in her life.
She picked up the lantern and a basin of warm water and made her way to the bedroom, taking care to close the door. She set the basin on a small table and took no notice of the litter as she sank down on the edge of the bed and began to undress. As she had the previous night, she placed the knife under the pillow, then removed her gown and petticoats, her shoes and stockings and chemise. One by one she washed them in the basin and hung them on pegs to dry. Then she proceeded to wash herself.
She was shivering by the time she slipped the simple ivory night shift over her head. She carefully fastened the row of buttons that ran from throat to waist. In the bottom of her valise she found the hairbrush with the worn handle. Unpinning her hair, she began to brush until the tangles were smoothed. She set the brush on the dresser top, refusing to glance at her reflection in the cracked oval mirror. It wasn’t necessary. She knew what she looked like.
She’d been plain all her life. Plain and…invisible. At least for the most part. Of course, there were times when men had noticed her. But she had always dreaded those times even more. Because then she’d had to fight to hold on to the only thing no man had ever been able to take from her—her honor.
And now she was about to relinquish it willingly. Not for love. But for some feeble attempt to belong. She closed her eyes a moment, struggling against the tears that threatened. Then she straightened as she heard the cabin door open and close; heard muted voices as father and son bade good-night; heard the creak of the ladder as Aaron climbed to the loft She felt the hair at the back of her neck rise as the bedroom door opened and closed.
She turned to face Matt and felt a jolt to the midsection. His clothes, his hands, his arms to the elbows were covered with blood. It streaked his beard and was smeared down the front of his shirt.
“Sorry.” Seeing the way she was staring at him, he began to unbutton his shirt. “Gets pretty messy gutting a deer. I usually clean up in the barn, but there wasn’t any water in the bucket, and it was so late and so cold, I figured I’d just do it in here.”
“Yes. Of course.” She forced herself into action. “There’s a basin here. When you’ve finished washing, I’ll soak your clothes overnight. I should be able to get most of that blood out.”
He sat on the edge of the bed and nudged off his boots, then peeled away the bloody shirt Crossing to the basin, he began to scrub the blood from his hands and arms, his torso, his face.
While he washed, Izzy stood to one side watching. She couldn’t seem to look away. Never had she seen such a man. His skin was tanned and bronzed from his years in the sun. His body was lean and hard and muscled. With each movement the muscles of his back and shoulders bunched and tightened. At the sight of it, she gave an involuntary shiver.
He was so big. So strong. A man like that could be rough. Or cruel. She shivered again.
When he was finished washing, he lathered his face, picked up a straight razor and began to remove his beard.
Izzy watched in fascination, wondering what he would look like. With each stroke his features became more visible. Now the lower half of his face matched the thoughtful forehead, the dark, penetrating eyes. He had handsome, sculptured cheekbones. Wide, firm lips. A cleft in his chin. He looked so much younger. No more than perhaps thirty-five, she calculated. When she caught him watching her in the mirror, she blushed and turned away, busying herself with his discarded clothes.
Matt continued watching her while he finished shaving. He couldn’t quite figure Isabella out. There was an earthiness about her. In the way she’d laughed when they discussed the preacher. Some ladies might have been outraged by the display of drunkenness. But though she’d been shocked, she hadn’t seemed offended. And there was an innocence in her, as well. In her eyes, when she thought no one was looking. In the way she seemed to devour everything in sight, as though trying to take it all in at once.
She was a bit small for his taste. Too fragile looking. But she had beautiful eyes. It was the first thing he’d noticed about her. Eyes more green than blue. Unless she was angry. And then they took on an amber hue that was fascinating. Like storm clouds rolling over a summer sky.
Her hair defied description. He’d thought it to be brown, until the sunlight had touched it today. Then he had discovered rich red strands, and some the shade of honey. He liked her hair like that, long and loose and curling around that small, fair face.
He felt a purely male reaction to her, enjoying the contrast between the pristine gown buttoned clear to her throat and the spill of lush hair inviting him to touch. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a bad arrangement after all.
He rinsed off the lather and dried his face. When he turned, Izzy was just picking up the last of his clothes. As she carried them to the basin, he noticed her foot.
“You’re limping again. You’ve hurt yourself.”
“No.” Shocked, she stopped and turned to face him.
“You have. Give me those.” He crossed to her and tried to take the soiled clothes from her hands.
She hugged them to her like a shield. “That isn’t necessary.”
“It is. You’ll get blood all over your clean gown.” He yanked them free and dropped them into the basin of water.
When he turned, she was still standing where she’d been, holding her arms across her chest, looking like a bird about to fly.
“What’s wrong, Isabella?”
“Nothing.” She backed away. The movement only served to emphasize her limp.
“You have hurt yourself.” He stared down at her bare toes peeking from beneath the hem of her gown. “Don’t be afraid to tell me.”
“It’s…nothing. A little pain from the stubbed toe. It comes and goes.” She limped to the door. “I’ll get some lye soap to soak the blood out.”
In quick strides he crossed the room. Reaching over her head, he pressed a hand to the closed door. “Leave it. The clothes will keep until morning.”
She couldn’t bring herself to face him. With her back to him she said, “I could make some coffee.”
“No coffee. It’s too late. Let’s just go to bed.” He dropped a hand to her shoulder and she flinched as though he’d struck her.
She flinched? Sweet heaven, was she afraid of him?
At once he lifted his hand away. But in that one instant he’d determined that she was shivering. Violently.
“I realize I’m not like the men you probably knew in Pennsylvania.” His voice was low, the tone intentionally soothing. “Out here, so far from civilization, we sometimes forget about the things we once took for granted.”
When she didn’t move, he grew bolder and touched a hand to her hair. It was as soft as it looked. Thick and lush and inviting. He leaned close, breathing in the clean woman scent of her as his fingers closed around a silky strand.
Though she was standing very still, she couldn’t hide her reaction. Tremors ripped through her, leaving her quaking.
He withdrew his hand, curling it into a fist at his side. “Get into bed.” His tone was rougher than he’d intended.
“What?” She looked up, confused by his abrupt command.
“I said go to bed. You’re freezing.”
“No, I…”
“Now, Isabella.”
Seeing the look in his eyes, she limped across the room and climbed under the blankets.
He waited until she had carefully tucked the blankets around her, leaving only her face exposed. A face that seemed as pale as the bed linens. And eyes big and round with fear, watching him warily.
What was going on here? She was more than afraid. She was terrified. Of him. Or of…
It