by Kit Morgan
“To see if he’s going to stay around. After all, if his daughter is, I would think he’d want to as well. But one never knows.”
She stiffened, her expression flat. “Of course, you’re right. Why wouldn’t he want to stay?”
“But then, he’ll have to find a place to live – unless he plans to reside in the hotel.” He examined a fingernail, then took another sip of coffee, awaiting her reaction.
“And where do you suppose Miss Lynch will live?” she asked boldly. There was a fierceness to her gaze.
He met it head-on over the rim of his cup. “I’m sure I have no idea.”
She began to twist her hands in her lap, noticed she was doing it and stopped. She made it a point to look at anything in the parlor but him. “I suppose you wouldn’t,” she said, tightlipped.
Yes indeed, he thought to himself, she is jealous! Well, he supposed if their situations were reversed and some dandy showed up in town claiming to be her groom, he might feel the same.
Major set the cup and saucer on a nearby table and looked at Honoria, really looked at her, though she still made a show of not looking at him. She was a brushfire in a blue calico dress, full of spirit and life. Untamable. He almost licked his lips at the thought. Such a woman was rare. In the South, she’d hardly be considered wife material – too wild, too unrefined. But he wasn’t in the South anymore, was he?
“What are you staring at?” she asked.
Major’s eyes flicked to the dining room. Jefferson sat at the head of the table, watching them. “Well … you,” he finally said.
Now it was her turn to study him, and he wondered what could be going through her mind. “What were you just thinking about?” she blurted.
No use lying now. “Also you.”
She sighed and looked away. “I can only imagine.”
“Rest assured, it was nothing bad.”
She met his gaze. “I find that hard to believe.” She brushed a stray wisp of hair from her face. “I would think you’re still upset I won.”
He laughed. “That again?”
“Did ya?” Jefferson called from the dining room. “Did ya win?”
“Yes, Grandpa!” Honoria called back. “Of course I did!”
“That’s my gal!”
Honoria, he thought to himself. What a beautiful name. Too bad it would be improper to use it at present. He could at least think of her as Honoria in his mind.
“You’re doing it again.” She pointed at him.
“Doing?” he said with a shrug. “Doing what?”
“That funny look on your face. Like you’re up to no good.”
He pointed at himself. “Me? No good? Don’t be absurd, Miss Cooke.” He smiled slyly. “Oh, if I was truly up to no good, I’m sure you’d know.”
She leaned back in her chair. “How so?”
He wagged a finger at her. “Ah-ah-ah. I’d rather you see for yourself than have me tell you.”
She leaned forward again. “I dare you.”
Major laughed. She was so adorably unconventional! “You are asking for trouble, you know?”
“Oh, she knows!” Jefferson called from the dining room.
“Grandpa!” she said in shock. “Don’t encourage him!”
Jefferson’s laughter mixed with Major’s. “I like your grandfather,” he said.
“That’s not surprising. The two of you are a lot alike.”
“Really? How so?”
She narrowed her eyes at him and was about to comment when the front door opened, followed by the sound of booted feet. “Uh-oh,” she whispered.
“Your father, I take it?” Major mouthed, motioning with his head toward the noise.
Honoria nodded nervously, her eyes glued to the foyer. She swallowed hard and said, “Hello, Papa.”
Chapter 7
“Hello, sweetling,” Harrison Cooke said as he entered the parlor, his brother Colin right behind. Then he stopped short – Colin just avoiding a collision – and stared at Major. “Mr. Comfort. I was wondering whose horse that was outside. Whatever are you doing here?” He looked the room over. “In my parlor.” His eyes then fixed on Honoria. “With my daughter.”
“Your daughter had an accident, sir, and I wanted to make sure she got home safely,” Major said without hesitation. “Your lovely wife invited me to supper.”
“Accident?” Harrison and Colin said at once. They looked at each other, then at Major. “What happened?” Harrison asked as his eyebrows rose. “And don’t leave anything out!”
Major noticed Honoria sink a little in her chair. He opened his mouth to speak.
