December 4
Approximately 10 miles NE of Yekaterinburg
0234 local
"Turn here," Webb directed, pointing to the dirt and gravel road
nearly hidden by the trees.
"You're sure?" Mercedes asked uncertainly.
Webb nodded, and she steered the large sedan carefully on to the
uneven road, going slowly.
A short while later, they pulled up in front of a large log-cabin-
like structure. Mercedes pulled the car around to the side and shut
the engine off, then looked at Webb, a question on her face. He said
nothing, but motioned for her to follow.
They walked around to the front door, where Mercedes watched as
Webb pulled a small case from inside his coat. He opened it, choosing
two small files, and began to work on the lock.
"Don't you need some light?" Mercedes asked.
"Nope." Two clicks, and the door opened. "I learned to work by
feel alone." He held the door open. "After you."
Mercedes walked in carefully, trying to see in the near-complete
darkness. "Okay, you've gotta admit, *now* we could use some light."
A spot of light shone from behind her, and she turned to find Webb
holding a small flashlight. "There's a generator outside, but I think
we'd be better off not using it-- it could attract attention. This
place should be well equipped, anyway, to get by without it. Now stay
here for a minute. I'll try to go find us some more light."
Mercedes nodded, letting him go ahead. Sure enough, a moment
later, several oil lamps and candles had flared to life, providing a
warm glow throughout the simple cabin.
It was essentially a one-room building, with a central fireplace
along one wall, and the space split between a small kitchen area and a
bedroom area containing one large bed layered in blankets and quilts.
Wait...*one* bed? Terrific. Just great, Mercedes thought. She
groaned, then moved to start working on a fire in the fireplace.
"What was that for?" Webb asked.
Scheisse. He'd heard her. "Um, nothing. I was just really
looking forward to a hot shower," she replied. Not exactly the truth,
but hardly a lie. After everything she'd been through, including her
crash landing into the garbage heap, she could've killed for a shower.
"I know what you mean," Clay answered, as he continued to
investigate the house. Finding an unknown door, he called, "Hang on.
If this is what I think it is, you might get the next best thing." He
was gone before she could ask what he meant.
Reappearing a few minutes later, he smiled as he called to her.
"You're in luck. There's an old-fashioned bath house attached to this
place. Give the fire a little while, and you can take a nice warm
bath."
She jumped up, a hopeful look on her face. "You're kidding."
"Nope." Clay grinned. "Your bath awaits, Madame."
Clay could only watch in amazement as she ran over to her bag,
fishing out a pile of clothing and a small case of toiletries.
Hurrying over to him, she stopped short. "You are a wonderful man,
Clayton Webb," she announced, before soundly kissing him. Then, just
as suddenly, she disappeared down the corridor to the bathhouse.
Clay could only stand there.
****
It was a good forty minutes before Mercedes returned, feeling much
better, worlds cleaner, and incredibly self-conscious. The reason for
the latter was her nightshirt. A loose, white, poet's-shirt-type
affair, it blessedly hid the worst of her scars, particularly her
back. However, it left her nearly unscarred legs almost completely
uncovered, the hem stopping halfway to her knees. She really loathed
being tall sometimes. So it was with a great deal of trepidation that
she returned, finding Clay sitting in front of a roaring fire.
He turned around at the sound of the door closing. "Enjoy your--
-" he started, only to stop at the sight of her. There she was, her
long blonde hair loose and gleaming gold in firelight, the ultra-
feminine nightshirt showing just enough to fire the imagination, and
her legs...Oh, Lord, her legs. By this point in his life, Clay
considered himself immune to most feminine charms, but if he had a
weakness, it was that he was a leg man. And right now, he was looking
at a pair that could've given Betty Grable a run for her money.
"...bath," he finally managed to get out in a breathy voice.
Mercedes turned bright red. "Umm, it's your turn, if you'd like,"
she said quietly, looking at her feet. To make matters worse, there
were still the sleeping arrangements to discuss. "Uh, I'll just take
the floor in front of the fire tonight. You can have the bed," she
offered.
He looked at her. "What?"
"You can have the bed. I'll take the floor."
"You're kidding, right?"
"No," she said, nervously.
Webb raked a hand through his hair in frustration. "Look, we're
both adults. I think we can handle sleeping in the same bed."
She turned away, embarrassed. "Maybe you can," she whispered,
then turned back to him. "Look, it's not that I don't trust you or
anything, it's just-- well.... it's a long story," she finished lamely.
Clay regarded her for a few minutes before speaking. "We'll
discuss this when I get done, alright?" he said, then headed toward the
bathhouse.
But for Mercedes, there was nothing to discuss. Taking the top
quilt from the bed, she wrapped herself in it and settled down to sleep
in front of the fire as best she could.
****
Twenty minutes later, Clay returned from his bath, tired but
relaxed. "Look, Mercedes--" he began, only to spot her asleep on the
floor by the fire. He watched her for a moment, then moved to the bed
and pulled back the covers.
Carefully, he scooped her up in his arms, trying not to notice when
she snuggled in closer to his warmth. Gently he laid her on the bed
and pulled the covers over her, before climbing in on the other
side. Lying down beside her, he studied her face for a moment, before
giving in to sleep himself.
TBC.........
