a full box of matches and a pile of fire starters made from egg cartons filled with paraffin and sawdust. Sanding had brightened the wooden plank floor that probably hadn’t been sanded since it had been laid down more than fifty years ago. Probably hadn’t even been sanded then.

      Well-thumbed paperback books, old board games, and miscellaneous supplies crowded a shelving unit made of old wooden liquor crates. Left over from when Great-Uncle George had worked for the local liquor distributor. More crates provided storage at the foot of and between each bunk. A good place to stash gear.

      Manley whined then yelped at the door.

      Creed stood to let him out. “Follow the lady, boy. Keep her safe.” For a moment, he watched the dog run down the trail off to the right. Smart of George to send him along. Raking fingers through overly long hair, Creed turned back to the cabin to finish taking in the changes. Had George tried to call? Probably should have checked the answering machine before taking off. It had never occurred to him George wouldn’t be here and there was no one else he wanted to talk to. Why hadn’t George emailed him on the Slope? Why hadn’t anyone else?

      Creed pondered the implications of not checking for messages at home as he inspected the sturdy government surplus chairs that had looked worse for the wear with torn vinyl seats. Freshly painted in gunmetal gray, the seat cushions were reupholstered with thick canvas that had been hand-painted green. Good choice actually. The deep, deep winter cold and countless butts plopping down at the table had cracked the vinyl over the past thirty years and they’d been repaired with liberal use of duct tape.

      And the laundry line. While not new, it had certainly never held delicate lacy items like she’d pulled off just a few minutes ago. He wanted to dig through her bag and get a closer look at them. Pervert, he snorted to himself. In his experience, wilderness women didn’t usually wear such delicate clothing.

      Actually, he wanted to look at them closer on her body. If he moved quietly he could spy on her bathing at the creek fed by a spring of hot mineral water. Now that would make him a pervert. He groaned. God, it had been so long since he’d held and kissed a woman. And never one as perfectly warm, curvy and delicious as this one. The memory of her breasts against his chest made him pace hoping to ease his iron-hard erection. Her whole body, hidden under the baggy shirt, had come alive under his touch. Trim waist, sleek lines, curved hips and sweetly rounded ass were perfect playing fields for his hands. Freshly washed, she’d be perfect for his mouth too.

      Sheee-at. Four weeks of no privacy and now too much privacy. He had only himself to police his actions with her. While Manley seemed to obey her well enough, and he wasn’t shy about tangling with village dogs when warranted, it was doubtful he’d get in the way. The only reason he’d interrupted this evening was because the piercing whistle of the kettle had probably hurt his ears. Creed almost wished a large group of tourists would come along right now.

      The box against the wall, under the table, bleeped and Creed checked his watch. Thirty minutes she’d said. He wandered to the box and checked the dials. Yup, the battery was charged. Her laptop probably as well. He looked at her keys lying on the table. The least he could do was put the tools away and turn off the generator. And if he went for a little stroll through the woods to wash up at the creek, could you blame a guy for practicing good hygiene?

       Chapter 4

      Stomping down the trail wasn’t very mature, but it made her feel better. Linnet had to laugh at herself. The stunned look on his face must have been priceless.

      Still trembling, she paused for a moment then continued along the trail. She’d been unfair, she knew it. Plain and simple—she was scared. Frightened to death. Terrified of being used and humiliated again. Pushing away with anger was her outlet, her test. If he pushed back now, she’d pack up and leave tonight. If he left her alone and respected her distance, she might be willing to share a meal or two, maybe even invite him in for coffee in the mornings. Might even welcome more kisses. Eventually.

      Men. The biggest problems of her life. She loved her job and was good at it. Almost too good. Better than most men felt she should be.

      California had been the worst as far as chauvinism went. Two years ago, one assignment had involved backpacking into the Sierras. She had the skills required for checking on the high mountain lake where it had been reported fish were dying for no apparent reason and no other women СКАЧАТЬ