by Jo Goodman
Jake asked, “Is she all right?”
“She didn’t say she isn’t,” said Morgan. He glanced over his shoulder to the doorway. “Do you think I should check on her?”
The men all looked at each other, then at him. No one answered.
“What?” he asked.
Jem shrugged. “Just surprised you asked, is all. Usually you do or you don’t. Whatever it is.”
Max stretched his legs under the table. “Guess she’s got you tied up in knots, boss. That sound about right?”
It sounded about right, but what Morgan said was, “You think she’s got me in knots because I asked you if I should go back and see if she’s all right?”
Max shrugged. So did everyone else.
Morgan picked up his coffee cup. He had it almost to his lips when he said, “I love her.”
No one said anything.
Morgan looked at them over the rim of his cup. “Well?”
Jessop glanced over his shoulder. “Hell, boss, I reckon we all knew that.”
“Yeah,” said Jem. “What made you say it?”
“It’s the knots,” said Max. “You’ve got them yourself, Jem. You should know they provoke a man to say peculiar things.”
“Well, sure, but it don’t happen much at the kitchen table, not without cards and liquor to ease the way. Jessop, how’re those eggs comin’? Boss is hungry and talkin’ out of his head.”
Morgan’s mouth twisted to one side. “You all had your fun? Jake, you have something you want to say?”
“Nope, but if you want to say it again, I guess that’d be all right. Sounds like you could use the practice.”
Morgan set his cup down. “Does it?”
This time they all nodded.
He cleared his throat and rolled his neck. “I love her.”
Jane stepped into the kitchen, a forefinger pressed against her lips. “Shh,” she whispered. “You’ll wake her.”
Morgan scowled at Jake. “You knew she was standing there.”
Affecting innocence, Jake held up his hands.
Jane squeezed behind Max’s chair to reach Morgan. She stood behind his chair and placed her hands on his shoulders. Leaning forward, she kissed the top of his head. “Don’t blame Jake. I told him not to say anything.”
Morgan reached back and laid one of his hands over hers. “You heard?”
“I did.”
Morgan circled Jane’s wrist with his fingers and drew her around his chair while he pushed back. He ignored the resistance she offered as he pulled her onto his lap.
“Morgan!”
He spoke to his men, not to Jane. “You all observed that she has expressed the proper amount of disapproval?”
They nodded. Jem said, “She’s a stickler for what’s proper. I noticed that right off.”
Morgan cocked an eyebrow at Jane. “See?”
“Morgan.”
“I love you.” He pointed to his men. “They think you have me tied in knots. They’re right. You do. It’s a hell of thing, Jane, but I don’t even mind. I thought you should know. I figure they already do.”
His very public declaration left her quite without words.
“I love you,” he said again, and this time he punctuated the declarative with a proper kiss. “Don’t fuss. I should have done that the first time we had witnesses.”
Jane angled her head against Morgan’s, her smile nearly beatific. She regarded her witnesses. “He neglected to kiss me at our wedding.”
“Now, that’s a damn shame,” said Jem. “Sorry. But it is. I’ve been givin’ that kiss some thought. I’m going to bend Renee back over my arm and—”
Jessop slapped his spatula against the griddle. “More like bend her over your knee if you want to get that gal up the aisle.”
Jake nodded. “He’s right, Jem.”
Jane said, “Don’t you dare listen to them. Besides, you will want to save something for the reception. The whole town will turn out for that. They did for ours and we hardly knew a soul. I am still running into folks who were there that I have to meet all over again.” She started to rise. “Jessop, let me have a turn at those—” She did not finish because Morgan pulled her right back onto his lap. Surprised, she stared at him. “I was only—”
He put up a hand. “Something . . .” He frowned, his thoughts turning inward as he searched for a recollection. “Yesterday—I think it was when we were leaving town—you said something about running into one of my friends. Am I remembering that right?”
“I suppose I may have said something like that. It’s true. It was the reason for my delay in returning to the Pennyroyal.”
