Jake hiked the snake over his shoulder and shrugged. "What do I want?" he said, his tone forcefully light. He retreated to sit with his back propped against a tree that was as far away from the sweetly forbidden temptation that was Amanda Lennox as he could get. "Supper, princess. That's what I want. All I want. I'm starving."
Amanda had been, too, until she watched him whip out his knife, the blade poised close to the snake's head. She was not hungry enough to consider eating a... snake. No, no. She would never be that hungry. Chewy jerky and watery beans were no culinary delight, and, yes, she was heartily sick of the tasteless, repetitive meal at this point, but at least her supper had never bitten anyone!
She shifted her attention to gathering wood, all the while doing her best to ignore what was happening between Jake and... his dinner. It wasn't easy. Some of the noises coming from his direction were quite revolting. As luck would have it, his humming masked a goodly portion of them.
"That's a catchy tune," she murmured a few minutes later, as she knelt and deposited on the ground the small pile of dry twigs and branches she'd gathered. Actually, the melody had a barroom flavor to it. But Amanda didn't mind. She was willing to compromise her integrity if it meant getting him to talk. She had missed the sound of his voice today. Much, much more than Miss Henry would have considered proper. "What is it called?"
After a noteworthy pause, he said, "Don't ask."
"Really, Mr. Chandler, I want to know."
"No, Miss Lennox, you really don't. Trust me."
Trust him? Trust him? Amanda rather thought not. How could she trust a man she hardly knew? A man who, by his own admission,
was one part savage, no part gentleman? She couldn't, and that was that.
Amanda yanked out and sprinkled a handful of dry grass around her foundation stick, then sat back on her heels. She almost looked at Jake but, remembering what he was doing, decided against it. She knew her limits, knew when she was pushing them, and watching him disembowel a snake fell into the latter category. She flattened her palms on either side of the stick, positioned it, and, as she prepared to whirl, said, conversationally, "I know a lovely tune about a dog and clover. The melody is similar to the one you were humming. I'd be happy to teach it to you, if you'd like. Unless, of course, you already know it."
"Depends," he asked cautiously. "How does your song go?"
Amanda had always had a uniquely off-key voice. Normally it didn't bother her when people referred to her singing as dogs howling at the moon—or were the canine begging for her to stop? She had a feeling that today it was going to bother her immensely if Jake made that same comparison. Still, not wanting to break the mood, she took a deep breath and tried her best. "Roll me ooo-over, roll me ooo-over, roll me over in the clover do it again, bom, bom."
Amanda couldn't put her finger on what emotion was riddled in Jake's pause.
"Yeah," he said finally, slowly. It sounded like it took great effort to keep his tone flat. "I know it. But the version I'm thinking of doesn't have a dog. Could be interesting if it did, though. Should I ask who taught you that little ditty?"
Amanda smiled and began whirling the stick, nice and easy, just like Jake had taught her. "My father. I was about... oh, ten or eleven at the time."
"Now I know we ain't talking about the same song. And if we are, we're definitely talking about different versions."
"Why do you say that? Because my version has a dog?"
"No. Because my version is dirty as hell."
The stick came to an abrupt halt. One golden brow arched. Amanda's eyes narrowed, and she pursed her lips, intrigued despite herself. "Define 'dirty.' "
"Let's just say the first verse alone would tighten your corset a few inches. And speaking of corsets..."
Just the mention of such a personal piece of apparel made the article in question feel uncomfortably tight, as though it had just shrunk two sizes. All of a sudden, the whalebone stays felt like they were digging into her ribs. That was the reason she couldn't breath... wasn't it?
"Wh-what about my—" She couldn't. Amanda simply could not bring herself to mention her unmentionables in front a man like Jacob Blackhawk Chandler. Miss Henry would praise her decorum. As for herself, Amanda wasn't feeling very proprietary at the moment; she was too mortified.
"Your corset?" Jake supplied cheerfully. Too cheerfully, she thought... until his next words robbed her of the ability to think. "You know it's going to have to come off, don't you?"
"What is?"
"Your corset."
"What?"
"You heard me, princess. I had to ride slow today because you could hardly breathe, and we don't have time for it. Not if you want your cousin back any time soon. Un-uh. That corset's coming off. Tonight."
The stick dropped unnoticed from her suddenly slack fingers. "It most certainly is not!"
"We'll see. And just for the record, you'll never get a fire started that way. Didn't you learn anything last night?"
Think of it as like... making love.