by Jo Goodman
“You think I should ask Jane? I mean Mrs. Longstreet?”
“You think I should stake you out here for the wolves to find?”
“No.”
“Right. There’s your answer.”
Jem shook his head. “C’mon, Morgan. You must have a notion or two about marriage since you went and did it. I don’t pretend to know you like I know my own brothers—none of us do—but I’m not wrong about you bein’ real thoughtful about the way you do things. Real particular, too. You put me a little in mind of the marshal that way.”
“I’m not flattered,” Morgan said dryly.
“All right. Maybe you don’t like him much, so forget I said that. Just tell me about bein’ married. What made you sure that it was so right that you could convince a lady like Miss Middlebourne to take you up on it?”
“A lady like Miss Middlebourne wouldn’t have me any other way.”
“Is that it?” asked Jem.
“Part of it.”
Jem’s mobile mouth worked side to side as he chewed on that. “What’s the rest?” he asked finally.
Morgan shrugged. “Maybe the person you should be asking is Cobb Bridger. He’s been married a spell, and he’s real free with advice.”
Jem looked to his left, his right, off in the distance, and then back at Morgan. “D’you see him around? You’re the only married man in spittin’ distance.”
“Well, then, ask him next time you can spit on him. Hell, Jem, I wasn’t married when I saw you yesterday afternoon. I’m not exactly flush with experience.”
Jem packed up his canteen. “You played your cards close there, letting me think she was hiring on. Seems like you could have said something about why she was really at Morning Star.”
“Seems like some things are still my business.”
“Sure, I get that. It’s just strange, is all. You knowin’ her about a minute compared to all the time I’ve known Renee. And here you are married, and I’m still wonderin’ what it’s like.”
“Have you thought about where you’ll live, Jem?”
“I’m savin’ money. She won’t live outside of town.”
“What about your brothers? You three are about as tight as a square knot and you come as a set. God knows, it took me better than a day to know who was who, and a week to tell you apart at a distance. If Renee is sensing your doubts, could be it has something to do with your brothers. You probably want to make some decisions about family.”
Jem nodded slowly. “Maybe you’re right. Guess that wasn’t a consideration for you.”
“No,” Morgan said quietly. “It wasn’t a consideration.”
• • •
Jane was the last one to sit down for dinner. When Morgan started to get up to hold a chair for her, she almost waved him back before she caught herself. Here, she thought, it felt right to observe convention. She had already changed the routine by deciding this meal would be served in the dining room. Crowding around the smaller kitchen table was fine for breakfast, especially if they continued to eat in shifts, but for the most substantial meal of the day, Jane wanted to enjoy it separate from where she had prepared it. She explained that to Morgan when he asked her about it, owning that it was a selfish indulgence on her part. Oddly enough, it was this last part that seemed to make him reconsider the objection she saw hovering on his lips. Instead, what he said was, “As long as it suits you.”
How could it not? she wondered. This was an appreciative audience. They were sufficiently well mannered so as not to fall on the food, but the speed with which the platters and bowls made the first pass around the table was nothing short of remarkable. They layered their plates with slices of baked ham, boiled potatoes with butter and parsley, creamed peas, and apple fritters.
Jem had his fork poised to stab a fritter when he suddenly came to attention and jabbed the tines in his brother Jake’s direction instead. “Did you do that?”
Jake frowned at him across the table. “Do what?”
“You know.”
“I asked, didn’t I? That means I don’t know. And stop pointing your fork at me.”
Jem looked sideways at his other brother Jessop. “You?”
Jessop held up his hands, palms out. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Then who kicked me?”
Across the table, on Jake’s right, Max Salter said, “I did.” If he was concerned that he took up half the shoulder space of any of the Davis brothers, it did not show. “Didn’t expect you to fuss about it. Polite thing to do before you poke at your food is to say a prayer over it, or at least wait until the boss’s wife finishes hers.”
Jem sat back. “Oh.” His gaze swiveled to Jane. “Sorry, ma’am.” He put down his fork, folded his hands, and bent his head.