A narrow crease defined the space between Morgan’s eyebrows as he continued to frown. “Someone you met at the reception?”
“Your thoughts do take the odd leap now and again. Is this because of what I said about the town turning out?”
“Probably. I don’t know. It’s been niggling, I suppose.”
Jessop put a platter heaped with fried eggs and bacon on the table. “Eat up.”
Jem reached out to pull the platter closer. Shaking his head, Max threatened Jem’s hand with a fork. Looking glum, Jem sat back.
“Who’s the friend?” asked Jessop, taking a seat. “The boss here maintains he doesn’t have any friends, or hasn’t he told you that?”
“That is what I hear,” said Jane, looking at Morgan. “I do not recall the man’s name. I am thinking now that he never told me, but he did mention that you and he went back a ways. I think that is how he described it. He knew who I was, so I supposed he must have been at the reception. I said that to him, I believe, although I am not sure he truly confirmed it.” She shook her head and offered a helpless shrug. “Really, our conversation was brief, the encounter was rather odd, and I was frankly in a bit of a hurry to find you.”
Morgan was thoughtful. “He said we went back a ways? I’d say that’s odd since only Mrs. Sterling and I go back a ways, but why did you think so?”
“I am not certain I can explain it. I dropped my parcel, he picked it up, I thanked him, and he did not immediately return it. I think I said I would like to have it back at least twice, perhaps three times before he gave it to me. I found that odd.”
“Not very mannerly,” Jem said as he slowly walked his fingers toward the bacon and egg platter. “Ow!” He yanked his hand back and glared at Max, who was examining his fork tines for blood. “What’d you do that for?”
“Leave the food for now,” said Max. “Can’t you see how this is somethin’ worth attendin’ to?”
Jem nursed his hand and regarded them all with a wounded expression. “I’m attendin’. I do it better with food than without it. Anyway, I guess I got it figured out that this fella doesn’t really know the boss, probably wasn’t at the reception, and has no proper manners. Makes me think that him comin’ upon Mrs. Longstreet like that wasn’t an accident. Like maybe he was followin’ her, lookin’ to make her acquaintance.” He sharpened his gaze when he came around to Morgan. “That sound about right?”
“It does.”
Jane looked from Morgan to Jem and back again. “Not a chance meeting? You are drawing a conclusion with very little to support it. He said he saw us earlier, coming out of the bank, which is neither here nor there, but it does speak to the dull nature of our conversation. He does know you, Morgan. He told me that he called out to you as you were going into the Pennyroyal.”
“I didn’t hear anyone.”
“That’s what he said. You didn’t hear him. He did know that you were at the hotel, though, because when I started to go toward the hardware store, he redirected me.”
Jake said, “Maybe if you were to describe him, ma’am, it’d help one of us place him.”
“I think I may have given you a poor impression of him. True, he did not return my parcel immediately, but that was because he offered to carry it for me. I told him I was meeting you, Morgan.”
“I’d still like to know who he is,” sa
id Morgan. “Humor me. Please.” He used those words quite deliberately, and they provoked the pale pink flush coloring Jane’s cheeks. Out of sight of his men, she pinched him. He grinned and bore it.
“Very well,” she said, looking around the table. “He is older than Morgan, but not yet forty. At least I do not think so. In height and build, he is similar to Max.”
“A runt, then,” said Jem.
“Deceptively strong,” said Max, tapping his muscled bicep.
Jane ignored them both. “His coloring could make him another Davis brother. I’m remembering thick brown hair when he tipped his hat. I think his eyes, though, were brown, not blue, and he had a mustache, very dark, heavy, but neatly trimmed. His face was narrow. I would say he had sharp features.”
“A weasel,” said Jem.
“No. That is an unkind comparison, and one might infer from it that there is some shifty aspect to his character. He should be judged on his behavior, not on the cast of his features. He is not as pretty as you, Jem, but he is not unhandsome.”
Heat blossomed in Jem’s cheeks. He ducked his head, but no one at the table thought he wasn’t pleased by the compliment.
