AN: I couldn't figure a way to work in her name, but another familiar face makes an appearance!

Chapter 12

Scarlett passed several children playing together, and men shining up their automobiles. Ahead, she saw several women standing in a line.

"Are the showers in there?" she asked one formidable-looking woman.

"Well, they aren't out here," the old lady replied, tartly.

Scarlett bit back a hot retort, thinking of Ellen instead, and opting for civility where she could muster it, even when certain people were clearly undeserving of it. "Thank you," she simpered, curtsying, and walked up to the door.

Yanking it open, she was startled by a scream. "Can't a body have a little privacy around here?" a shrill voice whined.

Scarlett barely registered a flash of blonde hair, the bare shoulders of a woman in a state of dishabille, as she slammed the door shut in mortification. Her cheeks were hot as she turned around. The women in line—so that was what the line was for, she belatedly realized—were all laughing, but she lifted her chin and walked as proudly as she could to the back of the line.

"If you want a shower out here, you'll stand in line, my dear," the formidable woman spoke again, imperiously.

A young girl stood in line, somewhat ahead of the dragon. She turned around and stuck her tongue out at Scarlett, her blond braids swinging from her neck with her movement.

Scarlett stuck her tongue out right back at the little imp, before biting back a smile. How marvelously freeing it was, sometimes, to be where no one knew your name or cared about what you did! To be a farmer's daughter, where people didn't watch your every move and report them back to a kind, but disapproving parent. Being Gerald O'Hara's daughter and a textiles heiress certainly had its… well, upsides, but oh, it was nice to be an unknown person sometimes! She laughed to herself, remembering how wonderful it had been to discover the fun of escaping her father's bodyguards. She'd made a game of it ever since, although she'd never gone undetected for this long.

These thoughts, her thrills of victory, continued to occupy her mind and make her smile, until she stepped out of the shower, clean and refreshed.

Her stomach growled as she walked back to the cabin, and she quickened her pace toward the breakfast Rhett had been preparing.

Then her day took a decidedly less pleasant turn. If the weather reflected her mood, a giant cloud would have been conjured up to block out the sun. But this was no magical realm—farcical and slapstick, maybe, but not magical—where the heroine's mood influenced her surroundings. Instead, the sun continued to shine, but Scarlett felt like she had been doused with cold water—nothing at all like the invigorating shower she had just enjoyed, but unexpected and unwelcome.

"Hi, sister," Shapeley called out behind her. "Ya remember me? Shapeley?" As if she could forget. She did not slow down, but he had no trouble catching up to her, anyway. "Say, I'm sorry about last night. Didn't know you was married to that guy. Ya shoulda told me right off." Then he laughed to himself. "There I was, gettin' myself all primed for a killin', and you turn out to be an old married woman!"

Of all the appalling things this little man had said to her, this had to be the worst. He wasn't even embarrassed at having made advances to her! More like, he just wanted to get back in her good graces, so that if she— what, suddenly found herself divorced? As if she'd then run to him?! He seemed to take her for a common hussy.

At least they were near the cabin, and so, taking a risk, she called out brightly, "Oh, Rhett!" And then, to drive her point home, she tacked on, "Darling!"

Her heart pounded in her chest—great balls of fire, suppose he'd gone out?—but to her relief, their door cracked open. Rhett's head poked out and quickly observed the scene before him. Something frightening flashed across his face as he took in Shapeley, who was now looking at her legs, but Scarlett was sure it wasn't directed at her. Besides, she'd already decided she'd rather take her chances with Rhett than the horrid little Shapeley. The devil you know, and all that.

Rhett smiled as he saw her, and her heart pounded again, still in relief. She ran up the steps to greet her husband with a peck on the cheek. Only Rhett, who had leaned out when she called, stood up as she reached him. Her lips, expecting to brush his cheek instead bumped against his neck, and she blushed at such an intimate contact. His left arm came around her and squeezed her hip. Looking up in surprise, she was taken aback by the hard look on Rhett's face as he glowered at Shapeley. She ducked her head in embarrassment. That accidental kiss, how very nice his arm felt around her, oh this was all too much, and Ellen would think her so unladylike! But as she turned to see the devastating effect Rhett's expression had on Shapeley—he gulped and walked quickly away and Scarlett rather thought his legs seemed rather unsteady—she also thought that it might all have been worth it.