Until Max spoke up, Jane was unaware that she had called attention to herself. She looked to the other end of the table where Morgan sat. He still had his hand around his fork and was closer to spearing a fritter than Jem had been. She waited to see what he would do. There was all his talk about not being a godly man.
Morgan grunted softly, darted a narrow look at Max, and set his fork down slowly and deliberately. He did not follow Jem’s example and bow his head. He stared straight ahead at Jane as she bowed hers.
Jane did not hurry through her thanksgiving, but in deference to her company’s hunger, she kept it short. When she closed with “Amen,” it was as if a pistol had been discharged on opening day at the races. From Jane’s vantage point, it was difficult to tell who dug in first. It might have been Max who led the charge.
“Good fritters,” said Jem. “Damn if they aren’t the best I ever had. Ow!” This time he jabbed his fork in Max’s direction first. “What’d you kick me for now?”
“Didn’t.”
Jake held up a finger. “Me. Mind your language.”
Jem frowned as he reviewed what he’d said. “Oh. Sorry, Mrs. Longstreet. Just sorta slipped out.”
Jane smiled. “I heard the compliment, not the curse, but for the sake of your shins it might behoove you to temper your enthusiasm.”
“Consider me behooved.” Grinning, he returned his attention to his plate.
When Jane glanced at Morgan to gauge his reaction, he was simply shaking his head, but what remained of his faint smile struck her as indulgent. It came to her then that he genuinely liked the men working the ranch with him, enjoyed their company, and probably only intervened when they failed to police themselves. She had seen evidence of the men’s respect for Morgan, and here was evidence that it was returned.
Jessop smashed his potatoes with the back of his fork and pushed creamed peas onto the pile. “How’d you find things up at Blue? Herefords okay?”
Morgan said, “Mostly.”
“Wolves,” said Max. “A pack of seven or eight from what I could tell.”
Jem said, “Max set off to round up some strays and ended up following the pack’s trail.”
“I brought back five strays. Wolves cut out a calf.”
“Seems early,” Jake said. “Winter’s not set in.”
Max lifted the platter of ham and slid a second thick slice onto his plate. “The herd’s easy pickings in the basin.”
Jessop asked, “You find the den?”
Max shook his head. “Tomorrow. I’m going out again tomorrow.”
Morgan said to Jessop, “You’re going with him.”
“Sure thing.”
Jane set her fork down and smoothed the napkin in her lap. “Is it safe?” She blinked as the men and Morgan turned on her as one. She did not know how to interpret their regard, although she certainly felt foolish.
Morgan said, “Safe enough. They know what they’re doing.”
Jessop carefully balanced a forkful of ham, potatoes, and peas all the way to his mouth. Before he swallowed the bite, he said, “What it is, ma’am, is necessary.”
“Will the wolves attack you?”
“Not likely. And Max here is a sharpshooter. We’ll set up a b
lind and pick them off if we can. Might have to sacrifice a steer. It’s something we’ve done before, so you shouldn’t worry about us.” He paused. “Though I have to say, there’s something real nice about you bein’ concerned.”
Morgan’s expression was wry as he looked at Jane. “Perhaps the answer is just to pretend to worry.”
Jane sighed. “It appears to be the only sensible solution.”
Jem scratched his head. “So from now on when you say you’re worried, it’ll be for show.”
“See?” Morgan said. “The seed’s been planted.”
She nodded and looked at Jem. “If I’m very good, you’ll never know.”
“Huh.” Jem went back to his meal, ignoring the smiles all around.
Morgan caught Jake’s attention. “I noticed the henhouse coming in. Looks like you finished the roof.”
“Sure did. Got most of the things done on the list. Jess and me also brought down that clothes cupboard from the loft like your wife wanted.”
Morgan looked at Jane. “You asked them to do that?”
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I did. Was that wrong?”
“I told you I would do it.”
“You said you would get one of them to help you do it. It’s almost the same thing.”
“Except it isn’t.”
