Free Forster, Suzanne by Blush Page B

flesh into a delicate shimmy, which sent the top itself floating to the bed. It was all completely accidental on Gus's part, but, of course, certain parts of her didn't stop shaking, even when she did.
    His face heated up visibly, brightening to an interesting shade of puce. Apparently he'd figured out that she wouldn't have turned around even if he'd been the Pope, nor was she bluffing.
    "I'm counting to three," he growled, shouldering around furiously to face the wall. "If you don't have yourself covered by then, I'll—"
    "You'll what, Mr. Kidnapper?"
    "I'll strangle you with that goddamn thing!"
    By "thing" she imagined he could only have meant the bra. She gazed down at it, wondering if even an engineering student could have repaired it. "I'm not going to do it, " she informed him, speaking directly to his stony shoulders and bright red neck. "And I'm not wearing that damn coat anymore, either. It's too hot. "
    He began to tear through the duffel bag, pulling out clothing. When he came to an oversized white T-shirt, he snapped it over his shoulder at her. "Put this on. "
    Gus quickly rid herself of the damp bikini bottoms and slipped the T-shirt on. It was light and cool against her damp flesh. It was heaven! Unfortunately it barely covered her behind and probably revealed quite a bit more of the loanee than the lender was bargaining on.
    "These, too," he said, lobbing her some jeans, which she caught, but tossed on the bed. It was much too hot for denim. The last things to come her way were a pair of huge canvas shoes, which she left where they fell.
    She crouched down a little as he turned around, hoping he wouldn't notice how short the T-shirt was. She needn't have bothered. He didn't even look.
    "It's time to eat," he announced, fishing once more in the duffel bag, this time for some tin pots and utensils.
    "Eat? What's that?"
    "You're not hungry?"
    Gus was ravenous. Weakness washed over her at the mere mention of food. Her stomach began to roll and clutch and rumble loudly, but she was reasonably sure he couldn't hear with all the noise he was making.
    "What are we having for dinner?" she asked.
    "You tell me. You'll be cooking it." Now he was drawing a huge leather-sheathed knife from the bag.
    "Sure, fine, just point me to the fridge," she said. "I'm great with frozen Wolfgang Puck pizza and a microwave, which, for your information, is the only thing I know how to cook. "
    He walked to the door, hesitating long enough to tie the knife to his thigh with a rawhide strap. "In that case, we're having roast rattlesnake for dinner. "
    Gus shuddered and shook her head. "Oh, God, n-n-no."

    He'd meant it about roasting the rattlesnake.
    Gus nearly fainted when he brought the vile thing into the cabin to cook. One look at her chalk-white face and swaying horror, and he'd had the good sense to take it straight back outside, where he'd built a bonfire and roasted it on a spit. Even the smell of it had made her ill, but she'd managed to draw herself some rusty water from the tap for cooking, which, just to be safe, she'd boiled the hell out of before adding a packet of chicken noodle soup mix.
    Rusty chicken soup, warm beer, and stale saltines. To Gus it was a banquet. Russian caviar had never tasted this good. She tucked herself in the creaky rocker and drank the steaming broth straight from the pan, not even bothering with a spoon, except to scoop up the noodles. When the crackers stuck to the roof of her mouth like flour paste, she washed them down with the can of Moosehead she'd swiped from a six-pack in his duffel bag.
    This cooking stuff is a breeze, she thought, feeling rather proud of herself as she piled the dishes in the sink afterward. If he'd been around she would have told him so. But he hadn't come back inside yet, even though it was getting dark. It was also getting chilly, so she bundled herself in the canvas coat and curled up on the cot, fighting off drowsiness to plan her escape.
    Somehow she had to get back