Raven's Prey

heading toward the western side of the village. A wide stream flowed along the boundary of the village and there were already a number of chatting women at work doing the family laundry. Honor joined them, rolling up her jeans and stepping into the cool, clear water to do her weekly wash.
    On the ridge of ground above the stream Judd stood watching as Honor rinsed her clothes in the water along with the other women. The villagers greeted her happily, calling out her name and teasing her about the tall, dark man who stood on the bank. Judd knew Honor didn’t fully understand most of the teasing remarks or she probably would have been furious. Still, she must have caught the essence of the women’s meanings because her face was flushed and it wasn’t just from bending over to wash her underwear.
    On an impulse he turned around and walked back to Honor’s shack. In his overnight bag he located two of the shirts he had worn during the week and started back to the stream. Deliberately he walked down to the water’s edge and called softly.
    “Honor?”
    She glanced up warily, holding a soaking-wet pair of panties in one hand. For a moment Judd found himself oddly distracted by the sight of the feminine garment. Unbidden, a vision of Honor wearing only the silky underwear came into his head and he found himself swallowing awkwardly. Why did he suddenly feel so warm?
    “Honor,” he tried again, “would you mind doing these shirts? I could use some fresh clothes. Especially if we’re going out tonight.”
    She stared at him as the women around her giggled delightedly. They might not have understood his English but there was no doubt about what he was asking his woman to do.
    Then she proceeded to shock her audience by demanding in simple Spanish, “What will you give me, [_se;aunor, _]in exchange for washing your shirts?” She tilted her head saucily, her hands on her hips, as the village women gasped in dismay at the utter daring of Judd Raven’s woman. Didn’t she know when she was well-off? She had been lucky enough to get away without a beating for the grave crime of running away from her husband, and now she seemed determined to push her luck. Crazy [_Norte Americana. _]Everyone waited in breathless anticipation to see what Judd would do. Just imagine, a woman demanding payment for doing her husband’s laundry! It was incredible.
    “She will get payment, all right,” Lupe Martinez confided to her friend Maria. “She will get a taste of his belt! That one is not a man to put up with her sauciness!”
    “He has yet to beat her,” Maria pointed out practically. “Perhaps he won’t this time, either. But I think she will do his shirts in the end.”
    Judd stood quietly for a moment contemplating Honor’s unexpected sassiness. Somehow he’d just assumed she’d take the damn shirts and do them without a fuss. After all, she was already wet.
    He tried to read her expression. She didn’t look angry or even rebellious. What sparked in her green-and-gold eyes was closer to outright mischief than anything else. It confused him. Anger or rebellion he could handle. How did a man deal with a woman bent on mischief?
    “What do you want in exchange [_for _]washing the shirts?” he finally hedged, speaking in English.
    “How about an autographed picture of you kissing your plane?”
    He stared at her, hardly able to believe his ears. Wasn’t she ever going to let up on that idiotic business with the plane? Damn it to hell! How did she dare to taunt him like this in front of the village women? Even if they didn’t understand what she had said they knew perfectly well a challenge had been issued.
    “I’m beginning to think you’re jealous of the Cessna,” he drawled coolly.
    She tossed her head. “You ought to be careful about putting all your faith in that metallic female. My guess is she has a heart of ice-cold steel. Of course, that might suit a man like you to perfection.”
    “Is your heart any softer or warmer?” he asked evenly.
    That brought a flush to her cheeks but she held her ground, standing ankle-deep in the stream, her hands on her hips. “Only for the right man.’”
    “Which, I assume, isn’t me?” He arched one black brow inquiringly.
    “You assume correctly,” she told him with relish,
    “Well, then, if your heart is as cold as the Cessna’s, there’s not much difference between the two of you, is there?” Why the hell was he standing there letting her bait him like this?