“If it is still light enough to see when I get back.” Jack brushed bark off his chest. “You need to watch the chicks.”
“Will you light the fire?”
“The tinderbox is behind the seat.”
Her mouth tightened and her eyes darted nervously from the fire pit to the wagon and back.
“You don’t know how to use it,” he said flatly. Could she do anything beyond look pretty?
Olivia shook her head. She flapped her hat at a chick straying beyond some larger boundary she’d set in her head.
He sighed. “When I get back, I’ll take care of it.”
He moved to the wagon, removed his rifle and set it down. He unbuttoned and stripped off the fancy new shirt.
Olivia gasped.
She studiously looked away, but her cheeks were bright.
He rummaged for his buckskin shirt and drew it over his head. “Might as well change into what you want to sleep in. It’ll be dark soon.” He remembered to gather the bucket, a sling and a hatchet before tossing buffalo hides to the ground.
If Olivia was shocked at seeing him without his shirt, it didn’t bode well for their marital relations. The chances of a lady like her wanting him were slim.
Besides, she didn’t know how to light a fire. She didn’t know how to dress for the wild and she sure didn’t know anything about caring for chickens. “Do you know how to garden?”
She brightened. “We used to have the most lovely roses and irises.”
Merde, what kind of a wife was she?
* * *
Once he was out of sight, Olivia scurried to the wagon and slid out of her lavender jacket. Hurrying, she changed into a nightgown without removing her shift and corset. While he might not have any qualms about undressing in front of her, she wasn’t ready to fling off her garments in his presence.
Chasing the memory of his broad golden-skinned chest from her mind proved impossible. She shivered.
The murky light was dimming by the minute. The shadows of the trees grew black and forbidding. Would Jack be able to find his way back? Were wild animals lurking in the deepening dusk? Or had the stand of trees swallowed him and the horses whole, leaving her all alone in this wilderness?
The chattering trees seemed to warn her this place was not like back East. As if she needed more warning. Hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and her heart beat in irregular jolts. The unseen animals lurking in the shadows, the impending intimacy of her wedding night and the solitude all unnerved her.
What would Jack think if he returned and found her in her nightgown? A shudder racked her body. Sleeping together when they’d barely spoken troubled her. She pulled her heavy brown-twill traveling dress over the top.
The yards of material meant to go over hoops dragged in the grass.
Only a bit warmer, she retrieved the fire-starting implements and carried them over to the pile of wood. He’d wanted her to gather kindling. She glanced toward the copse. She didn’t want to go into the darkness. Instead, she snapped off small branches from the wood he’d gathered.
After making a tight little pile of wood, she got out the flint and the metal ring.
Striking sparks couldn’t be that hard, could it?
She hit the metal against the sharp edge. A cascade of glowing orange sparks landed on her skirt.
She brushed the hot bits from her skirt, singeing her hand.
“What are you doing?” Booted footfalls thudded toward her. “Merde! Are you trying to catch yourself on fire?”
She spun around. She opened her mouth to defend herself but stood mutely. Nothing would have made sense. “I’m fine. I didn’t know how it worked.”
The horses followed him up the incline with neck-bobbing long strides. “Just wait.” Jack set down a bucket near the woodpile. “Let me get the horses staked.”
She looked down to see if she’d burned holes in her brown twill, but she couldn’t see in the dusky half-light.
How much a nuisance he found her was clear in his voice. Contributing to that impression by insisting he take her down to the water could only make things worse.
“It is too dark for me to go to the creek to wash up now.”
“There’s water in the bucket. Just don’t use it all.”
Disappointment curled through her. She’d been looking forward to the chance to thoroughly wash off the dust from the day of travel. Using her cupped palm, she took a drink and used a little of the icy water to wash off her face. Not knowing what else to do, she sank down on the woolly hide.
The chicks peeped happily from their box.
“You put the chicks in their crate?” he asked.
“I didn’t want to lose them in the dark.” Had that been wrong, too? She held very still as she waited for his response.
“Good.”
It was hardly high praise. But at least she’d done one thing right. She breathed out slowly, releasing tension.
Jack groomed the horses and threw blankets across their backs. He walked over and looked down on the wood. “What the hell?”
Olivia winced.
Jack set the broken branches to the side. He threw most of the firewood back on the pile. Obviously her efforts hadn’t been worth a darn.
“I don’t know how to build a fire, but I can learn.”
He grunted, then set about building the fire. Making her efforts look puny, he fired sparks onto a nest of dried grass and the square of black fabric she hadn’t known how to use. He blew on it, then shoved the flaring pile under the three sticks steepled in the center.
He made it look simple.
“What is for supper?” asked Olivia. She hadn’t eaten since a hurried breakfast at a stage stop.
“Use anything you want out of supplies in the wagon.”
Olivia winced.
“There’s flour, butter, oats, beans...” He looked up and his eyes narrowed. “You’ve never cooked over an open fire, either.”
She’d never cooked. She should tell him, but unable to bear the flat look in his eyes at every revelation she made, she bit her tongue. Shaking her head, she looked down.
“Just sit. I’ll get us food in a minute.” He coaxed the fire, adding twigs and larger sticks until lively flames popped and crackled. He settled rocks around the edge. “Fires need lots of air.”
Olivia folded up her knees and put her chin on them. Jack didn’t stop moving until well after the stars were out. He lit a lantern over by the wagon. He gave the chicks water and cracked corn and oats. Then he wrapped the heated rocks and placed them in the crate. When he returned, he held out a couple of things that looked like dried excrement.
Olivia jerked back. “What is that?”
“Jerky.” Jack put one to his mouth, sank his strong white teeth in it and ripped off a piece. He waved the remaining strip in her face. “Try it.”
She reluctantly took the leathery thing from his hand and sniffed. A faint beefy scent made her mouth water.
With his rifle beside him, Jack sat down cross-legged. “Indians smoke and dry venison strips so it doesn’t spoil.”
Not beef, but deer, then. Olivia tried to nibble but found it impossible. She had to rip a bite away and then chewed and chewed.
Her