But he was cut off. “Not you, Mr. Comfort.” Harrison aimed his narrowed gaze at his daughter. “You. You start.
Honoria swallowed hard. “I … ah …” She took a deep breath, then was off like a shot, apparently wanting to get it over with. “I challenged Mr. Comfort to a race, took off out of town, let him catch up to me, took off again, and my horse got spooked by a fox, I fell from the saddle, but Mr. Comfort picked me up and took me to Doc Drake, who said I had a few bruised ribs and patched me up, then Mr. Comfort brought me home as he said.” She stopped and caught her breath.
Harrison closed his eyes, shook his head, opened them. “You did what?” Colin, meanwhile, pressed his lips together and turned away to try and keep from laughing. He finally walked over to the settee and sat, doing his best to keep a straight face.
Honoria watched him and turned back to her father. “Nothing serious, really.”
Major watched as Harrison’s eyes grew dark. “Really? Then what is that man doing here?” He pointed at Major, his eyes never leaving his daughter’s.
She licked her lips and sat up straighter. “If you must know, it’s my fault.”
Colin snorted. “That’s a surprise.”
“Quiet, brother,” Harrison ordered. “Go on, Honoria.”
She shrugged. “I challenged him to the race. What more can I say?”
“And you were injured?” Harrison’s eyes narrowed further.
“Just a few bruised ribs …”
“Oh, just a few bruised ribs!”
“Papa,” Honoria said with a roll of her eyes, “I’m fine.”
“Bruised ribs, young lady, do not make you fine!” He spun to Major. “And you! What hand did you have in this?”
“I tried to stop her,” he said, his eyes leveled at him. “Your daughter’s reckless riding habits were the cause of the accident, I’m afraid.” He glanced apologetically at Honoria, but she was nodding firmly. She was prepared to take the heat.
Harrison’s jaw twitched, twice, as he glared at his daughter. “Do you realize you could’ve been killed?! Good Lord, when are you going to grow up? You could have gotten yourself in a great deal of trouble! If not for Mr. Comfort here, who knows where you’d be right now?”
“Coyote fodder, no doubt,” Colin tossed in.
“Uncle Colin,” Honoria hissed, “you’re not helping.”
“Quite right. I think I’ll go see what’s for supper.” Colin hopped off the settee and headed for the kitchen.
Harrison, his glare still fixed on his daughter, picked up where he left off. “You could be out there right now, lying half dead in the dirt!”
“I’m not lying in the dirt, Papa – I’m sitting here in the parlor talking to you. And not much the worse for wear.”
“Except for the bruised ribs, of course,” Major added.
Honoria gave him a pleading look, one that clearly said, don’t make this worse!
He shrugged. “Sorry.”
“And you!” Harrison once again pointed a finger at him. “You probably encouraged her!”
Major’s expression went flat. He’d had about enough of this for one day, and whether he knew it or not, Harrison Cooke had crossed a line. “Dear sir, I assure you that I did nothing of the kind. And I don’t believe gentlemen should make such accusations without evidence. Perhaps if your daughter wasn’t such a wildcat, she wouldn’t get
herself in these fixes.”
“What did you call her?” Harrison asked through clenched teeth.
Major held up both hands. “I meant no disrespect, sir. But I have heard today from several sources that your daughter gets herself into these messes fairly often. She needs to learn to get herself out should the need arise – or, ideally, not get into them in the first place.”
That seemed to calm the man somewhat. He drew in a deep breath and blew it out. “I apologize for overstepping my bounds, and I withdraw the accusation.” He turned to Honoria. “Go to your room.”
“What?” she said in shock. “Papa, I am not a child!”
“I’ll believe that when you stop acting like one. You take risks no normal young lady would ever think to take.”
“Perhaps because I’m not normal,” she said stoically. “Would you want some dull-witted run-of-the-mill daughter?”
“There are times, Honoria …” Harrison’s voice carried a wave of threat. “Besides, you’re the oldest. I expect you to set an example for your younger siblings.”
