Yana felt for the boy, knowing how stiff a body could be after one of Bunny’s sled rides, as he unfolded, a little awkwardly, balancing the water thermos.
“How’s your father doing?” Yana asked, walking to the front of the porch to take the thermos from the boy. Seeing his haunted expression, she felt even sorrier for him.
“She”-and he jerked his mittened hand over his shoulder at Bunny-“said you’d made them get Steve.”
“I didn’t make anybody do anything, Diego,” Yana said with a self-deprecating laugh, “but I did suggest-to someone who has the power to authorize such things-that it might reassure your father and improve his condition. And yours.”
“Yeah, thanks.” He started to turn back, noted Bunny’s frown, and turned back, a halfway smile tugging his cold and cracked lips. “I mean it, Major Maddock.”
Now Yana could see why Bunny could be interested in the boy. Not only was he around her age, but he was tall and well built, with longish wavy black hair and intense dark eyes with curling lashes any girl would envy. And that little smile of his held a certain charm. It was certainly an improvement on his lost, haunted look. What had he seen in the caves that had produced that effect? Not that Petaybee wasn’t daunting to anyone suddenly plonked down on its surface.
The two turned to go, but Yana suddenly remembered the blouse. “Wait! You’ll want this for the latchkay,” she said, ducking back inside. In a moment she handed the blouse to the girl.
Tears sprang up in Bunny’s eyes. “Oh, Yana! For me? It’s so beautiful!” She held it up in front of her parka and swung around to show Diego, who pretended indifference, but Yana thought she saw a flicker of admiration behind the boy’s nonchalance.
Bunny hugged her. “Thank you! I’ll go get dressed right now.”
Yana watched Bunny, with Diego walking beside her, jump onto her sled and skim down the street, the plume tails of the dogs wagging as they knew themselves near home, and food.
With a satisfied smile, Yana went inside her nice warm house, to dry her hair and get ready for the latchkay.
To Yana’s surprise, there was a knock on her door just as she was about to leave. She had been hearing people going past her door, on foot and with dogsleds, for the past half hour, though it was only midafternoon. She spent the time primping, trying to make her own appearance worthy of the blouse, admiring the way the garment added sparkle to her eyes and brought out highlights in her hair, even making her skin glow with unaccustomed color. The knock startled her. Bunny, probably.
Before she could reach the latch, the door swung slowly open and a well-snowed figure-for it had begun to snow again-stood in the doorway. She recognized the finely decorated gloves as Scan Shongili lifted his hands to push back the hood of his parka.
Yana’s heart did an unexpected flip-flop. And got even more agitated as Scan grinned at her.
“If you thought you were going to weasel out of singing tonight, think again,” he said, stopping inside and closing the door. “But I see you have dressed for the occasion. Nice shade on you,” he added, nodding with approval. He stepped up to her, putting a finger on the beaded work of her collar and tracing the design. His smile deepened and his silver eyes gleamed. “A combined effort, if I do not mistake the fine Italianate touches of Aisling and my sister.” ‘
Yana swallowed, unaccustomed to being complimented on her appearance and inordinately pleased that Scan had. “They were very good to get it finished in time for the latchkay.”
“Nothing Sinead likes better than a race against time,” he said with a second cryptic smile. The intentness of his gaze reminded her of Sinead’s regard across their trapping campfire.
“You-you should have seen Bunny’s face when I gave her the blouse they made for her,” Yana said, knowing she was babbling. She reached for her parka, which Sean took from her suddenly nerveless fingers and held for her. Feeling slightly foolish, she turned, shooting her arms out for the sleeves. Deftly he slipped the bulky parka up and onto her shoulders, settling it with a little flick of his hands across her shoulders. Then his fingers brushed the nape of her neck and she had to suppress a convulsive shudder. The memory of their hot-spring interlude flooded her, and she hoped she wasn’t blushing. So she flipped her hood up, pressed shut the parka fastenings, all with her back to him, before she jammed her hands into her gloves and collected the bean pot. Turning resolutely, she smiled at him, just as if she hadn’t gone through all kinds of mental acrobatics over the simple act of his helping her into her coat.