Captive Heart (13 page)

After an internal battle that lasted far too long, she decided on a compromise. She would bathe—with her clothes on. It wouldn’t be a true bath, of course, but it would certainly be an improvement over her current situation.

Emma removed her wet sock and laid it out to dry on the grass. Then she gathered her soap and clean clothes, placing the latter at the edge of the blanket. She knew at some point she would have to change into her dry things, but she supposed if she were very careful she could do that while encircled in the privacy of the blanket.

She untied the strings of her bonnet, then took it off and placed it on the ground. She looked around once more and, confident she was alone, walked the few feet to the shore. Taking the stick Thayne had left for her, Emma stepped into the water again.

It felt even warmer than before.
Bliss. First hair ribbons and now warm water.
A smile spread over her face. Gathering her skirts, she bunched them up to her knees, poked the stick down in front of her, and waded out just a little farther.
This feels
so
good.

She stayed there several minutes, gave another hesitant look around, hiked her skirt even higher on her legs, and walked in until the water was nearly to her waist. With one hand firmly on the stick and one trying to contain the bundle of half-wet, half-dry fabric gathered at her hips, she soon realized she was not going to be able to make use of the bar of soap, also in the hand holding up her skirt.

Emma waded back to shore, dropping her skirt as she got there.
Would it be so awful if I took off my dress? There’s no one to see, and I can get so much cleaner if I do.

Deciding it really was for the best, she moved quickly, unbuttoning her dress and stepping out of it. She left the soggy cloth on the shore to be dealt with later and hurried back into the water, reveling in the new freedom that came from discarding her outer layer of clothing.

After indulging in a few minutes of doing absolutely nothing but stand in the waist-deep warm water, she decided to wash her hair. With one hand still on the branch, she leaned forward, attempting to get her hair wet. Unfortunately, her corset made it difficult to bend so far.
I guess it has to come off too . . .

Her fingers fumbled with the laces before at last the corset came off, and she flung it to shore beside her gown. Sinking down into water up to her chest, Emmalyne laughed out loud as she turned a circle, her arms outstretched, making waves on the surface.
Paradise. And it won’t get cold, either.
She’d never been in warm water outside of a bathtub. The few, infrequent trips to the ocean she’d taken while growing up were nothing like this. This was delightful fun, she decided, and she intended to enjoy every minute of it.

She leaned her head back, dipping her long hair in the water until it was soaked. She took up the soap in her hands and began washing. It took several minutes of scrubbing and rinsing before she felt her hair was satisfactorily clean. She moved on to washing her face, then her torso—no easy task while wearing her chemise. But there was no way that was coming off.

She’d simply have to deal with the inconvenience of wearing a chemise and bloomers.
So long as I leave
some
clothing on, it isn’t as if I truly bathed in the middle of the wilderness.

She closed her eyes, battling some unknown and unexpected demon—this part of her that was having the time of her life, relaxing in a warm lake in the middle of nowhere.

With a sigh of discouragement over her own weak character, she scooped up a handful of water, let it fly into the air above, and then watched as it rained down on her.

A huge splash sounded behind her, and Emmalyne screamed, then clamped her hands over her mouth. She whirled around just in time to see Thayne emerge, facing away from her, at the opposite end of the narrow spring.

“You promised,” she yelled accusingly. She sank into the water, making certain nothing below her neck was exposed.

“And I’m keeping that promise,” Thayne called. He dove under the water and swam toward her, resurfacing a minute later—facing her this time.

Emma opened her mouth to scream, but the sight of Thayne—wet, tousled hair, his bandana tied over his eyes—turned her choked cry to laughter. “You—you look ridiculous,” she blurted.

“Now that’s poor manners,” he scolded. “Considering I can’t even see how you look.”

“You can’t?” Emma asked. She pursed her lips to keep from laughing anymore. “Are you certain?”

He nodded. “Yep. I’m trying my darndest, but this thing works too well. Still doesn’t seem fair.”

“You promised,” Emma reminded him. “In fact, I believe you promised to stay away until I was done.”

“You were taking such a long time,” he complained. “I figured it’d be dark before I got my turn. Spring’s big enough for two anyway.”

