That one clipped word was the first real thing he'd said to her all day—except for occasionally cursing under his breath, he hadn't spoken to her directly since that embarrassing incident this morning. Amanda hadn't realized how greedy she was for the sound of his voice... until now.
Supper. The first image to flash through her mind was of stringy jerky and tinny-tasting beans. The second was more appealing. Her stomach grumbled when she replaced the image with succulent pheasant smothered in tangy orange sauce. No, make that lobster sautéed in wine and butter, the tender white meat flaking away under the delicate application of a fork.
"Supper," Amanda repeated, her mouth watering. Her stomach growled with unladylike vehemence. "What are we having?"
"Snake."
Her eyes widened, and the extra moisture in her mouth evaporated to shock. It took two full minutes for her thought processes to kick back in. At the end of that time, Amanda had convinced herself she'd heard Jake wrong. She must have. Surely she'd only thought he had said... "I beg your pardon?"
Jake was kneeling beside his saddlebag, his big hands rummaging through its shadowy leather depths. He seemed to be ignoring her, but he wasn't. Jake was very much aware of the sharp edge of repugnance in Amanda's tone. It took effort to suppress his grin. "No need to beg, princess. All I'm asking is that you cook it."
Was that amusement she heard in his tone? Amanda hoped for his sake that it was not. Her green eyes narrowed, raking his chiseled profile. There were too many shadows to see details, but in the flicker of moonlight she saw enough. Perhaps too much. There wasn't even a hint of a grin on Jake's lips. His expression, half-shielded by the curtain of hair that fell forward over his shoulder, was as unreadable as stone.
Amanda's stomach twisted. Morbid curiosity, she supposed, would explain why her horrified gaze descended, seeking out the object Jake had so casually tossed to the ground in front of her. Unless her memory was faulty—oh, how she hoped it was!—the thing had made an unsavory thunk when it hit solid ground.
It was a good thing her heart had lodged in her throat, or she would have screamed. She could feel the shriek building in her throat the way she could feel the grass break off in her fingers when she clamped handfuls of it in tight, trembling fists. Had her cheeks gone white? They felt cold, bloodless, and chalky, so she assumed they had.
Jake straightened, and moved to stand in front of her. Amanda didn't hear his approach, but then, she hadn't expected to. She could feel his nearness, smell his earthy scent on the air. Pity none of that managed to shake her trance-like gaze from the carcass that curled over the grass near her feet.
"Problems, princess? You look a might peaked."
Jake's voice came from a point far above her head. Amanda barely heard him. The pounding in her ears was too loud and furious. "Th-that's a... a..." She sucked in a sharp breath and tried to get hold of herself. Unfortunately, that just wasn't possible. "That's a s-s-s..."
"Snake," he said, hunkering down. Reaching out, he picked up the thing that Amanda was regarding with such abhorrence. The snake was about three feet long, thick and heavy. Its body draped over his palm, the head and tail ribboning over the ground like a limp piece of rope. "A diamondback rattlesnake to be precise."
A rattlesnake, Amanda's mind echoed, dazed. Her stomach gurgled its displeasure. Hadn't she read that rattlesnakes were poisonous? Not that it mattered, she supposed, since the thing was dead as a doorknob. Poisonous or not, it wasn't going to be biting anything ever again. Not that she planned on getting close enough to have that theory proved out!
"Don't look so worried, princess. Unless you're a bigger eater than I thought, there should be enough for both of us."
She glanced up, glad for any excuse to stop looking at that... that snake. She was just in time to see Jake's steely gaze rake her. His eyes were hot, probing, and assessive. Unexpected heat trickled into her bloodstream, and it was just warm enough, just strong enough, to burn off a tiny bit of her repulsion.
"Nah," he said, and tossed the snake back onto the ground. It made that revolting noise again. Amanda grimaced, her stomach rolled. "You're too skinny to eat much. Probably pick at your food like a bird."
The simile was not lost on Amanda—she only wished it had been. Her mind filled with a gruesome image of beaks pecking at a dead snake's carcass. Her head felt suddenly light and dizzy. A bitter-tasting lump of nausea wedged in her throat. Swallowing it back took more effort than she'd ever admit to this man.
"I have a healthy appetite for... normal food, Mr. Chandler," she said finally. Her voice sounded humiliatingly soft and strained. But that was all right; at least now she had a voice!
"Nothing a
bnormal about eating a little snake now and again, Miss Lennox. Out here, you can't afford to be picky. Fresh meat is fresh meat."
"And revolting is revolting," she snapped, her gaze shifting to the snake. A chill iced down her spine, and she immediately averted her attention. Meeting his gaze, she forced her chin to lift an imperious notch. "That is disgusting. I won't eat it."
Jake shrugged. "Fine by me. Like I said, all I ask is that you cook it."
"I will not!"
"Wanna bet?"
"All the tea in China, Mr. Chandler. All the tea in China."
Jake scowled. Now what the hell was she talking about? They didn't have any tea—unless she'd brought it, and if she did... hell, he didn't care to know about it. Besides, they weren't talking tea here, they were talking nice juicy snake. Supper. Couldn't the woman follow a simple conversation? He decided her swift change of topic must be her ladylike way of relenting. Whatever.
He pushed to his feet and glanced down at her. Her spine looked incredibly rigid, even for her, and her cheeks were ashen. He shrugged, thinking she'd probably just laced her corset too tight. Making a mental note to talk to her about that later, he turned away. Over his shoulder he said, "I'll get the fire started while you skin supper."
He'd taken no more than a step when he heard "Ugh," then felt something large and heavy slam into his lower back.
Years ago, self-preservation had honed Jake's reaction time to lightning speed. In a beat he'd spun on his heel; the knife slipped soundlessly from its sheath, the hilt cradled in his palm, the blade brandished threateningly, before he'd even completed the turn.