“A boring example,” she shot back.
“Boring has nothing to do with it! You’re reckless, Honoria, and if you’re not careful you’re going to get yourself killed one of these days.”
She stood and winced.
Harrison’s angry expression suddenly changed to exasperated concern. “Are you all right?”
“I’m going to my room,” she said through gritted teeth. She went past him to the staircase in the foyer, took one last look at Major and ascended.
“I think she’ll be fine, sir,” Major said. “I was there when the doctor treated her.”
Harrison stared at him. “Well … I suppose that’s good to hear.”
Major stood. “Perhaps I’d better go.”
Harrison turned and watched Honoria disappear up the stairs, obviously in pain. He shook his head. “Anything else injured?”
“Mostly her pride,” he offered.
Harrison chuckled. “Her pride could use a good thrashing. Thank you, Mr. Comfort, for taking care of her.”
Major picked up his hat. “My pleasure, sir. I’d keep her off a horse for a while, at least until those ribs heal. Good evening.” He turned to leave.
Not until he reached the front door did Harrison ask, “Are you sure you won’t stay?”
Major’s eyes drifted up the stairwell, but there was nothing to see but stairs. “I’m sure.” And he left.
Honoria entered her room and headed straight for the window. She watched Major exit the house, mount his horse, turn the animal around and trot out of the barnyard.
She sighed heavily as sadness overtook her. Why did her pride always get her into such trouble? It was as if every time she tried to do something right, it turned out wrong. Most of the time it was because she got excited and ahead of herself, and this time was no different. She tried to show off by outriding Major Comfort. What sort of fool does that?
She walked over to the bed, gingerly sat, folded her hands in her lap and stared at the floor, feeling like a complete idiot. Her father was right. She needed to grow up.
She raised her head to the ceiling at the thought and closed her eyes. The problem with growing up was there were certain things in her life she didn’t want to let go of. Racing her horse across the prairie was one of them. The speed was intoxicating and gave her a sense of freedom. She especially liked to do it on days like today, with the sharp tang of autumn in the air despite the warm weather. It was her favorite time of year.
She opened her eyes and went back to staring at the floor. Her father was angry, but thankfully not as angry as he could have been. If she were lucky, she’d only get stuck cleaning out the barn…
“What did you do this time?”
Honoria looked up to see her brother Maxwell standing in the doorway. Like her, he had their parents’ dark eyes and sable hair, and like her, he had a mischievous smile. “None of your business.”
Maxwell laughed. “That means you did something really naughty.”
She sighed. “If you must know little brother, I raced Major Comfort and won.”
“That’s not what Uncle Colin said down in the kitchen.”
Honoria shut her eyes against his words. Figures. “And I fell off my horse.”
“I heard. You okay?”
She unconsciously put a hand to her side. “Not really, but I’ll live. How was your day?” she asked, changing the subject.
“Same as always. You had all the excitement. You always have all the excitement.”
She chuckled. It hurt. “That’s because I break the rules. Something I shouldn’t do. So don’t you go break any yourself, Maxwell Cooke, you hear me?”
He crossed the room and joined her on the bed. “Have you gone mad? Ma would kill me! She doesn’t strike the same fear in you like she does me.”
Honoria laughed, then moaned and grabbed her ribs. “Ouch.” But it was true. Whereas Pa came down hard on her, Ma came down especially hard on the other three. Maxwell, at fourteen, was usually the instigator. Twelve-year-old Clinton was the peacemaker, and Savanna, ten, the prankster. Throw in their cousins and trouble was sure to ensue. Speaking of which … “Where is everyone? Are they coming for supper tonight?”
“Jeff’s still out in the barn feeding the horses. Adele’s downstairs helping Ma and Aunt Belle. The rest are still at the other house.”
Honoria nodded. Most nights the entire family gathered for supper, and what a gathering it was. Between their parents and aunt and uncle, there were nine children. Toss in Grandpa Jefferson and Grandma Edith and you had quite a houseful.