“You—you go over there, then,” Emma said, lifting her hand and waving her fingers toward the far side, though Thayne could not see her. “You can at least do that. It’s bad enough that we’re improperly clothed and sharing the same body of water.”

Thayne let out a hoot of laughter. “Is that what we are?” He shook his head, water flinging out from his hair. “And here I thought we were taking a bath
.
”

“Oh no,” Emma said. “That sounds positively sinful. And besides, it isn’t true. I’m finished washing, and I have my clothes on.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” Thayne reached behind his head to remove the blindfold. “In that case, there’s no need to wear this.”

“Wait.
Don’t
take that bandana off. Don’t you dare.”

He frowned. “But you just said—Miss Madsen, I do believe you’ve told another falsehood.”

“Not a falsehood. Not on purpose anyway. I
do
have my clothes on—just not all of them,” she admitted quietly.

A corner of Thayne’s mouth quirked up. “Which ones would those be?”

“None of your business,” Emma snapped. “Now be a gentleman and go back to your side of the lake.”

“Hot spring,” he corrected.

“It doesn’t matter.” She rolled her eyes in exasperation.

“But it does,” he insisted. “A lake, river, or stream—and we’ve passed plenty of those—would be cold. I brought you here especially so you could enjoy warm water.”

“I appreciate that,” Emma said. “It is lovely to be clean. Now if you’ll be so kind as to turn around, I’ll be leaving.”

“What’s the rush? Stay awhile and swim.” Thayne flopped onto his back.

Emma squeezed her eyes shut and turned away but not before she’d caught a glimpse of his bare chest.

“Open your eyes, Emma.”

“I thought you said you couldn’t see.” Her brow furrowed.
If he is lying, how am I
ever
going to get out of the water?

“I can’t, but I know you’re not looking. Don’t worry. My trousers are on. I’m decent.”

Emma laughed at the absurdity of his statement.
This entire situation is anything
but
.
She slowly turned around. Cautiously, she peeked with one eye. Thayne was indeed
decent. More than decent.
Her other eye opened, and she stared at him floating peacefully in the water.

She squeezed her eyes shut once more. “I need to get out now.”

“Wouldn’t you like to learn to float like this?” Thayne asked.

She shook her head. “No, thank you.”

“Water’s warm on your back, shoulders, head,” Thayne said. “All the way down to your toes, and it feels like the weight of the world is gone for a few peaceful minutes.”

It was a tempting offer. Emma shivered, the wet hair clinging to the back of her neck suddenly making her cold.

“It’s an amazing feeling,” Thayne said. “Nothing quite like it. You can’t float like this in a tub.”

Emma bit her lip in indecision. She didn’t really want to get out yet, and when in her lifetime would she ever again have the opportunity to float in a warm spring? Perhaps this was some of the adventure she’d come west for. “All right,” she said at last, her voice small. She looked at him.
In for a penny, in for a pound.
Thinking of his gift of the hair ribbons, she renewed her vow to be positive about the afternoon.

Thayne smiled and stood up in the water. “Do you want me to come to you, or do you want to use your stick and wade out toward me?”

“Neither?” Emma suggested. “Can’t you just tell me what to do?”

“I could try, but it’ll be easier if I’m beside you to put my hand under your back.”

Too late Emma realized her dilemma. Thayne would literally be touching her back—her wet chemise. “Maybe it’s not such a good idea after all.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Believe me, after all we’ve been through to get here, I’m not about to let you drown.”

“It’s not that, it’s just . . .”

“Ahh,” Thayne said, a slow grin of understanding spreading across his face. “How ’bout I hold your hand instead?”

I cannot believe I am doing this.
“Yes.”

With broad strokes he swam toward her, stopping a few feet away. “Emma?”

“Right here,” she answered, feeling suddenly shy.

He held out his hands, and she took them. He smiled as his fingers closed over hers. “Let’s walk out a bit farther. Tell me when it’s getting too deep for you.”

“All right.”

He walked backward, towing her out toward the center of the spring. Emma was surprised how comfortable she felt when Thayne was near.
I trust him. I feel safe with him. I feel . . . more than I should.

