She let the vacillating streams wash the mud and smelly junk from her body. Staring at the tile beneath her feet she watched as the water went from mucky brown to clear. Then she went to work on her hair. She washed it twice with the sweet smelling shampoo before coating it in conditioner and letting it rest while she tackled her legs.
Following the instructions, she mixed the herbal powder into a paste and rubbed it over her legs, keeping them out of the stream of water. She was supposed to wait ten minutes but maybe it’d work faster. Ten minutes more under the shower seemed risky.
While she waited, she thought about her situation. Eagan The Cook. He was handsome as the sun was hot. He probably knew it too. She’d known many guys like him in her former life. Had relationships with some. It wasn’t anything she missed. Relationships. Not with her family. Not with her friends. And certainly not with any muscle bound hormone-ridden hot heads.
He was the only one who knew what she looked like. For whatever reason, he’d kept her break-in to himself. If she could avoid him, surely she could get her book back. It would be quick-like. She’d be back at her camp before she knew it.
She only had to spend this one night indoors. And talk to whoever manned the front desk tomorrow.
Clara moved and realized the paste on her legs had transformed into a semi-hard shell. Whoa. Now what? The directions said remove the mask carefully but quickly, in swift downward motions. Aw, crap. This was going to hurt like hell.
Shoring up her courage, she grasped a spot just above her knee and jerked down hard.
She let out a gasp as searing pain shot from her leg to a spot between her eyes, tapping there like a hammer against a nail.
Satan’s hot hairy mama. What had she gotten herself into?
Sticking her leg directly in the stream of hot water, she attempted to wash away the paste, but it was no dice. The stuff was like cement mixed with cockroach shells—because those things are indestructible.
Clara looked around. She didn’t have any more time to waste. She needed to clean up here and find a place to stow away until morning.
Her poor, poor legs. She was going to have to do this the hard way.
Gripping another piece of the shell, she counted to three in her head. But her hands didn’t move.
One, two, three. Pull.
A bigger strip came off this time, and Clara’s throat constricted around a cry. Before she could think about it anymore, she yanked another piece, and then another, tears mixing with the warm water of the shower. When one leg was free of hair, she went after the other one, scraping at the mask with her nails until there was nothing of it left.
Panting and raw, she leaned against the tiled wall and watched as it collected around the drain.
Holy shit. Holy freaking shit.
She took a deep breath, forcing herself into action.
Rinse hair. Now.
She contorted so the water couldn’t hit her tender legs, and scrubbed vigorously at her mop. Then she turned the water off and burst from the stall. Snatching a towel from the shelf nearby, she wrapped it around her head and went back for another. She leaned against the counter to catch her breath and shot a glare at the open shower door.
The shower from hell. She never wanted to shower again. Give her a natural hot spring bath any day.
Clara squeezed her eyes closed, breathing deep to calm her nerves.
Just a little longer. Just a little more work to do. Then she’d have her book, and she’d go home. To her skink. To her mattress made of a sleeping bag and newspapers.
Just a little longer.
Chapter Five
The lunch rush was over and the kitchen was prepping for dinner, their biggest meal of the day. But all Eagan could think about was a dirty little female and her notebook he had stuffed in his back pocket.
He’d skimmed the contents fifty times since finding it in the lobby but it still didn’t make any sense. Destiny definitely needed to explain herself. But she hadn’t returned his calls.
Eagan stirred the giant pot of beef stew before sliding a pan of cheddar biscuits into the oven.
“We need the cobblers in now,” he called over his shoulder.
“Almost done with the peach,” Bailey replied, short of breath. The cougar was usually quick on her toes, but she was lagging today.
“Blueberry?”
“Done. Counter behind you.”
Eagan twisted, grabbing the tray and sliding it into the lower oven.
Layna pushed through the kitchen doors as he was closing the oven. She held the phone up. “Destiny is calling… again.” She frowned. “Never thought I’d get to say that twice.”
“Finally,” Eagan huffed, reaching for the receiver. But Layna held it out of his reach.
“There’s something you should know first—”