Jane opened her mouth and closed it again when she observed Max and the Davis brothers fiercely concentrating on their plates. Her point could wait. She could only hope that Morgan appreciated her discretion.
Morgan said, “Seems as if you found everything you needed. I guess we didn’t know half of what we had in the pantry.”
Jane accepted the change of subject. “It’s an impressive inventory but in need of organizing. I intend to do that tomorrow.”
“If you make a list of what you think is missing, Jem will pick it up in town tomorrow afternoon.”
Jem’s head snapped up. “I’m going to town?”
“It’s your turn, isn’t it?”
“It was my turn two turns ago.”
“Well, that makes it your turn now.” He arched an eyebrow at Jem. “Do you really want to argue?”
In the event that Jem did not know how to answer the question, both of his brothers kicked him under the table. “No,” he said, jerking his chair back until his shins were out of danger. “You’ll get no argument from me.”
Morgan eyed Jem’s distance from the table and crooked a finger to encourage him to return. “You heard me say tomorrow, didn’t you?”
Jem grunted, glanced under the table, and glared at his brothers. “I heard.” He carefully scooted his chair back into position and took up his fork.
Jane pressed her lips together and kept her eyes on her plate until the urge to laugh passed. Mercifully, at least in her opinion, the remainder of the meal passed without further assault on Jem.
• • •
Jane learned that if she positioned herself a little to the right of the sink, she could see most of the corral from the kitchen window. That was where her attention was fixed while she dried the dishes. At Morgan’s direction, Max had helped her clear the table after dinner and stayed to wash. Jessop and Jake were sent off to the barn to finish chores. It was Morgan and Jem who were working with one of the mares in the corral.
Jane only knew the horse was a mare because Max told her it was. Occasionally he would look up from his washing duties and explain what was going on. Jane learned that the recalcitrant mustang was a recent acquisition, not purchased, but captured. It was Jessop who first spied the wild herd that had moved onto Morning Star land, but it was Morgan who was successful in cutting the mare out. The rest of the wild horses were driven off so they would not compete with the livestock for grazing land, but according to Max, they had not strayed far, and he and Jessop still had a notion of getting a mustang for themselves.
Jane watched Morgan simply stand beside the horse for the longest time. He appeared to be talking to her. Sometimes he would stroke her neck. If she shied sideways, he would wait until she calmed and approach her again. He held a halter in his left hand. He showed it to the horse, let her smell it, rub her nose against it, and when he held it up in front of her in both hands, he let her toss her head and nudge at it so in effect she helped him get it over her head. Morgan quickly attached a lead line. There was some push and pull after that, but Morgan gave up some of the length to let her have distance and then gradually guided her back.
“He’s gotten this far before,” said Max when Morgan started leading the mustang around the corral. “It’s the bridle that makes her bolt. She wants no part of the bit. That’s why Jem’s holding it out. See how the boss is nosin’ her closer to where Jem’s sittin’ on the rail every time he makes a pass? He’s trying to accustom her to the sight of it, although how she knows it’s different than what she’s wearin’, I ain’t figured out yet.”
Jane had been wondering the same thing. “What’s her name?”
“Doesn’t have one. Boss said he wanted to think about it. He’s like that. A thinker, I mean, but I expect you know that about him.”
Jane merely smiled. She picked up a wet plate, wiped it down with a towel, and set it behind her on the table. She did this without ever looking away from the window. She felt a twinge of sympathy for the mustang. Harnessing that beautiful animal struck her as vaguely cruel, although she certainly understood the necessity of it. The mare’s coloring and glossy coat made her think of cinnamon sugar glaze.
“She looks to be a very fine animal,” said Jane. “Is she?”
“Well, she’s no dink, I can tell you that. The boss wouldn’t cut a dink out of the herd.”
“Dink?”
Max shrugged his thin, ropy shoulders. “Nothing special, I suppose you’d say. Ordinary. Mustangs are just mixed-breed horses. You can’t be sure what you’ve got. There’s some spirit in that one, maybe a little thoroughbred in her lines. She’s strong and quick. Pretty, too. Definitely not a dink.”
