Frontier Courtship. Valerie Hansen
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Where do you want me?”
For some reason, her brain seemed as befuddled as it had been immediately following her accident at Fort Laramie. “Want you?”
“To sit. For my haircut.”
“Oh.” She took as deep a breath as her ribs would allow, then gestured toward one of the packing boxes they had used for chairs while they ate. “Over there. Take off your hat.”
Connell seated himself, hat in hand.
“You’d better take your shirt off, too,” she warned. “Papa always complained I got bits of hair down his neck.”
“I’ll be fine the way I am.”
Faith knew she should let him have his way, especially since his reply had sounded so gruff, yet a perverse part of her nature insisted otherwise. “You act as if I’ve never seen the top of a man’s union suit before,” she taunted. “I guess if you’re afraid to remove your shirt in my presence we’ll just have to make do as is. I won’t be responsible, though, if you itch something fierce afterwards.”
Casting her a sidelong glance that was more an irate glare than an expression of admiration for her boldness, he reached down, crossed his arms and drew the soft buckskin hunting shirt off over his head. There’d been times when he’d stripped to breechcloth and leggings while stalking buffalo or antelope, but when among those he considered the polite society of his upbringing, he’d always remained fully clothed. Till now.
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