His arm remained around her waist, and her left hand had crept to fiddle with his tie. Oh, but Shapeley was gone, now, there was really no need to continue this charade… As she raised her head to look up at him, she found she was already the subject of his attention. He was staring at her with a sort of… friendly intensity, if that was such a thing. She felt like she should be nervous, but she resisted the urge to fidget. Oh, he'd love to see her flustered! Instead, she maintained his gaze, fighting to keep her body absolutely still.

As she looked back at him, his eyes changed. Like a curtain being pulled over a deep, faint light, the intensity dimmed so quickly, she thought she must have imagined it. He cleared his throat, and stepped back from her, opening the door and ushering her back inside.

"It's high time you got back," he remarked, returning to the stove.

Scarlett ducked behind the blanket, and quickly changed out of the pajamas and back into her dress. Seeing no reason to tell him of her slight fall from grace at the shower, she replied airily, "Oh, I met some very interesting ladies at the showers. We got to talking about this and that. You know how time flies!" She smoothed down her skirt, and reemerged from Jericho.

"I'm sure that you must make friends with everyone you meet," Rhett said. She couldn't quite decipher his tone. He sounded sincere, and they had actually been getting along so well—real teamwork, especially where Shapeley was concerned! But then you never could be too on your guard with this one—she'd learned that, too.

Deciding that a noncommittal reply sufficed whether or not he was being earnest about her making friends, she shrugged and seated herself at the table, where Rhett had placed two settings. If he was making fun of her, he could stuff it.

"My, my! Scrambled eggs!" she exclaimed, as he scraped some fluffy yellow bits onto her plate.

Rhett stopped, mid-plate, and pierced her with an unexpectedly stern gaze. "Egg," he corrected her. "One egg." He held the spatula up as he stressed one with a pointed finger. "One doughnut," he added, nodding to another plate on the table. Scarlett hadn't noticed it. "And coffee. Black. That's your ration 'til lunch." He turned around to set the pan back on the stove. "Any complaints?"

He seemed to be expecting her disdain. Scarlett wasn't used to such a meager breakfast, but he was still providing for her, even if he was being so strangely gruff about it. She didn't feel disdainful at all, only a little sad, maybe, that their shared triumph over Shapeley had dissolved into… this. "Oh no. No complaints." she responded sweetly.

Begrudgingly, Rhett admitted he'd have gotten cream, but he couldn't quite justify buying a whole pint.

Still aiming to reestablish their camaraderie, Scarlett rushed to soothe his attempted apology. Unfortunately, she miscalculated, and her overeager thanks undid all the hard work of her honestly felt sincerity. "Why, you don't have to apologize over cream, Mr. Butler! You'll never know how much I appreciate all this!" she gushed. (Poor Scarlett. She really wasn't trying to be ingratiating!)

Rhett's face hardened again. "What makes you so disgustingly cheerful this morning?" he asked, as he lifted the mug to his mouth to sip coffee. It burned his tongue. (Serves him right.)

Scarlett would not be baited. She shrugged again, and looked around her, as if the answer was in that room. "It must be the spring," she sighed.

Rhett huffed. "I thought maybe old 'Believe-You-Me' told you a couple of snappy stories."

"No," Scarlett laughed, "he apologized for last night." Sort of, she added to herself. "He said he didn't know we were married."

Rhett huffed again, but passed her a doughnut, which she happily took, murmuring her thanks. "That just shows you how wrong a guy can be."

Flushing slightly, Scarlett set the doughnut down on her plate, and hunched forward slightly to look into Rhett's face. "You think this whole business is silly, don't you? I mean, running away and everything."

"No, no," he reassured her, digging his fork into his egg. "It's too good a story."

Scarlett was not fooled. And while she didn't exactly want to confirm her suspicions of what he thought about her, part of her simply wanted him to admit it. If she knew what imaginary personality she was up against, she'd be all the more effective at dismantling it, and showing him what a nice person she was! And so she pressed on.