“Oh,” Jane said softly. She felt unaccountably sad. It was that sudden rush of feeling that made her finally look away from the window.
That was how she missed Morgan being thrown against the fence and Jem falling backward over the rail. That beautiful and spirited animal had decided she was done being led around by the nose.
Chapter Six
“I can walk, damn it,” Morgan said. His snarling declaration had the effect of forcing him to prove it. Max and Jessop simultaneously ducked out from under the arms they were supporting and stood by to see what would happen. Morgan’s next step would have put him on his knees if they hadn’t caught him.
“Sure you can, boss,” said Max.
Kneeling beside Jem on the outside of the corral, Jane found it painful to look at Morgan’s white-lipped grimace. She put a hand on Jem’s shoulder and helped Jake get him into a sitting position. Jem had had the wind knocked out of him when he fell flat on his back, but he had demonstrated to Jane’s satisfaction that nothing was broken, except perhaps his pride. When he shook himself off and got to his feet on his own steam, Jane accepted the hand he held out to help her rise.
“Not lookin’ too good there,” Jem said, following Morgan’s halting progress to the gate. This earned him a sour look that had absolutely no effect. “What do you suppose made her so skittish?”
“Maybe you juggling that bridle like a bear with a ball.”
“I wasn’t juggling. Just changin’ hands. I had a splinter in my—” Jem stopped, glanced at Jane, and in deference to her presence said, “Backside.” He pointed to the offending part. “Still do.”
Jake took a step back from his brother. “You’re on your own there. I’m not taking it out.”
Jessop and Max voiced similar sentiments as they helped Morgan move to the outside of the corral. Jake went to close the gate behind them.
Jane brushed dirt off her gown. “Is someone going to go for the doctor?” This brought every head turning in her direction at once. She was on the
receiving end of looks that were mostly amused. The expression that didn’t live in the same state as amused belonged to her husband. He looked aggrieved.
Jem said, “Splinter’s just a bitty thing. Don’t need a doctor for that.”
Jake and Jessop snorted with laughter. Max and Morgan just shook their heads. The empathy Jane felt for Jem did not keep her from smiling.
“She’s talking about fetchin’ Doc Kent for the boss,” said Max. “You sure you didn’t rattle something loose in your head?”
“Oh.” The tips of Jem’s ears reddened as he addressed Jane. “Heck sakes, ma’am. The boss probably only has a couple of cracked or busted ribs and a twisted ankle. No cause to send for the cavalry.”
This elicited some snickering from his brothers and Max, but Morgan said, “Jem’s right. I don’t need a doctor.”
“The same way you don’t need help,” said Jane. “Yes, I see that. I’ll get the door.” She turned toward the house but not so quickly that she missed Morgan’s arched eyebrow and the rather astonished looks of all of his men.
At Jane’s direction, Jessop and Max supported Morgan all the way to the bedroom. They left him wobbling on one foot beside the bed and hurried out when Jane indicated they had done enough. She shut the door behind them.
“There’s no audience,” she said. “Sit. Down.”
Morgan sat.
Relieved, Jane’s cheeks puffed a little as she exhaled. “Good.” She approached the bed and held out her hand for his hat. When he gave it to her, she turned it over in her hands, examining it. “How is it that this did not get knocked off your head? Jem did not lose his either.”
“Cowboy secret.”
It was his flat, expressionless delivery that assured Jane his humor was still as twisted as his ankle. She dropped it on a post at the foot of the bed. “Are you going to wrestle that boot off yourself or allow me to do it?”
“If it comes off, my ankle’s going to swell.”
“That is why if nothing is broken, I am going to get a pan of cold water, have you soak your foot in it, and then bind that foot tight for you. But the boot has to come off sometime. It might as well be now.” She thought Morgan was going to offer another objection, but then he took a deep breath and was obviously and painfully reminded that his foot was not his only injury. Grimacing, he set one forearm tight against his rib cage. “I will get the pan, water, and bandages,” she said. “We will see how far you get with that boot while I am gone.”
