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Page 115
She managed a smile. "I've a right to be."
He nodded. He didn't return her smile, but his brown eyes sparkled beneath their thick, strong brows. Small lines radiated from their comers in his tanned face. His firm, smooth lips were not set in their usual grim line, either.
"Thanks for helping me." She paused. "I think I've said that before."
The anger returned to his gaze. "Do not bother." His voice was as hard as the ground on which he stood. "I helped because it would harm my business if word spread that I let an employee be captured by Indians."
"I understand." She felt like stomping on his moccasined toes. Throwing hot water on him where it would hurt.
Anything to get him to show real emotion.
She'd just met the man. Heaven help her if she was to stay with him for a while to right Pierce's wrong.
"Here." He thrust the wad of cloth toward her. "My dirty garments for you to wash."
Not a "please" to get her to take them, or any sign of gratitude when she did. She inhaled sharply, tamping down her irritation. "Sure," she said sweetly. "Heavy on the starch, I'd imagine. And no creases."
"What?"
"An inside joke." No use trying to explain to him the dry cleaners of her time and the instructions customers gave.
What would he think if she told him she was from more than two hundred years in the future? He'd believe her crazyand she didn't want that to happen. She'd no idea what people did with the insane in this era.
"I'll return your clothes to you as soon as possible," she told him. She wasn't sure whether she wanted him to keep her company or to leave. He took the decision out of her hands; he began walking away.
But after just a couple of steps, he turned back toward her. "Thank you, Miss Walker."
She felt a flush of pleasure well up in her face, probably turning it as pink as her hands. Irritated at her disproportionate reaction to such minuscule encouragement, she corrected grumpily, "Mariah."

 
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