trailed behind him out the side door to the well. It looked like so many she’d seen in landscaped yards. Of course, this one was very rustic. But it had a roller bar across the top with a rope and a crank handle. The bucket lay on the ground, useless. The housing around the hole was made of wide, weatherworn boards. The opening was covered with a heavy-looking metal object.
Ethan took a small scrub brush from his pocket. She hadn’t even seen him remove it from the cabin. He poured peanut oil on it and began to scrub the rusty crank. The well was in the open and the sun showered them with waves of heat, but it wasn’t as intense. Sweat rolled from his face. He had to be exhausted, too, but he never stopped. She wanted to help him. Using her better judgment, though, she just watched, marveling at the muscles working in his arms and the total concentration on his face.
She could imagine him pursuing a killer with everything in him. She’d never been this impressed with anyone in her life. And she wasn’t delusional.
“Hot damn,” he shouted as the crank began to move. After more elbow grease it made a complete circle. Then another.
“It’s working,” she cried.
“All it took was a little muscle.”
“And you’ve got those.”
He gave her a dark-eyed glance.
“What?” She lifted an eyebrow. “Is that a secret?”
“Stop distracting me.” He continued to work the crank.
“Oh, I didn’t realize I was doing that.”
He turned to face her. “One minute you’re half-conscious and the next you’re flirting.”
“I am not flirting,” she insisted.
“Whatever.” He went back to working on the well.
Maybe she was flirting, but he didn’t have to be so grouchy. And he wasn’t really as grouchy as he appeared. She knew that now. He was a nice guy with a big heart, which he kept hidden with his brusqueness. Ethan was one of the good guys. Even knowing that didn’t keep her from getting mad at him.
“Okay.” Ethan sank to the ground with the pitcher and the end of the rope. “The rope isn’t thick, so that’s good. The trick is to tie the rope to keep the pitcher from tilting. It has a narrow neck and a rounded bottom. If I tie to the handle, it will tilt. The best bet would be to use the narrow neck.”
He was talking to himself. She’d allow him that foible. After looping the rope around the neck, he tied a knot and then another.
“Is the rope strong?” she asked.
“I’m hoping. I pulled to test it and it didn’t break.” He placed the pitcher aside and got to his feet. “I have to remove the lid.”
“Can you? It looks heavy.”
With a wicked glint in his eyes, something she thought she would never see from him, he said, “That’s what these muscles are for.” And to dispel the notion that he might be flirting, he added, “Besides, I removed it earlier.”
He plucked off the heavy cover as if it weighed no more than a board. Placing it against the well housing, he stuck his head over the open hole and took a deep breath. “Ah, I smell water.”
“Water doesn’t smell.”
“Stick your nose over here, Ms. Doubtful.”
She leaned over and took a whiff. Her whole body vibrated with yearning. “Oh, oh, Ethan. There’s water. Hurry! We have to bring it up. I’m dying for a drink.”
“Patience.” He removed his shirt and attempted to wipe dust from the rope.
“Will that do any good? Your shirt is dirty and sweaty.”
“The well probably has bacteria in it anyway and cleaning the rope with a dirty shirt was the lesser of two evils I was thinking.”
“How will we know if it has bacteria?”
“When we get sick.”
“Oh, great.”
“But we don’t have much choice. Without water, we can’t survive in this heat.”
Abby licked her parched lips. “Let’s do it.”
Ethan laid his shirt on top of the cover and picked up the pitcher. With one hand he lowered it into the well hole and cranked it lower with the other hand. “Keep your fingers crossed the rope doesn’t break.”
Abby crossed her fingers, held her breath and watched the pitcher disappear into the dark hole.
“We’ve hit water,” Ethan said. “We’ll give it a minute to fill and then I’ll pull it up.”
Slowly he cranked the pitcher upward. “It’s heavier so it must be full.” When it reached the top, he reached out and grabbed the neck of the pitcher. Water spilled onto his hand. Her heart beat so fast she could barely breathe. He handed the pitcher to her and she took a sip and then a gulp.
He grabbed the pitcher. “Hey, go slow. You’ll make yourself sick.”
She sank to the ground. Even though she wanted to guzzle it, she sipped and sipped. Handing it to him, she sighed. “Heaven. Pure heaven.”
He eased down by her and sipped until the water was gone. “This is better than sex.”
“You think so?”
He lifted an eyebrow. “At this exact moment, yes.” He stood to refill the pitcher and she wondered about his sex life. Someone as virile as Ethan had to have a regular girlfriend. Or maybe not. Considering what had happened to him, he was probably very choosy about whom he slept with. And she had a feeling Ethan didn’t stay around for much sleeping.
He filled the pitcher three times. The third time they didn’t drink much. Ethan poured the last bit over his head. Water ran down his face and onto his chest. Droplets clung to swirls of dark chest hairs. Without thinking, without judging herself, she leaned over and licked the drops from his warm skin.
He stiffened. She didn’t stop.
She licked up his chest to his strong chin. His skin tasted of salt, sweat and granules of sand. But it wasn’t off-putting. Just the opposite. It was the most sensual experience her mouth had ever encountered. The tip of her tongue throbbed from the taste, texture and sensuality of him.
“Ab-by.”
Her lips touched his. He groaned, cupped her face and kissed her as she’d never been kissed before. His lips were strong, powerful and she didn’t weaken under the onslaught to her senses. She reveled in it, meeting his fervor with her own. She ran her hands along the strong muscles in his shoulders and neck.
The kiss went on and on. He held her head in place as he ravaged her lips and spiked her blood pressure. His thumbs stroked her jawline and she purred like a satisfied cat. The sound startled her until she realized it was her.
