If You Believe

He tried to look casual, but didnt quite manage it. "Unless youd let me take a real bath?"

Mariah felt a stunning sense of relief. She couldnt have concocted a better plan.

"Certainly, Mr. Stone. A shower and a rest would be perfect for you. " In a resurgence of energy, she spun around and bounded up to the house, racing down the shadowy hallway for the bathing room.

For a moment, she was alone. She grabbed two thick Turkish towels from the washstands cupboard. As she reached for the soap, she heard him come up behind her. He didnt say anything, but she felt his gaze, hot and pointed, on her back. She froze, knowing shed need an excuse for the second towel. She couldnt think of a single one.

Mad Dog stared down at Miss Prim and Proper. She was burrowing through the towel closet as if it held the crown jewels. And muttering.

Now, one thing he knew: Mariah Throckmorton was not a muttering kind of gal.

"Something wrong, Miss Throckmorton?"

She popped to her feet and slowly turned around. "W-What do you think of the bathing room?"

For the first time, Mad Dog noticed his

surroundings. "Holy shit . . . "

She flinched at his foul language. "How . . . eloquent, Mr. Stone. "

Mad Dog didnt respond. He couldnt. He was stunned by the unexpected grandeur of the room. Hed heard, of course, of houses that had bathing rooms like this, but that was back East. And hed never actually seen one.

It was big, as big as an ordinary bedroom. Forest green wallpaper covered the top half of the wall, melting into a boldly carved mahogany wainscoting. The burgundy tile floor gleamed like the flat facet of a huge, single ruby. Atop it lay a green and burgundy and black Oriental carpet with golden tassels. The faint scent of gas wafted from the brass-sconced fixtures along the wall. Ovals of shimmering light slid down the dark walls and puddled on the elegant floor.

And the bath. Mad Dog let out a soft, appreciative whistle. It was a long way from the town water pump he usually used.

The shower/bathtub combination was completely encased in carved mahogany.

Within the dark wood, porcelain glistened like an open oyster shell, clean and smooth and inviting. A row of six shining brass knobs was the only adornment on the otherwise flawless wood.

"I know its extravagant . . . but my mother loved her baths. " Mariahs voice was soft and wistful. It pulled Mad Dog in, made him want to hear more.

He tried to find the right words. "Shes . . . "

"Passed away last winter," she said quietly.

"Im sorry . . . " Immediately he regretted the pat, too easy words.

She shook her head and looked up at him. Though she tried to hide it, sorrow clung to her, a wispy veil that softened her gaze. "My fathers razor is in the commodes top drawer. I . . . wish youd use it, but you dont have to. "

He studied her. She was asking a favor of him, not demanding or judging or condemning. Simply asking. The moment seemed suddenly fragile, worth saving.

"Thanks, I will. "

She handed him a towel and a bar of Dirt Killer soap. "Well, I guess Ill leave you to your privacy. "

She started to leave.

For some crazy reason, he didnt want her to go. "Wait—"

Slowly she turned back to him. "What?"

He had nothing to say to her; hed acted without thinking. He glanced at the towel clutched to her chest and said the first thing that came to mind. "You want the shower first?"

"No!" The word burst from her, then she laughed shakily. "No, thanks. You go ahead. Ill wait. "

Mariah felt his sharp, penetrating gaze on her face. She shifted uncomfortably.