A Virgin River Christmas (Virgin River #4)(28)

“I must be,” she said. “I’d kill for clean hair.”

“You want to wash your hair?”

“It was tempting, but I didn’t know if a cold, wet head was the best idea. The water out of this pump is freezing.”

He chuckled. “I can’t believe you’ve been here for days and haven’t figured out much. Not like you to not pay attention to details, is it? So. Good day for bath day,” he said.

“Have you had a bath since I’ve been here?” she asked.

“I admit, I’ve been putting that off, making do with a pot of hot soapy water at the sink, but not just because you’re here. Have you noticed, it’s a little cold?”

“I saw the tub of course, but I couldn’t imagine how…”

He just shook his head. “You’re right, you’re not used to roughing it. Here’s how it’s going to work—I’ll put a big pot of water on the woodstove, feed it real good so we get the room nice and warm. I’ll get another one going on the Coleman stove—that goes a lot faster—and we’ll fill the sink with hot water for your hair and while we’re taking care of that, get a second one going on the Coleman. By the time your hair is clean, we’ll have two pots of near-boiling water for the tub. I’ll add some cold from the pump and you take a little dip. Can’t screw around—I can’t get the tub full. If I just keep heating and adding water, by the time I get a boiling pot, the one in the tub has already turned cold. So it’s a shallow bath, but it’s warm and gets the job done.”

“Wow,” she said. “That’s sure generous, that you’d do all that for me…”

“For us, Marcie. I’ll get a bath after you. And tomorrow I’ll stop at the coin laundry and wash up the dirty clothes. I’ll take any of yours you’d like me to. Just because you haven’t been feeling too good…”

She shifted from foot to foot, chewing on her lower lip.

“What’s the matter? You don’t want a bath?”

“I’d die for a bath,” she said. “It’s just that…. I couldn’t help but notice, there doesn’t seem to be a separate room with a door that closes…And I also noticed that doesn’t seem to bother you too much.”

The corners of his lips lifted. “I’ll load the truck with tomorrow’s wood while you have your bath,” he finally said.

She thought about this for a second. “And I could sit in my car during your bath?” she suggested.

“I don’t think so—your car is almost an igloo now. Just a little white mound. Not to mention mountain lions.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do?”

“Well, you can take a nap, read a little of my book, or close your eyes. Or you could stare—get the thrill of your life.”

She put her hands on her hips. “You really wouldn’t care, would you?”

“Not really. A bath is a serious business when it’s that much trouble. And it’s pretty quick in winter.” He started to chuckle.

“What’s so funny?” she asked, a little irritated.

“I was just thinking. It’s cold enough in here, you might not see that much.”

Her cheeks went hot, so she pretended not to understand. “But in summer, you can lay in the tub all afternoon?”

“In summer, I wash in the creek.” He grinned at her. “Why don’t you comb the snarls out of your hair? You look like a wild banshee.”

She stared at him a minute, then said, “Don’t flirt with me. It won’t do you any good.” Then she coughed for him, a long string of deep croaks that reminded them both she had had a good, solid flu. Also, it covered what happened to be amused laughter from him.

While he pumped water into a big pot, he said, “Take your medicine. That sounds just god-awful. And I, for sure, don’t want it.”

It took a good thirty minutes to get the sink full of warm water. She was rolling up the sleeves of the overlong shirt, turning under the collar to keep it from getting wet, and grabbed the shampoo out of her duffel. He held out his hand. “What?” she said.

“Put your head in the sink,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

“Why?”

“Because it’ll be hard for you to know if the soap’s out. It’ll be faster and easier if I just do it for you.”

She picked up the towel he’d laid out on the short counter, pressed it against her face and bent at the waist, dipping her head in the warm water. She could feel him use a cup to wet her hair, then begin to gently lather it. Those big calloused hands were slow and gentle, his fingertips kneading her scalp in a fabulous massage. She enjoyed it with her eyes closed, trying not to moan in pleasure. Finally she said, “You aren’t going to offer to shave my legs for me, too, are you?”

His hands suddenly stopped moving. There was a stillness and a silence for such a drawn out moment, she wondered if she had somehow offended him. “Marcie,” he finally said. “Why in the world would you shave your legs?”

“They’re hairy!”

“So what? Who’s gonna care?”

She thought about this for a second. She was on the top of a mountain in the middle of nowhere with a man who looked like Grizzly Adams in a place that didn’t even have indoor plumbing. Why would she shave her legs? And armpits? Finally, in a little voice, she said, “I would.”