Page 35 of The Spirit of the Wolf

Marietta sighed. Well, right or wrong, intuition told her she could trust this man. He would have to be her teacher. This decided, she promised herself she would enjoy every minute of the instruction.

Smiling, she glanced down at herself. Oh dear, she really did need a bath. Lucky for her, they were camped near a stream.

Scooting again toward their shelter’s entrance, she opened the flap slightly and asked, “Mr. Coyote?”

“Who is this Mr. Coyote?” he mimicked, but he smiled at her all the same. “Am I not your husband?”

She grimaced. “Perhaps. Now, Mr. Coyote, I need a bath.”

“You say perhaps that I am your husband?” Again, he smiled at her, but apparently he didn’t intend to pursue the subject. Instead, he nodded toward the stream. “A bath would be very good, I think. And we have much water. Come…” he gestured toward her, “…if you are quick about it, I will scrub your back.”

“Would you really?” she called, as she crept toward the far end of their shelter. Once there she removed her dress, hose and shoes, which left her clothed in only her chemise and drawers. In these, she decided, she would swim, washing them and herself at the same time.

She crawled out of their shelter and then, looking over her shoulder, she cast Grey Coyote a provocative glance. “I’ll race you.”

It was a silly challenge where neither one cared who won or lost. But once she had voiced the dare, there was no taking it back, and she tore over the dry grasses and sharp stones covering her path.

She would be darned if she backed down, and she gave the race her all. Of course, Grey Coyote beat her. She hadn’t expected to truly win the race.

He caught her at the edge of the stream, and laughing, she fell into his arms. He accepted her gladly, it seemed, for he hugged her to him, bending down to press kisses to her cheeks, her neck, the top of her head, and finally to her lips.

“Good morning,” he said.

“And a very good morning to you too.” She laughed up at him.

Taking her by the hand, he led her to the stream’s bank, the cool sand refreshing upon the soles of her feet.

“Hmmm, the sand feels good.”

He nodded. “The water, also. Come.” He attempted to pull her into the stream along with him.

He had no more than waded into the water, when she sank back. “Oh no,” she voiced to him, letting go of his hand. “The water is cold.” She shivered for emphasis.

“I thought you desired a bath.”

“I do.”

“Then you should dive in and let your body adjust itself all at once.”

“Oh no, not me.”

“Then it is your intention to bathe on the side of the stream?” A smile pulled at the side of his mouth.

“No. I would simply like to take my time and adjust to the water’s coolness…gradually. That is all.”

“A-a.” He smirked. “Then I had best go back to my chores, since I think you may stand here until perhaps the sun goes down.”

She grinned at him. “Now, behave. I will not be so very long. Besides, you’re one to talk. I don’t see you diving into the water. Why, even I could stand in cool water up to my ankles. Have you bathed today?”

“Hau, hau. I have. And I bathe in the cold water every morning, even in the dead of winter.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Ecenci, and yet it is so. All Assiniboine men bathe thusly, and first thing in the morning.”

She smiled saucily at him. “Prove it.”

He chuckled but hardly hesitated as he stepped out of the flow of the stream, shrugged off his moccasins and untied his breechcloth, throwing it to the side. Grinning at her, he ran straight at the water, executing a perfect dive, sending little droplets spraying everywhere.