Approximately 10 miles NE of Yekaterinburg
0234 local
"Turn here," Webb directed, pointing to the dirt and gravel road
nearly hidden by the trees.
"You're sure?" Mercedes asked uncertainly.
Webb nodded, and she steered the large sedan carefully on to the
uneven road, going slowly.
A short while later, they pulled up in front of a large log-cabin-
like structure. Mercedes pulled the car around to the side and shut
the engine off, then looked at Webb, a question on her face. He said
nothing, but motioned for her to follow.
They walked around to the front door, where Mercedes watched as
Webb pulled a small case from inside his coat. He opened it, choosing
two small files, and began to work on the lock.
"Don't you need some light?" Mercedes asked.
"Nope." Two clicks, and the door opened. "I learned to work by
feel alone." He held the door open. "After you."
Mercedes walked in carefully, trying to see in the near-complete
darkness. "Okay, you've gotta admit, *now* we could use some light."
A spot of light shone from behind her, and she turned to find Webb
holding a small flashlight. "There's a generator outside, but I think
we'd be better off not using it-- it could attract attention. This
place should be well equipped, anyway, to get by without it. Now stay
here for a minute. I'll try to go find us some more light."
Mercedes nodded, letting him go ahead. Sure enough, a moment
later, several oil lamps and candles had flared to life, providing a
warm glow throughout the simple cabin.
It was essentially a one-room building, with a central fireplace
along one wall, and the space split between a small kitchen area and a
bedroom area containing one large bed layered in blankets and quilts.
Wait...*one* bed? Terrific. Just great, Mercedes thought. She
groaned, then moved to start working on a fire in the fireplace.
"What was that for?" Webb asked.
Scheisse. He'd heard her. "Um, nothing. I was just really
looking forward to a hot shower," she replied. Not exactly the truth,
but hardly a lie. After everything she'd been through, including her
crash landing into the garbage heap, she could've killed for a shower.
"I know what you mean," Clay answered, as he continued to
investigate the house. Finding an unknown door, he called, "Hang on.
If this is what I think it is, you might get the next best thing." He
was gone before she could ask what he meant.
Reappearing a few minutes later, he smiled as he called to her.
"You're in luck. There's an old-fashioned bath house attached to this
place. Give the fire a little while, and you can take a nice warm
bath."
She jumped up, a hopeful look on her face. "You're kidding."
"Nope." Clay grinned. "Your bath awaits, Madame."
Clay could only watch in amazement as she ran over to her bag,
fishing out a pile of clothing and a small case of toiletries.
Hurrying over to him, she stopped short. "You are a wonderful man,
Clayton Webb," she announced, before soundly kissing him. Then, just
as suddenly, she disappeared down the corridor to the bathhouse.
Clay could only stand there.
****
It was a good forty minutes before Mercedes returned, feeling much
better, worlds cleaner, and incredibly self-conscious. The reason for
the latter was her nightshirt. A loose, white, poet's-shirt-type
affair, it blessedly hid the worst of her scars, particularly her
back. However, it left her nearly unscarred legs almost completely
uncovered, the hem stopping halfway to her knees. She really loathed
being tall sometimes. So it was with a great deal of trepidation that
she returned, finding Clay sitting in front of a roaring fire.
He turned around at the sound of the door closing. "Enjoy your--
-" he started, only to stop at the sight of her. There she was, her
long blonde hair loose and gleaming gold in firelight, the ultra-
feminine nightshirt showing just enough to fire the imagination, and
her legs...Oh, Lord, her legs. By this point in his life, Clay
considered himself immune to most feminine charms, but if he had a
weakness, it was that he was a leg man. And right now, he was looking
at a pair that could've given Betty Grable a run for her money.
"...bath," he finally managed to get out in a breathy voice.
Mercedes turned bright red. "Umm, it's your turn, if you'd like,"
she said quietly, looking at her feet. To make matters worse, there
were still the sleeping arrangements to discuss. "Uh, I'll just take
the floor in front of the fire tonight. You can have the bed," she
offered.
He looked at her. "What?"
"You can have the bed. I'll take the floor."
"You're kidding, right?"
"No," she said, nervously.
Webb raked a hand through his hair in frustration. "Look, we're
both adults. I think we can handle sleeping in the same bed."
She turned away, embarrassed. "Maybe you can," she whispered,
then turned back to him. "Look, it's not that I don't trust you or
anything, it's just-- well.... it's a long story," she finished lamely.
Clay regarded her for a few minutes before speaking. "We'll
discuss this when I get done, alright?" he said, then headed toward the
bathhouse.
But for Mercedes, there was nothing to discuss. Taking the top
quilt from the bed, she wrapped herself in it and settled down to sleep
in front of the fire as best she could.
****
Twenty minutes later, Clay returned from his bath, tired but
relaxed. "Look, Mercedes--" he began, only to spot her asleep on the
floor by the fire. He watched her for a moment, then moved to the bed
and pulled back the covers.
Carefully, he scooped her up in his arms, trying not to notice when
she snuggled in closer to his warmth. Gently he laid her on the bed
and pulled the covers over her, before climbing in on the other
side. Lying down beside her, he studied her face for a moment, before
giving in to sleep himself.
TBC.........