Jane said, “He was dressed like any of you going into town on ranch business. That is to say he was not dressed like Mr. Webb at the Cattlemen’s Trust or Buster Johnson at the mercantile.” She turned over her hands and shrugged. “I don’t think there is anything else I can tell you.”
Jessop said, “I guess that describes just about anyone we know. I had a picture of Charlie Patterson in my mind.”
Jake nodded. “I was thinking that it sounded a lot like Ansell Roach over at the Bar G.”
Max fiddled with his fork. “Wes Duffy. He’s in and out of town regular on errands for the Stapletons.”
Jem shook his head. “I got nobody. You, boss?”
“Nothing.”
Jane removed herself from her husband’s lap and this time he let her go. “Perhaps I will see him the next time I am in Bitter Springs. You can be certain that I will point him out or get his name if you are not there.”
“Oh, I’ll be there,” said Morgan. “You’re bread. I’m butter.”
“Uh-huh.” She reached for the platter of bacon and eggs. “Pass your plates, men. Let’s have breakfast.”
• • •
Gideon Welling folded his cards and tossed them toward the middle of the table. “I’m out.” He looked toward the saloon’s front window and set his jaw as the snow continued to fly. “Goddamn weather.”
Marcie absently scratched his scar with a knuckle. His attention was for his hand and the bid, not the snow. “Guess this means we wait.”
Gideon mocked him, repeating the words but not the tone. “Guess this means we wait.” His chair scraped the floor as he pushed it back. It made enough noise to attract the attention of the men drinking at the next table. “I guess it damn well does.” Gideon shot a feral glance at the onlookers. “Nothing interesting this way, fellas. I suggest you give us no never mind.”
Dixon Evers chuckled under his breath as the other men turned away. “Two cards.” He tossed off two and collected a pair from Avery. “Shame about the snow kickin’ up again, but I don’t mind sayin’ that I’m glad we didn’t move too fast. Better to still be in Rawlins than back on the range, sittin’ around a fire with a saddle for a pillow.”
“I don’t reckon you’re wrong, Dix,” said Gideon. “And it pains me enormously to admit it.”
Grinning crookedly, Dixon threw in a couple of chips. “Did you consider takin’ her right off the street when you had the chance?”
Gideon shook his head. “The fact of it is, I didn’t really have a chance. I had her alone, like I said, but she didn’t give in easy, wouldn’t let me walk with her a spell. I had no opportunity to get her out of sight of the street. I took her for a woman who’d make a fuss before I got her quiet. Besides, we talked about it. It wasn’t the plan. Maybe nothing will come of it, but I like to think I’m bedevilin’ Morgan.”
Avery Butterfield took a card for himself. His rawboned features remained impassive. “We’re not long for this snow, Gideon. No reason you can’t get back to Bitter Springs soon. Take a room at that boardinghouse like you planned and get a better look at what really interests you.”
Leaning back in his chair, Gideon nodded slowly. “Waiting’s never been what you’d call my strong suit. And I’ve already had a look at what interests me. Morgan’s different that way. Real patient. I remember how he worked on my daddy’s safe after Zetta Lee gave up. She was crazy mad to get into it. She was fixin’ to dynamite the thing when Morgan stepped in. I think he forgot all about the rest of us standing around while he worked. I never saw the like before, and when he opened that door”—Gideon whistled softly, admiringly—“that was something. Sure put a lot of ideas in Zetta Lee’s head.”
Marcie asked, “What was in the safe?”
“Cash money. Homestead papers from the land office. A couple of pieces of jewelry that belonged to my daddy’s mother and a locket that was Ma’s. The money was enough to keep us going for a while, and we had a clear title to the land, but Zetta Lee got it in her head that we could do better than cattle ranching, especially in the lean times.”
“And you did,” said Dixon.
Gideon shrugged. “We did all right. For a time. Problem was, Morgan didn’t see the advantages same way the rest of us did, and we needed him for the safes.”