He stopped. “The trick to floating is being relaxed. If your body is stiff and tense, then you’ll sink.”

“Then I think I’m in trouble,” Emma said, only half joking.

“You’ll be fine,” Thayne reassured her. “Imagine you’re lying on a feather bed. You’re warm, comfortable, about to drift off to sleep.”

Closing her eyes, Emma found the scene Thayne described very easy to picture.

“When you’re ready, lie back. I’ll only touch you if you start to sink.”

She nodded and tried to retrieve the image she’d captured a moment before. It wasn’t as easy this time. Each time she thought she was relaxed enough to lean back, it was only Thayne’s hand at her shoulder that kept her from sinking. And it didn’t help that each time her body rose, she realized her bloomer-clad legs neared the surface.

“Are your eyes still closed?” she asked, praying he really couldn’t see anything.

“Yes. Don’t give up. Think of something else,” Thayne suggested. “Something a long time ago. Think about being a little girl again.”

For the second time that afternoon, a vivid memory swept over Emma. Her mother’s face came crystal clear to her mind, and she
felt
like a little girl again,
felt
like her mother was there with her, tucking her in for the night as she lay down in her bed. Emma’s body began to relax. At her sides, her hands unclenched, fingers limp in the water. Quiet surrounded them. A serenity she’d never felt washed over her, head to toe as Thayne had described. All was calm, secure, peaceful.

“You’re doing it,” Thayne said quietly.

“Wha-at?” Emma asked. “I am?” Her eyes flew open, and she looked up at his face, mere inches above hers. He held his hands up, showing her she was on her own.

She panicked, arms flailing at her sides as she started to sink. Thayne reached for her, laughing as he pulled her toward him.

“I knew I shouldn’t have told you.”

“How long was I floating?” Emma asked. “I don’t remember you letting go.”

“That’s how it works.” He towed her to the shallows. “You relaxed, and your body did what it is naturally meant to do.”

“I’m meant to float?”

“Yep.”

His mouth was unsmiling, and she wished she could see his eyes.

“I’ve no doubt you’re meant to do a lot of wonderful things, Emma.” He took her elbow, turning her away from him. “Now I’d best leave you alone so someday you’ll have the opportunity to do them.”

* * *

The rest of the afternoon passed far too quickly as far as Emmalyne was concerned. Thayne left her alone at the spring, and somehow she managed to get dressed with the blanket around her. She was spreading her things out to dry when Thayne returned. He’d removed the bandana from his eyes, and instead he held it, bulging, out to her. Emma was delighted to find it full of berries. They moved the blanket to a spot in the sun and lounged there another hour or so, eating berries and the biscuits he’d made the night before.

“If I had a proper kitchen here, I’d make a pie with these,” Emma said, popping another of the delicious confections into her mouth.

“You can cook?” Thayne asked.

Emma laughed. “Don’t look so excited,” she warned. “The only thing I can make is pie. We used to have a kind old cook who would let me help in the kitchen at Christmastime. She made beautiful pies, and she taught me how.” A wistful smile crossed Emma’s face. “But that was years ago. Perhaps I couldn’t even make one anymore.”

“I imagine you can do whatever you set your mind to,” Thayne said. “You got away from your stuffy fiancé, didn’t you?”

“Yes. I did.” She wiggled her bare toes, enjoying the newfound freedom they so aptly signified.

“You’ve traveled from Boston to the Black Hills, you learned to float on your back today, you’re wearing your hair down, and your feet are bare—quite the modern woman I’d say.”

She laughed again. “Oh, quite. I’d make the society pages, I’m sure.”

Thayne polished off another biscuit, then lay back on the blanket, hands clasped behind his head as he watched her.

She ran her hands down the length of her hair, squeezing at the tips to remove any last, lingering drops of water. Fingering the ribbon holding her curls back, she suddenly turned to him.

“Someday when I am home again—”

“When you’re married to Willard?” Thayne teased.

“
Wilford
, and I’m not going to marry him. I left behind a letter encouraging him to find a woman who could truly appreciate his wealth and status.” Emma let go of the ribbon and folded her hands in her lap. “I assured him I was not, and never could be, that woman.”