“What sort of punishment did Pa give you this time?” Maxwell asked.
“He just told me to go to my room. I’m sure he’ll tell me at supper.” She picked at a hangnail.
“What did Mr. Comfort think?”
Her eyes darted to him as she gasped.
Maxwell’s own eyes lit with interest. “That bad, huh?”
“Oh, who cares what he thinks?” Honoria said as she tenderly touched her ribs. “You’d better go wash up for supper.”
“So should you,” he pointed out.
Her hand moved to her belly. “I’m not really hungry. I might stay up here. Besides, Pa didn’t tell me I could leave my room.”
Maxwell laughed. “You’re not Savanna. He probably only told you that to get you away from that man. Uncle Colin said they caught you in the parlor with him.”
“Caught us in the parlor? Oh for Heaven’s sake, Grandpa was chaperoning us the entire time. And ‘that man’s’ name is Mr. Comfort, silly.”
“You know Pa thinks you’re too young to court.”
“Maxwell, when I turn fifty, Pa will still think I’m too young to court.”
Max laughed and hopped off the bed. “I’ll see you downstairs.” He left, closing the door behind him.
Good. She wanted a moment alone with her thoughts. Really, she wanted to relive, if only in her mind, the time she’d spent with Major on his horse, and at Doc Drake’s, and on the ride home. Even their bantering in the parlor she’d hold dear.
“Oh land sakes,” Honoria muttered. “So what if I do like him?” In all honesty, she was way past liking him. But what could she do about it?
Three weeks later …
“Try not to lift anything when we get there,” Harrison warned as he helped Honoria down from the wagon. Thanksgiving had come and gone, and it was the first time she’d been allowed to come to Clear Creek since her “accident.” She’d been bored out of her mind the whole time. She knew she was being punished, and her father was being overprotective. But she saw no reason to protect her from Major – the man was harmless as far she could tell.
Of course, perhaps her father was trying to protect her from herself most of all. She’d gotten several lectures on how to be a lady from both parents and Uncle Colin. Aunt Belle even thought she might do with a few new dresses that “befit her age,” whatever that meant. For He
aven’s sake, her mother and aunt didn’t dress any differently than she did.
Once her feet touched the ground, she nodded her thanks and turned toward the mercantile. The absolute worst part of being stuck at the ranch the last several weeks was not hearing any news regarding Miss Lynch! If there was ever a good time to run into Fanny Fig – a debatable proposition – now would be it.
But before she could take a step, her father’s hand was on her shoulder. “Here, you take care of the list. I have to see Chase at the livery stable. I’ll meet you back here, then we’ll go to the hotel for lunch. Oh, and see if they have some fabric for a dress,” he added over his shoulder as he headed down the boardwalk. “You could do with a new one.”
She nodded, put the list in her reticule and turned toward the mercantile steps. In her opinion, she needed another new dress like a hole in the head, but maybe it was his attempt to be nice after keeping her at the ranch all this time. Who could tell? She made a mental note to tell him she couldn’t find a suitable cloth and trotted up the steps.
She was about to go in when someone opened the door from the inside. “Major!” she said without thinking, then snapped her mouth shut. Oh dear …
“Miss Cooke,” he said with a smile and a tip of his hat. If he noticed her use of his Christian name, he didn’t let on. “How are your ribs?”
“Much better, thank you,” she said. “Good as new.”
“Good enough for another race?”
Was he joking? She looked at him and smiled. “I am told that ladies do not race.” She went to move past him.
He blocked her path, putting a hand on either side of the door frame. “No, they don’t.” He leaned down toward her ear. “Unless absolutely necessary. Not many ladies can ride like you, Miss Cooke. In an emergency it’s good to know that you can.” He straightened.
She looked up and their eyes locked. “Do you mean that?”
“I certainly do.”
“Well … thank you. But I’m not sure if you should tell that to my father.”
He leaned down again. “I’ll let you in a little secret, Miss Cooke. I think he’s glad you can ride the way you do. If you were my daughter, I know I would be.”
