Chapter 27
Mort met them at the front door roaring. As usual.
“Old man?—”
Wade caught Abby around the waist and dragged her past the beast at the door. “Ignore him, honey.” He grinned at her.
She could have taken a swing at him, but it just didn’t seem worth the effort.
“You know we need to work on that reflex you’ve got to pull your knife every time you’re the least bit aggravated.”
Abby looked down at the blade in her hand.
Reflex must be right, because drawing it hadn’t been a conscious choice.
But she’d been raised to loathe and fear whites.
Nothing she’d seen had convinced her to forget that raising.
Except she’d learned she liked kissing one white man very much…
too much. “I don’t need to work on it at all.
I’m very good.” She tucked her weapon away.
“I didn’t mean that.” Wade had her nearly through the front entrance area, heading toward the kitchen. Any part of the house where they wouldn’t have to listen to Mort’s growling. Honestly, the man belonged in a cave. “I meant?—”
“You called her ‘honey’?” Mort followed in his chair. They never should have put wheels on the man.
Abby was going to lose the hearing in her ears if Wade’s father didn’t stop roaring like a trapped bear.
“Pa, did you have a good day?” Wade talked pleasantly, quietly.
Probably too quiet for Mort to have heard him.
It was also unlikely that Wade cared if his pa heard him.
“I took a ride after church. Abby ’n’ I needed some time alone.
With the roundup over and the men free on Sunday, it was the perfect time. ”
“Sundays free, bunch of nonsense.”
The gentle rolling of Mort’s wheels on wood followed as Wade dragged Abby into the kitchen. Gertie was pulling a roast out of the oven.
Wade was planning to widen a few doorways so Mort could get around more easily. Abby was tempted to ask if he could narrow a few of them so she’d have a place to escape.
Wade dropped Abby’s hand and rushed forward.
With a quick grab for a thick towel, Wade protected his hands, then relieved Gertie of the massive roasting pan.
Abby had to admit that growing the cattle and keeping them nearby was far handier than going hunting.
Except of course, Wade had spent nearly every waking moment since he’d been home working with his cows, so how much easier was it, really?
Wade slid the black pan onto the top of the massive iron oven. He pulled off the domed lid, and a faint sizzle got louder. Steam that smelled like a lovely dream billowed from the pan.
Abby hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and now the sun was low in the sky. “Did you expect us for the noon meal, Gertie? I never thought of discussing it with you.”
“No, Wade said you might be late. If he could get your brother to go away.”
“Oh, he did, did he?” Abby’s head swiveled to look Wade in the eye.
He’d planned their little afternoon ride, then.
Most likely with the intent of stealing a kiss.
The truth was, Abby had never been touched by a man in such a way.
Wild Eagle had walked with her, but they had been mindful of the proper distance between an unmarried man and woman.
Wade had no such consideration. Or rather, he’d spoken of propriety, then ignored his own dictates.
“He never mentioned it to me until after church.”
Wade helped Gertie get the roast and vegetables out of the pot, and Gertie went to work turning the drippings into her wonderful gravy.
Abby should try to learn how Gertie made that delicious concoction, but it was hard.
She’d tried once and nearly destroyed the meal.
Quitting seemed wiser, but Gertie said Abby needed to learn.
Wade was taking a deep breath, bent over the meat, inhaling the savory smell. He straightened and grinned at Abby, unrepentant. “I didn’t think you’d go, and I had almost no hope of running off your leech of a brother.”
Mort bumped into Abby with his chair.
Startled, Abby jumped out of the way.
“Pa, you’re a menace with that thing. If you don’t be careful, I’m going to hang a bell on it so we hear you coming.” Wade stepped to Abby’s side, gently caught her upper arm, and pulled her out of the doorway when Abby would have preferred to snarl at the rude old man.
Had their talk at the Griffin place taken root? Wade exchanged a look with her, clearly thinking the same thing she was—how to handle Mort.
Abby gave him a barely perceptible shrug. The decision had to be Wade’s. She would have been crushed to her soul if either of her fathers had spoken to her the way Mort spoke to Wade.
Sorrow pooled in Wade’s green eyes, as if he pitied his father. Pity she could maybe manage. But never would she allow this old man to run roughshod over her.
