She sounded wary and the reason was there in the light purple blotches around her eye.
“I struck you.”
A smirk at his word choice preceded, “That you did, pretty boy. You’re quite a flailer... fought like the devil each time I tried to pour medicine down your gullet. You even puked on me twice.”
“I did not vomit.”
“Sure you didn’t.” She shrugged, reaching out to test his brow. “How are you feeling?”
No one touched him directly outside of combat, and the sensation, the cold brush of foreign fingertips, made him jerk his face away. “Fine.”
She snorted. “Four whole words in under two minutes and not one of them a thank you.” Ignoring his rudeness, she leaned closer and studied his eyes. “Headache, nausea?”
Deadpan, empty, Stephen demanded, “Your name.”
“You can call me River.” She did not ask his in return.
Eyeing him uncertainly, she reached for a scrap of fabric hanging near the fire. “I washed your clothes, but they won’t be dry for a few hours yet.” River tossed him his underwear before turning to stoke up the flames. “Those were cleaned in the sink last night, princess. The bathroom is through the door behind you if you want to pull on your skivvies and wash up. Don’t be surprised when there’s no hot water. I didn’t have time to catch dinner and prep the heat pump before the few hours of daylight passed.”
With the beginnings of a better blaze growing, she looked over her shoulder.
Stephen stared at her breakable, vulnerable skull, scowling as if all his worldly troubles she’d dumped in his lap.
When he made no move to follow her directions, she frowned. “It’s not so bad, you know. You’re not the first to get lost. You won’t be the last. At least you’re alive... though not out of the woods yet.” She leered, mimicking a rim shot. “Get it? Out of the woods?”
His attention went to the fire, not at all impressed with her stupidity.
Snickering, she scooped up her catch. “I thought it was funny.”
Jacket hung on a chair, the woman’s exposed knit sweater and dirty jeans underneath were worse for wear. Ugly.
From his seat, he watched her yank the entrails out of a trout. “You claimed I was ill. For how long?”
Splat went another fish’s insides. “Just the night. You passed out at dawn. I would have stayed with you, but I lost my catch yesterday and canned food needs to be saved for emergencies.”
“You only caught three.”
Cutting a glare over her shoulder, River cocked a brow. “Sorry, I was busy cleaning the vomit you didn’t have out of my clothes... not to mention the blood that came down my nose when you clocked me for giving you aspirin and keeping you hydrated.”
“You’re lucky I didn’t kill you.”
The fillets were slapped into a waiting skillet, sizzling loud enough she had to raise her voice to spit, “No you just cried like a baby. I’m not a sadist. Don’t think I enjoyed it. In fact, don’t think of me at all, and sure as fuck don’t thank me!”
Shaking the skillet to keep the fish from sticking, River ignored the man, refusing to flinch when he stood and hobbled nearer. Whatever shyness had possessed him the night before was gone. He was utterly naked, unabashed as he leaned against the wall to watch her.
His hostess looked exhausted, still filthy no matter her splashings in the lake. Throat raw, he pointed it out. “You haven’t slept?”
“No,” she snapped. “I haven’t slept, sunshine. Sit down, food’s ready.” Turning with two plates of burnt fish, she slapped them down on the table. “And for God’s sake stop flapping your uncut dick around in my kitchen.”
Unsure, Stephen asked, “Uncut?”
A nervous giggle escaped the female at his lack of comprehension. The accent and foreign rumblings in his fever… of course she’d recognize that he wasn’t from her hemisphere, but it took him a solid minute to realize she was referring to this land’s concept of male genital mutilation. Circumcision was unthinkable.
He was uncut indeed.
Wisely never fully giving him her back, she uncovered day-old fry bread, put down silverware, and plopped, exhausted into her chair. Shuffling closer with his drawers fisted in his hand, again he took pleasure in realizing his presence made her uncomfortable. His nudity doubly so.
Yet he took a seat and shimmied into the scrap of clothing, if only to protect his skin from the splintered old wood.