June shyly met the eyes of her husband. “Mrs. Gillespie said maybe you’d want to wash up before supper.”
“I reckon that’d be a good idee,” he said, shifting from one foot to the other.
Did she expect him to wash here? Or what?
June poured water into the basin and found a towel.
Not for a five-dollar bill would Bob have removed his coat, though there had never been a time in his young life when he would have welcomed more a greenback. He did not intend to be indelicate while alone with a young woman in a bedroom. The very thought of it made him scarlet to the roots of his red hair.
After he had scrubbed himself till his face was like a shining apple, June lent him a comb. She stole a furtive look at him while he was standing before the small cracked mirror. For better or worse he was her man. She had to make the best of him. A sense of proprietorship that was almost pride glowed faintly in her. He was a nice boy, even if he was so thin and red and freckled. Bob would be good to her. She was sure of that.
“Mrs. Gillespie said she reckoned she could fix you up a job to help the cook,” the bride said.
“You mean—to-night or for good?”
“Right along, she said.”
Bob did not welcome the suggestion. There was an imperative urge within him to get away from Bear Cat before Jake Houck arrived. There was no use dodging it. He was afraid of the fellow’s vengeance. This was a country where men used firearms freely. The big man from Brown’s Park might shoot him down at sight.