Hot Ice

should’ve told me.”
    She angled her chin in a gesture he couldn’t help but admire. “I have a bigger problem with being a fool.”
    “Why? It never bothers me.” Grinning, he brushed the hair away from her temples. She wasn’t going to cry. Thank Christ.
    “People who’re born fools rarely notice.” But the sting had gone out of her voice. Her lips curved. “Anyway, I’m in. It might take a crane to get me back out again.” Breathing slowly, she glanced around at the wide cave with the pillars of rock he’d spoken of. In the firelight, the rocks shone, rising up or plunging down. Here and there, the cave floor was littered with dung. She saw, with a shudder, a snake skin curled against the wall. “Even if it is decorated in early Neanderthal.”
    “We’ve got a rope.” He ran his knuckles quickly back and forth over her cheek. Her color was coming back. “I’ll just haul you out when the time comes.” Glancing back, he saw the water beginning to simmer. “Let’s have some coffee.”
    When he turned away, Whitney touched her cheek where it was warmed from his hand. She hadn’t thought he could be so unexpectedly sweet when there wasn’t an angle.
    Or was there?
    With a sigh, she stripped off her pack. She still held the bankroll. “I don’t know anything about cooking rice.” Opening her bag, she took out the mesh bag of fruit. More than a few had suffered bruises and the scent was hot and ripe. No seven-course dinner had ever looked so good.
    “Due to our current facilities, there’s nothing to do but boil and stir. Rice, water, fire—” He glanced over his shoulder. “You should be able to handle it.”
    “Who does the dishes?” she wanted to know as she poured water into another pan.
    “Cooking’s a joint effort, so’s cleaning.” He shot her a fast, appealing grin. “After all, we’re partners.”
    “Are we?” Smiling sweetly, Whitney set the pot to heat and drew in the scent of coffee. The cave, full of dung and damp, was immediately civilized. “Well, partner, how about letting me see the papers?”
    Doug handed her a metal mug filled with coffee. “How about letting me hold half the money?”
    Over the rim, her eyes laughed at him. “Coffee’s good, Douglas. Another of your many talents.”
    “Yeah, I was blessed.” Drinking half his cup down, he let it run hot and strong through him. “I’ll leave you in the kitchen while I see to our sleeping arrangements.”
    Whitney hauled out the sack of rice. “Those sleeping bags better feel like feather beds after what I paid for them.”
    “You’ve got a dollar fixation, sugar.”
    “I’ve got the dollars.”
    He mumbled under his breath as he cleared spaces for their bags. While Whitney couldn’t catch the words, she caught the drift. Grinning, she began to scoop out rice. One handful, two. If rice was to be their main dish, she mused, they might as well eat hearty. She dug into the bag again.
    It took her a moment to figure out the mechanics of the spoon that folded into itself. By the time she had it opened, the water was beginning to boil rapidly. Rather pleased with herself, Whitney began to stir.
    “Use a fork,” Doug told her while he unrolled the sleeping bags. “A spoon mashes the grains.”
    “Picky, picky,” she mumbled, but went through the same process on the fork as she had on the spoon. “How do you know so much about cooking anyway?”
    “I know a lot about eating,” he said easily. “I don’t often find myself in the position where I can go out and enjoy the kind of food I’m entitled to.” He unrolled the second bag next to the first. After a moment’s consideration, he moved them about a foot apart. He was better off with a little distance. “So I learned to cook. It’s satisfying.”
    “As long as someone else is doing it.”
    He only shrugged. “I like it. Brains and a few spices and you can eat like a king—even in a ratty motel room with bad plumbing. And when things get tough, I’ll work in a restaurant for a while.”
    “A job? I’m disillusioned.”
    He let the light sarcasm pass over him. “The only one I’ve ever been able to tolerate. Besides, you eat good, and it gives you a chance to check out the clientele.”
    “For a possible mark.”
    “No opportunity should ever go undeveloped.” Spreading the lower half of his body on one of the bags, he leaned against the cave wall and drew out a cigarette.
    “Is that a Boy Scout motto?”
    “If it isn’t, it