damp in places as it absorbed the water she hadn't had time to towel off. "You could have surfaced with your back to me," she told him. "How could you know I'd be covered?"
"I trusted you to be quick about it even if it meant diving into the brush." He realized she was feeling a little more confident now that she was clothed. He was not going to disabuse her of that notion by pointing out that the sunlight made her shift an ephemeral covering at best. If she stood up now she would be more exposed to him than she had been in the water. "Is the house I passed on the way here yours?"
"No," she said truthfully.
"You're a guest?"
In her parents' home? Hardly. "No," she said. "Not a guest."
"A servant, then."
She had a serenely quiet smile, and she graced him with it. "No. But it's a mistake that's been made before in my family." She saw him working out another question and saved him the trouble by asking one of her own. "What's your business with Walker Caide?"
"No business. Just reestablishing an old acquaintance."
She regarded him steadily, weighing his words. "Walker Caide has enemies. How do I know you're not one of them?"
"You don't."
She considered that. Her sigh was audible as she came to a decision. "Walker Caide is my brother-in-law."
One of his dark brows arched slightly. "Then Mary Schyler is—"
"My sister."
His eyes narrowed now as he studied her, and he felt his skin prickle with the sensation of wariness. "And you're... Mary Michael?"
The serene smile returned. She shook her head. "In Denver."
The water seemed several degrees colder than it had moments before. "Mary Renee?"
"Laying track for Northeast Rail somewhere in the Rockies." The smile had now reached her forest green eyes.
"Mary Margaret?"
It seemed that Walker had written to his friend about the whole family. She cautioned herself that she shouldn't be enjoying this stranger's comeuppance quite so much. "Recently graduated from the Philadelphia Women's College of Medicine and back home on the Double H in Colorado."
"I see."
She gave him credit for masking his discomfort so well. She smoothed her cotton shift over her knees and looked at him expectantly.
"That makes you Mary Francis," he said finally.
She couldn't help it that her smile widened. "That's right."
"The nun."
"The nun," she confirmed. He surprised her again by turning the tables. In spite of the fact that she now commanded the high ground, had solid footing, and was wearing the clothes this time, he was able to stare her down.
"I don't think you have any shame," he said. Turning in the water, he swam with strong but awkward strokes toward the opposite bank.
Mary Francis sat as still as stone. Several moments passed before she got to her feet. She was reaching for her own clothing when she heard him climb out of the water. Knowing that he wasn't looking in her direction now, she began to dress. The black habit was creased by her earlier carelessness, and she made a halfhearted attempt to smooth it. She adjusted the stiff white collar. Out of her pocket she pulled her rosary and attached it to her waist. She did not have her cornet or veil and her red-gold hair was incongruently bright against the severity of her habit. She threaded her fingers through it quickly, squeezing out the last of the water droplets.
He was fastening his gun belt when he heard her voice coming to him quietly from across the water hole. He paused, raising his head, and looked at her. She was standing there in her plain black gown, both somber and simple, and he was thinking about a flash of rose-tipped breasts. She was standing there with the serene features of an angel, and he was thinking about kissing that mouth. She took a step closer to the water, the movement making the habit shift against her legs. Suddenly he was remembering the undulating rhythm of hips and thighs and calves as she parted the water with her body.
"Did you hear me?" she asked.
His eyes never leaving hers, he shook his
"I trusted you to be quick about it even if it meant diving into the brush." He realized she was feeling a little more confident now that she was clothed. He was not going to disabuse her of that notion by pointing out that the sunlight made her shift an ephemeral covering at best. If she stood up now she would be more exposed to him than she had been in the water. "Is the house I passed on the way here yours?"
"No," she said truthfully.
"You're a guest?"
In her parents' home? Hardly. "No," she said. "Not a guest."
"A servant, then."
She had a serenely quiet smile, and she graced him with it. "No. But it's a mistake that's been made before in my family." She saw him working out another question and saved him the trouble by asking one of her own. "What's your business with Walker Caide?"
"No business. Just reestablishing an old acquaintance."
She regarded him steadily, weighing his words. "Walker Caide has enemies. How do I know you're not one of them?"
"You don't."
She considered that. Her sigh was audible as she came to a decision. "Walker Caide is my brother-in-law."
One of his dark brows arched slightly. "Then Mary Schyler is—"
"My sister."
His eyes narrowed now as he studied her, and he felt his skin prickle with the sensation of wariness. "And you're... Mary Michael?"
The serene smile returned. She shook her head. "In Denver."
The water seemed several degrees colder than it had moments before. "Mary Renee?"
"Laying track for Northeast Rail somewhere in the Rockies." The smile had now reached her forest green eyes.
"Mary Margaret?"
It seemed that Walker had written to his friend about the whole family. She cautioned herself that she shouldn't be enjoying this stranger's comeuppance quite so much. "Recently graduated from the Philadelphia Women's College of Medicine and back home on the Double H in Colorado."
"I see."
She gave him credit for masking his discomfort so well. She smoothed her cotton shift over her knees and looked at him expectantly.
"That makes you Mary Francis," he said finally.
She couldn't help it that her smile widened. "That's right."
"The nun."
"The nun," she confirmed. He surprised her again by turning the tables. In spite of the fact that she now commanded the high ground, had solid footing, and was wearing the clothes this time, he was able to stare her down.
"I don't think you have any shame," he said. Turning in the water, he swam with strong but awkward strokes toward the opposite bank.
Mary Francis sat as still as stone. Several moments passed before she got to her feet. She was reaching for her own clothing when she heard him climb out of the water. Knowing that he wasn't looking in her direction now, she began to dress. The black habit was creased by her earlier carelessness, and she made a halfhearted attempt to smooth it. She adjusted the stiff white collar. Out of her pocket she pulled her rosary and attached it to her waist. She did not have her cornet or veil and her red-gold hair was incongruently bright against the severity of her habit. She threaded her fingers through it quickly, squeezing out the last of the water droplets.
He was fastening his gun belt when he heard her voice coming to him quietly from across the water hole. He paused, raising his head, and looked at her. She was standing there in her plain black gown, both somber and simple, and he was thinking about a flash of rose-tipped breasts. She was standing there with the serene features of an angel, and he was thinking about kissing that mouth. She took a step closer to the water, the movement making the habit shift against her legs. Suddenly he was remembering the undulating rhythm of hips and thighs and calves as she parted the water with her body.
"Did you hear me?" she asked.
His eyes never leaving hers, he shook his
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