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Seventeen hours. She made it seventeen hours. But if she had to bite her tongue one more time, she was going to bite the damn thing in half.
Gray had grunted his way through breakfast, ignored her suggestion that he accompany her into town, and was now sitting out in her rocking chair on the porch, whittling a stick into nothingness.
In anticipation of their trip, she’d dragged her hip tub into the kitchen and started the laborious process of filling it with warm water. A courtesy she didn’t often bother with for herself. But, in the spirit of hospitality and their truce, she’d thought she’d go the extra mile for her “guest.” It just hadn’t occurred to her he wouldn’t want to bathe. It was fairly obvious he didn’t indulge in the pastime often, but…still…
She took a deep breath, wincing a bit at the odor coming from his direction, and tried again.
“You know, I would be happy to wash those for you,” she said, glancing down at his clothing.
“What for?” he asked.
She stared at him for a moment, not sure how to answer that. Did he really not understand why she might think his clothes were in need of a washing?
“I just thought you might prefer some clean clothing. You don’t seem to have brought any spares with you.”
He shrugged and continued to whittle the stick in his hand.
She bit her lip, trying to go about this the tactful way, since she’d promised and all. But the man was trying her patience.
“I’m heating some water on the stove for you. I’m afraid I only have a hip bath, but it is preferable to the creek, especially at this time of year.”
He didn’t look at her, just kept rocking and whittling. “Don’t need it.”
Her temples began to throb. Could he really not smell himself?
“If that’s all you wanted… Go away,” he said.
All right. That was it. She’d tried the nice approach, and, in her opinion, he’d broken the truce first. She stood in front of him, hands on her hips, until he looked up at her.
“My head is beginning to pound, and I’m not sure if it’s from you aggravating me or from the smell coming off you. You may not notice it, but the rest of us would like to walk around and still use our noses.” She waved to encompass herself, Birdie the horse, and the goats who were munching happily on some crabgrass nearby. “Now, I know you’re used to being on your own, but for the time being we are stuck with each other, and since I’m housing you and feeding you, the least you can do is bathe occasionally.”
“No, thanks,” he said and went back to his whittling.
She nodded. “All right, then.”
She marched around the side of the house where the rain barrel sat, grabbed the bucket beside it, and filled it with the cold water. Then, before she could change her mind, she took it around the front again and tossed the bucket of water right in his face.
He jumped up with a shout and dropped his stick and knife while sputtering and wiping the water out of his eyes.
“What in the tarnation are you tryin’ to do, woman? Drown me?” he shouted, trying to wring the water out of his shirt.
Mercy’s heart pounded, whether it was from fear at having just antagonized a known killer, excitement at upping the stakes in their little game, or just plain enjoyment she wasn’t sure. Maybe a bit of all three. Whatever it was, she had never felt so alive.
She let out a peal of laughter, which froze him in his tracks, his gaze pinned to her.
She shrugged. “You wouldn’t go to the bath, so I brought the bath to you.”
He glared at her, though she was pretty sure she caught a flash of amusement in his eyes. “You are tryin’ my last nerve.”
“Good, because you’ve already trampled the hell out of mine.”
He shook his head. “I have never heard a woman with a mouth on her like yours.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “I sincerely doubt that. Any woman in a five-mile radius of you is probably driven to curse like a drowning sailor. Now, would you prefer to get into the nice warm bath by the kitchen fire or do you want me to get another bucket of rainwater?”
He snorted, his gaze taking in her crossed arms as though measuring her conviction. “I don’t know why your ma named you Mercy. There ain’t a merciful bone in your body.”
Mercy gave him the sweetest smile she could dredge up. “My mother said she was always thankful for the Lord’s tender mercies, of which I was the best.”
