She cut him one of those you-are-a-maggot, I-am-superior smirks.
“Think about it, Helen. If I had that to look forward to, it’d probably take me half as long to finish here. I’d probably work twenty hours a day with you as my incentive. I’d probably settle for a lot less gold than — ”
“At least you’re being honest about your motives now. None of those flowery words or I’m-dying-for-you-baby lines. Any woman would do for your purposes.”
“You really believe that I deliberately set out to seduce you? That it’s not you, and only you, that I wanted last night?”
She nodded emphatically.
He shook his head. “You don’t have much confidence in your own sexual attraction, do you, babe?” But maybe that was for the best. If she knew how much he wanted her, she’d be the one manipulating him. He’d be back at that landing site faster than he could get his pants unzipped.
“Maybe I just don’t trust you, Rafe, and never have.”
That hurt, and he lashed out, “Well, fine. I’ll stay away from you. But you’d better not try to seduce me, either.”
“Get a life!” She started to walk away from him, headed toward the mercantile.
He hurried to catch up. “You wanted me last night,” he reminded her.
“I was suffering from intellectual exhaustion.”
Rafe bit his bottom lip, making a mental list of about fifty ways to exhaust her intellectually over the next week or so. Fifty ways to prime her pump. He smiled with anticipation. Not that he was going to make love with her. Uh uh, not with three lousy condoms. Except for their last night together in this time warp. Then — man, oh, man — she’d better beware.
Helen stomped on ahead of him, oblivious to his devious plans. Knowing she would be annoyed, he took particular delight in studying her rear end, which bounced rather nicely. Despite her rigid demeanor, she had a real hot-cha-cha kind of walk. Yep, next to her breasts, he was definitely partial to her ass.
“Hey, Helen,” he called out to her departing back. “I hear there’s a Chinaman down by the levee who does real good tattoos. What say we have matching tattoos put on our other cheeks, as a remembrance of this journey?”
Her step faltered.
He didn’t like being ignored. No, he did not. “Maybe halos to match our angel wings,” he suggested as he caught up with her. “Or clouds. Yeah, clouds that move when the butt muscles flex. They would be nice.”
She slanted him a scowl of exasperation. It was obvious she exercised restraint, trying not to react to his baiting.
He didn’t like restraint, either. “Betcha miss your clipboard real bad, don’tcha, honey?”
She made a hissing sound of pure malice.
Checkmate! He’d obviously won that round.
But, just in case, he decided to watch his back for the next hour… or year.
Helen stood near the counter of Collis Huntington’s general store, waiting while Rafe handed over more and more of their precious gold nuggets and dust. He watched the storekeeper carefully to make sure his thumb didn’t tip the scales.
She shifted uncomfortably in the long, green calico dress Rafe had bought for her, insisting she drew too much attention in her slacks. The short-sleeved gown had a scooped neck and hung down to her ankles, but she wore her slacks under the dress for ease in riding.
“I must look ridiculous,” she grumbled, glancing at her heavy military boots peeking out from under the gown.
“Yeah,” Rafe agreed brightly.
The rat! “I think you deliberately picked out the ugliest dress in the store,” she muttered, while the storekeeper weighed out their gold.
“You noticed, huh?” He grinned at her, then chucked her under the chin. “Helen, you’d look good in a sack.”
“This is a sack.”
“Exactly.” His smile would melt butter.
“That’ll be three hundred and fifty dollars,” Mr. Huntington announced finally.
She and Rafe both blanched, although the total wasn’t a real surprise, considering the exorbitant prices listed on a wooden board on the wall: sugar, $2 a pound; flour, $1 a pound; shirts, $30; socks, $2; wool blankets, $30; rum, $20 a quart; apples, $1 each.