Evangeline loved baths, but they were difficult to manage under the best of circumstances, and usually she made do with a thorough if furtive scrubbing behind the door of the lean-to. That night, after the wolf, after the kiss, after Scully telling her that he would leave when spring came, no matter what, she longed to sink into a tubful of hot water and wash with the special scented soap she’d brought with her. A farewell gift from Rachel, that small, oval bar of lavender and lanolin was one of her treasures, to be saved for special occasions.

In time, Abigail went to bed, and Scully vanished into the lean-to without a word, taking a lamp and one of his books with him. Evangeline waited until she saw his light wink out, more than an hour later, before dragging the wash tub from the pantry and setting it square in front of the fire. Filling it took another hour, and all the water, including that reserved for morning, but Evangeline didn’t care. She’d go back to the spring for more, as soon as the sun came up, though this time she meant to strap on Scully’s gunbelt and leave Abigail behind, in the safety of the cabin.

The water cooled a little while Evangeline was putting out the lamps—she left only one burning, and turned the wick down very low—but when she’d undressed and stepped into her bath, she found that it was still quite warm. Blissfully, she sank into it, relishing the pleasure of it in every aching muscle, every pore. It seeped through to her bones, that warmth, to reach her very soul, to restore her.

She took up the precious cake of soap and made a lather with her hands, filling her nostrils with the scent. She was sensitive to smells, good and bad, and that one transported her to a gracious and gentle place, where there was perpetual peace, and dreams came true, at least as often as not. She washed herself all over, taking joy in the experience.

The mist of that sweet revelry dissipated in an instant, however, when she realized that Scully was standing in the doorway to the lean-to, a shadow frozen into place.

She stared at him, and automatically crossed her arms to hide her breasts, but she wasn’t nearly as shocked as she should have been, even by her own reckoning. There was nothing obscene in his presence, nothing ugly. He seemed, instead, to be spellbound, trapped unexpectedly, and quite by accident, between one step and the next, unable to move forward or turn back.

“Scully?” she said softly, lest she awaken Abigail. All she needed was for her daughter to witness this scene.

“I didn’t mean—” he said.

“I know,” she answered gently.

“I thought you were asleep. I was headed outside.”

“It’s all right, Scully,” she said. “But it might be a good thing if you turned your back now, so I can get out of this tub and put on some clothes.”