Janco leaned on the threshold of my door with his face creased in annoyance. “Did she just—”

“Yes.”
“But I don’t—”
“Yes. You do. We both stink.”
“Well, I’m not—”
“Yes. You are.”
He huffed. “You won’t let—”
“No. No complaining. Let’s go.” I grabbed a clean shirt and pants from my saddlebags.
“Well, she could have handled it better,” he grumped.
“No. She couldn’t.”

He settled into a sulky silence as we visited the bathhouse.

Author: Maria V. Snyder