"Simple. Youre here to get to know Mad Dog. If hes not sniffing around your door, youd best knock on his. "
Jake shook his head. "He wouldnt like that. "
"So? What do you care?"
Jake turned to Rass suddenly. The boys eyes were big as quarters. "You mean just follow him around till he does talk to me?"
Rass shrugged. "Why not?"
"What if he punches me?"
"Punch back. "
Jake rolled his eyes. "Hes a professional, remember? Hed kill me. I dont know the first thing about defending myself, either. My mama made sure I didnt know how to fight. She thought it was a useless waste of time. "
"All women think that—its a genetic deficiency. "
"Oh . . . " Jake frowned. "She never mentioned any thing about a deficiency. She just said fighting was stupid and didnt solve anything. "
Rass stifled a smile. "
Maybe Mad Dog would teach you to fight. Thatd get you two together for a while. " Jake grinned. "Thats a great idea, Rass. " Rass felt the last niggling bit of grief slide away. His natural optimism bounced back, bringing a smile.
"Im a professor," he said proudly. "Ideas are my life. "
Mariah came slowly awake. Yawning, she arched in a long, lazy stretch. Pain twisted through her muscles at the movement.
She groaned. Her body felt pulverized and pounded . . . and wonderful. Memories of last night seeped through her sleepy brain, warming her once again.
She blinked lazily and opened her eyes. Sunlight streamed through her bedroom in a thick, dusty slash of gold. Through the half-opened window, she heard the chattering call of a barn swallow and the distant echo of voices.
She stretched again, rolling out of bed. Her feet hit the cold floor with a muffled thump. Smiling—she couldnt seem to stop herself—she reached for her flannel wrapper and put it on.
Then a question hit her with the force of a blow.
Wrenching the fabric belt around her waist, she hurried to her bedroom window and yanked it open. Cool morning air hit her in the face.
Please be here, please . . .
She shoved the lacy curtains aside and stared down at the bunkhouse. The door was open.
Her heart picked up speed, thudded anxiously in her chest. Her throat went dry. He never left the door open.
She poked her head out the window, her eyes desperately scanning the small farm.
She found him. He was standing alongside the water pump, washing his face, wearing a faded pair of blue jeans and nothing else.
Relief poured through her. She clutched the window ledge with shaking fingers and bowed her head. "Thank God. "
Slowly she brought her head up and looked down at him. Emotion tightened her heart, and she swallowed hard, wondering what exactly she felt for Mad Dog this morning.
She knew what she felt about herself—for the first time in years, she was excited about the day, eager to see what would happen. She felt young and free and unafraid to reach for what she wanted.
And what she wanted was Mad Dog.
It was simple, really. She wouldnt have him for long, wouldnt feel this way when he left. So she had to seize the time they had together and cling to it, enjoying every moment. It didnt matter how she felt about him; it never had. What mattered was how she felt about herself.
She smiled. Lord, it felt good to simply enjoy something, to ask nothing from it, expect nothing. To simply accept.