Midnight Star (Star Quartet 2)

An hour later, Chauncey was grinning to herself and warming her hands over the small fire she’d built. The bedrolls were laid out, the horses tethered close by, and at least her face and hands were clean. She sat cross-legged by the fire and leaned forward, cupping her chin against her fisted hands. The sun was near to setting. She tried to concentrate on the beauty of her surroundings, but failed miserably. The air grew chill, the silence deafening. She cried out at the sudden sharp report of a rifle.

“Talk to yourself, idiot. Yes, that’s it. Hello, Dolores, Hank. Is the grass good? I don’t think you need any more water.”

Dolores whinnied.

Chauncey rose quickly to her feet, and weaved where she stood. Her muscles had tightened and cramps ripped through her. She was rubbing her bottom when Delaney emerged into the small clearing, a dead rabbit held in his hand. It was all Chauncey could manage not to flinch away.

She gulped and took a step backward, her expression appalled.

“Don’t worry,” Delaney said, “I won’t ask you to soil your pretty hands. Nor do I want you to vomit on our dinner.”

She couldn’t help herself. She simply couldn’t bear to see him skin the rabbit. She walked around the perimeter of their camp, trying to avoid looking at him and his revolting task, and easing her muscles.

“We’ll eat in about twenty minutes,” she heard him say. “Come here, and keep turning the rabbit on the spit. I’m going to bathe.”

When he returned, he was shrugging back into his shirt. The water was frigid. Had he stripped and jumped in?

“I built the fire,” she said, her voice a bit sharp. Damn him! She wasn’t about to admire the play of muscles across his chest.

“Yes, I see. Matches are a great invention, are they not? Next time, build it more loosely, so air can circulate beneath. Like this.”

She watched silently at he took several sticks and balanced them upright so they came together in a cone.

“The rabbit is done,” she said.

“Burned to a crisp, rather.”

“I set out the dishes and bedrolls.”

“And talked at great length to the horses.”

He’d heard her! “They are about the only amiable company I’ve found!”

He squatted in front of the fire and began to pull the burned meat from the bones. “Didn’t you open any beans?”

“No.” She stared at the rabbit meat, burned on the outside and quite rare on the inside.

“Watch me do it,” he said.

They ate in silence. Chauncey didn’t want to talk; she wanted to curl up, wrap herself in the bedroll, and groan her muscles to sleep. She eyed her bedroll laid out on the other side of the fire and moaned at the thought of getting to it. Perhaps she could crawl, or maybe roll.

“Next time, keep turning the meat.”

“I thought it delicious,” Chauncey snapped, her fingers tightening around a bone.

“Are you finished?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll sand out the plates while you collect more firewood. There are all sorts of interesting beasts in the forest. I don’t want to share my bedroll with any of them.”

Collect more firewood! She pulled herself to her knees. There wasn’t a bush or anything to use as a support. Didn’t he feel any discomfort at all? He was striding about as if he’d just gotten out of bed after a wonderful night’s sleep. Get up, Chauncey!

She did, but found after leaning over to pick up some dead branches, that she couldn’t move. She tossed her small collection beside the fire and collapsed on her bedroll.

Delaney’s eyebrow shot up. He knew she was in agony. His muscles were a bit sore, and he was used to riding goodly distances. He strode to his valise and withdrew a small jar. He tossed it onto her lap. “It’s liniment. It smells like manure, but it works. Rub it on your thighs and your bottom.”

“Thank you,” she said.