“He really has the touch?” asked Avery. “I’ve heard that some people do, but I’ve never seen it.”
“Could be you’ll get the chance. What he can do with a safe is elegant. Always did prefer it to blowin’ the damn thing up.” He smiled narrowly. “’Course, that’s kinda fun, too.”
• • •
Jane leaned forward in her saddle and patted Sophie’s neck. The mare tossed her head and preened. “Yes,” Jane cooed. “You are such a pretty lady.”
Morgan chuckled. He was riding Condor, a chestnut gelding who had no interest in Sophie’s flirting but liked to nuzzle Jane when Morgan let him get close. He supposed it was because Jane had been baking oatmeal cookies before he suggested they ride out to Blue Valley.
“This must be the most glorious place on earth,” she said, twisting right and left to take in as much of the panoramic view as she could. Snow blanketed the landscape. It defined the skeletal limbs of the cottonwood and maple trees, and lay in thick folds along banks of the stream. It frosted the pines until their branches sagged under the weight. The Herefords congregated around green circles where they had pushed away or trampled the snow. Ice in the basin had been chipped away to allow them to enjoy their favorite watering hole.
The sky was halcyon blue. The wind was not stirring, and an icy glaze across hill and valley reflected the sunshine.
Jane was smiling contentedly when she looked in Morgan’s direction. “How did you find Morning Star?”
“Ida Mae told me about it.”
“Mrs. Sterling? Really?”
“She heard that the eastern syndicate wanted to sell, and she knew I wanted to settle. The first time she wrote to me, it was to tell me that Benton was dead. I wrote back, expressed my sorrow, and I thought that would be the end of it. She wrote again, and I answered, and we fell into an easy correspondence that lasted until I came to Bitter Springs.”
“She never mentioned that.”
“No,” said Morgan. “She wouldn’t. She figures things like that are for me to say.”
“Does she know about Zetta Lee?”
“Calls her Jezebel, so yes, she knows some things about her.” He shook his head, pointing to himself when Jane arched an eyebrow. “Benton. I don’t know precisely what she knows, and I have no intention of asking her. Neither should you.”
“I wish you did not believe you had to say that. I suppose I have given you reason to think I might speak to her on any subject concerning you, but I would never about that, Morgan. I would never.”
He look
ed out over the valley. “I’m still getting used to the idea that you know.”
“Are there things I don’t know?”
“About Zetta Lee?”
“No. I don’t care about her. I’m talking about you. Are there things I don’t know?”
“Yeah.”
“If you had answered differently, I might have called you a liar.”
“I figured as much. Is there something in particular you’re wanting to know?”
“Actually, yes. I’ve been thinking about all the talk at breakfast a few mornings back.”
Morgan snorted. “There’s too damn much talk at every breakfast. You’ll have to be a tad more specific.”
“About your friend. The one I ran into outside of Mrs. Garvin’s shop.”
“That was almost a week ago. I hardly remember it.”
“Liar.”
He grunted softly but did not offer a defense.
“I think you have someone in mind who fits the description I gave you.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Something about the way you looked then and your evasion now. Who is he?”
“Not my friend.”
“That was my word, not his. He only said that the two of you ‘went back a ways.’”
“He could be anyone.”
“I realize that. But who do you think he is?”
Morgan sighed, rubbed the back of his neck. “I reckon he could be one of my brothers.”
Jane’s eyes widened. “Whyever wouldn’t you say so?”
“Lots of reasons, but mostly because I am trying to figure out what I want to do about it.”
“I have no idea what that means.”
“I know you don’t, and I know it’s my fault. Maybe it’s wrongheaded, but I still have this notion that there might be things I will never have to tell you.”
“If it helps, I will remind you again that I am not going anywhere.”
He smiled. “Since you’re still here after I told you about Zetta Lee, it seems like that’s something I can hang my hat on.”
“Yes,” she said. “Hang your hat on that.”
For a long moment, Morgan was quiet, then he said, “Did you notice if he limped some?”
