Free Just Once by Jill Marie Landis Page A

that my life depends on my changing clothes in front of you.”
    He sighed. It was the wordless expression of a man at the end of his tether. Jemma knew better than to push him.
    “All right. Have it your way, but please turn around.”
    Hunter turned, wishing he could ignore the sound as easily as he was avoiding the sight of her changing. As the silk rustled behind him he couldn’t help but imagine the barely blue material sliding off her shoulders, over her ample breasts, into a sensuous pool at her feet. His fingertips still tingled from the feel of the silk. He was willing to bet that her skin would feel the same, if not smoother.
    All morning, as he had gone about the business of outfitting her for the trail, he’d told himself he would regret it. The reality of at least four weeks alone with this beguiling, exasperating, infuriating, and definitely tempting young woman was daunting. Who was she really? Why did she insist on going upriver? He doubted she would ever tell him the truth.
    “These are pants!”
    “You’ll stand a better chance of not being singled out on the Trace if you wear them.”
    “Just like Thecla.” There was awe in her tone.
    “Who?”
    “St. Thecla. I pray to her all the time. She was a young virgin who was persecuted and dressed like a man to escape ravishment—”
    “Are you dressed yet?”
    “No. Could you have found
itchier
clothing?”
    He almost smiled. “Are you ready?”
    “No! Don’t turn around.”
    The words were muffled. He pictured her tugging the shirt over her curly blond head, struggling into it. He had convinced himself that he was about to set out on a fool’s errand, all because he had never been able to turn his back on someone in need. When was he going to learn?
    “Were these the
only
shoes you could find?”
    Hunter turned around. Jemma-with-no-last-name was standing there holding out the battered brown leather shoes he’d bought right off a cabin boy walking along the levee.
    “They look to be your size,” he commented offhandedly.
    “They’re hideous. They weigh more than a barrel of rocks. Even with these impossibly coarse socks they’ll probably raise blisters.” She looked down and wriggled her toes.
    He wanted to laugh. Waiflike, her bewitching figure was completely disguised. Standing there clutching the salt-stained, hard leather shoes, she was dwarfed by the baggy pants and billowing oversized shirt that came to her knees.
    Beyond the door, the ominous sound of shattering wood rent the temporary peace. The girl dropped one shoe, her bright-eyed gaze darting to the door and then back.
    “What was
that?
” she whispered.
    “My guess is it was the sound of a chair meeting its end.”
    As she bent to retrieve the shoe, an inhumane growl followed by the sound of a body crashing against the wall drew their attention. The growl was followed by a long-winded threat.
    “I’m the son of a three-headed buffalo raised up by a she-wolf and a grizzly! Try to pick my pocket again, you som’bitch, and I’ll have your hide stripped off your worthless bastard’s body before you know it’s gone.”
    The voice could have belonged to anyone of the derelict rivermen in the outer room. Hunter glanced at the door when another resounding thud and then a tremor shook the flimsy wall.
    “Are they trying to break in?” The girl’s voice quivered with fright.
    “Not yet, but it’s only a matter of time before somebody sobers up enough to remember your entrance last night.” He walked over to her and held out his hand.
    “Give me your shoes.”
    Obviously too upset to argue, she handed over the shoes. He motioned to her to sit. When she lowered herself to the floor, Hunter hunkered down on one knee, put the one shoe down beside him, and pulled a bulky wool stocking out of the other.
    “Here.” He gave her the sock and she pulled it on, grimacing at the odor.
    “I see you spared no expense,” she said, wrinkling her nose.
    “There weren’t a lot of