Chapter 17 #3
“I don’t want to think about what that woman did. I’d like to throw her cookies to the pigs.”
Lucy chuckled. “You don’t own that man, girl. Not yet. He make any promises to you? Come calling yet?”
Well, he had made a promise—just not the kind Lucy meant. “I don’t care if that man ever comes calling. And he’d better get it straight in his head that I’m not the cookie-and-lemonade type of girl. I don’t crochet doilies either.”
Lucy laughed. “Maybe he don’t want no doilies. Maybe he wants him a woman who can ride a horse as fast as he can or better. A woman who loves adventure and who has fire in her eyes and cheeks, not cream.” She shook her finger at Morning Fawn. “Just don’t go chasin’ him away with your temper.”
How in the world did she get into this conversation?
“You’re just all sunshine and rainbows over him because he saved you and Ned the other night, and you have every right to be, but that doesn’t have anything to do with his opinion of me.
And you should see the way he looks at Ebony, as if he’d like to sell her for horse meat.
As if I’m stupid enough to believe every line that comes out of Nicholas Moyer’s mouth. ”
Lucy clicked her tongue. “Now here I thought you’d gone and done wrong by accepting that horse.”
“I’ve told you and everyone else—I’m only borrowing Ebony.”
“If you say so. Just don’t get tangled in that net Moyers is throwing out for you.
But if you’ve got the lieutenant riled up about it, then maybe good will come of it.
” Standing on tiptoe, Lucy lifted the royal-blue dress, an updated hand-me-down wrenched from Thea’s trunk, and draped it over Morning Fawn’s head.
“That man has eyes for you. So when you’s goes down to dinner, don’t let that Miss Thea get you all caught up in throwing words at each other, like fists. ”
“Doesn’t your temper ever get the best of you?”
“I simmer something terrible at times. Except I’ve learned to hold my tongue until I’m out of earshot of those who think they have power over me. I remind myself that the Good Lord is the real massar, and the LeBeaus are going to figure that out someday.”
Morning Fawn smoothed the folds of her skirt.
The fancy lace trim on the bodice scratched against her collarbone.
If the Lord cared about Lucy, why didn’t he rescue her from slavery?
For that matter, why had he allowed Morning Fawn’s parents to die?
Her life held a bucket of whys so deep, she could drown in it.
Devon sipped his wine and glanced across the table at Morning Fawn.
The royal-blue silk suited her well. The pagoda sleeves and lace trim added an air of elegance.
Her hair had been drawn away from the front of her face and woven into a loose knot, but the rest spilled onto her shoulders like spun honey.
A slight blush glowed on her cheeks. Because of his gaze?
He’d like to think so. Stupid of him. She likely had no interest other than having him help Lucy.
He should have figured that out the moment she walked into the barn today.
That black mustang had made enough noise to remind him of it. But still—
“Papa, it was wise of you to have Adela wait on us tonight.” Kitty-corner across from him instead of at her usual seat by his side, Thea nodded toward the middle-aged servant who usually aided Flora in the kitchen.
Devon sawed into his pork. They’d gone out of their way to remove Lucy from the dining room. Afraid he’d be tempted by her proximity? Leave it to Thea to rub his face in his supposed wrongs.
LeBeau cleared his throat. “Adela needs to get out of the kitchen now and then.” He settled back in his chair and hooked a thumb in his waistcoat pocket.
“Reynolds, what do you know about horse racing? I’m not talking about Moyer’s offer.
Mr. Franklin of Pryor Place is aiming to throw a real race together. ”
Devon lifted his fork. “If he’s planning on racing that beauty I saw three weeks ago, I think everyone else will be left in the dust.”
“That Thoroughbred isn’t as fast as she looks.” LeBeau puffed out his chest.
“Especially after Beth finished with her.” Thea twirled an auburn curl around her finger.
Morning Fawn straightened. “I think Lieutenant Reynold’s horse would have a chance of winning.”
“Of course, you do.” Thea rolled her eyes.
“I was thinking more of my Lightning.” LeBeau frowned. “Finest quarter horse in Colorado County.”
“Perhaps you can challenge Franklin to a sprint?” That’d be the only hope of winning against a Thoroughbred.
“Excellent idea, Reynolds. I’ll propose that to Franklin next time I see him.”
Thea swirled her wine in her glass. “How was your trip to Alleyton today, Lieutenant Reynolds? I heard you went to the doctor.”
Obviously, she hadn’t caused enough trouble yet. Maybe she was the one who should be locked in the attic. Devon glared at her, then shot a glance at Morning Fawn, bracing himself. “It went well enough. He wanted to check on how his treatment was working.” He lifted a finger toward his eyepatch.
Morning Fawn crumpled her napkin. She wouldn’t believe he’d gone there to just see Dr. Schramm. Her gaze darted away from his. Jealous? As she had been in Alleyton? The steady pump of his heart thrummed harder. She wasn’t indifferent to him, despite Moyer’s elaborate gift.
“I suppose you’ll have to go back for more treatments.” Thea smirked.
Could he strangle the woman here and now? Did she know about Frieda, or had she merely picked up on Morning Fawn’s displeasure? “I prefer not to discuss my wound at dinner, Miss LeBeau.” His voice cut sharp. “I believe your father and I were discussing horses.”
“Of course. Please pardon my daughter, sir.” LeBeau dabbed his mustache with a napkin. “Now where were we? Lightning…”
Devon stirred his fork in his sweet potatoes as he half listened.
He’d steered clear of Morning Fawn ever since she’d sat beside him at church four days ago.
But he’d relived those moments beside her in the pew at least a dozen times since Sunday.
Then, today in the barn, he started digging memories out of the dungeon of his heart.
Getting all googly-eyed because Morning Fawn showed him a scrap of attention.
He had no business stirring up feelings there wasn’t time or place for.
A wise man would snuff out the sparks.
He touched a hand to his sternum where beneath layers of linen Isabelle’s locket pressed against his flesh. Would the day come when it would be time to tuck the treasure away in a trunk instead of wearing it on his person?
Devon excused himself before dessert, but instead of heading upstairs where he should work on details for his mission, he drifted to the front door.
A starlit night greeted him as he stood in the open doorway.
A slight chill shimmered the leaves. A perfect evening for a walk.
He lingered on the threshold. He didn’t want to think about why.
But when Morning Fawn’s step sounded in the hall, he sucked in a breath, and when her foot struck the bottom stair to go up, he turned.
“We could get some fresh air.” Stupid line.
She halted. “I suppose so. I’d have to fetch my shawl.”
“I don’t know about that. What if you don’t make it back down?”
A smile tugged at her lips. “Well, I guess you’ll have to wait and see.” She tossed her hair back and sashayed up the stairs as if she knew he was going to watch the minute detail of her every move.
And he did.