Mort rolled to the head of the table, then slammed his fist so hard, a glass on the table toppled over. “Get supper on the table, Gertie. I’m hungry.”
Gertie began bustling around.
Wade went to a cupboard on one side of the sink and took plates out.
Abby reached for her knife.
Looking over his shoulder, Wade caught her eye and winked at her, as if he knew she wanted to attack.
That calmed her for some reason. She went to the cupboard, shoved Wade aside, and took over his job.
Wade laid out the heavy pottery plates carelessly, noisily, then went to the side of the table closest to the wall, around the corner from Mort’s left hand, and sat. Once he was settled, he turned to his father. “Pa, do you want me to stay on here?”
Turning with her hands full of silverware, Abby looked from Wade to Mort, bracing for a flood of cruel words.
Mort, busy centering his plate, froze. Then slowly, his eyes went to Wade. “I don’t?—”
“I know what you’re going to say.” Lifting a hand, Wade stopped his father with a motion.
“You don’t need anyone, least of all me.
You are ashamed to call me your son. I’m a coward, I’m lazy, I’m clumsy.
” Wade said the words in a singsong chant as if they bored him to death.
“What else, Pa? I’ve heard it all before. ”
“You’ve never been?—”
“Know this, Mort Sawyer”—Wade cut him off with a hard voice Abby had never heard before—“I am ready to leave. I don’t suppose I’ve convinced her yet, but I have hopes of persuading Abby to marry me.”
“Marry her?” Mort’s white brows arched to his hairline.
“Marry me?” Abby set the cups on the table with a sharp click of glass on wood, the fistful of forks clattering against them.
“You’re getting married?” Gertie set a platter on the table, heavy with roast beef, ringed with bright carrots and white potatoes and whole baby onions.
“As I said, she hasn’t agreed yet.”
“That is an understatement.” Abby crossed her arms and glared. “In fact, I’ve told you?—”
Wade cut her off. “Whether or not I can convince you doesn’t change the fact that Pa treats you terribly.”
“He treats everyone terribly. I’d feel left out if he was nice to me.”
Mort grunted. “I don’t treat anyone terribly. If you’d all act right, I wouldn’t have to say a word.”
Wade snorted.
Abby exchanged a dark look with Gertie.
“I can put up with a lot, Pa, because I see it as my Christian duty to honor you. For me, that means not letting you waste away in your bed for the last few pitiful months of your life stewing in hate.”
“Now, Wade, Mort’s getting better.” Gertie put a bowl of gravy on the table, then helped spread the utensils and glasses.
Abby chipped in, setting the table.
Even Mort pulled his glass and silverware into place.
Wade said, “Well, that’s the problem, Gertie.”
“What?” Mort roared. “Me getting better is the problem?”
With a kind expression completely at odds with his words, Wade said, “If you were going to linger a bit, then die, I’d stay on for sure. Least I could do.”
“Wade, shame on you.” Gertie fetched a loaf of bread, still warm from the oven, and set it on a breadboard next to the roast. She added a tub of butter and a pitcher of milk.
“But since you seem to be surviving pretty nicely, and in fact, it looks as though you could live ten more years, I’m not going to stay on”—suddenly Wade’s calm voice began to darken as his pleasant expression faded to grim anger—“if you don’t find a way to get a civil tongue in your head and treat Abby and me with some respect!
I’m not going to put up with it!” Shouting, he pressed both hands flat on the table and pushed himself up from his chair.
“You’ve been a tyrant all your life. I’ve talked with you about my faith, and you’ve thrown it in my face.
So fine, make that choice, cut yourself off from God.
But do not think for one moment”—Wade slammed his fist on the table—“I’m going to live my life with your hate and spite!
Decide now, Pa.” Wade’s hand slashed only inches from Mort’s face.
“Right now. A man with no self-control is a weakling. So have you got any control over your mouth or not?”
Silence reigned in the kitchen.
Wade breathed as if he’d just completed a long race up a mountainside. His eyes flashed with angry fire.
For the first time, Abby saw a man she’d think twice—or three times—about making angry.
Wade’s breathing slowed, and he lowered himself to his chair. With a huge, razor-sharp knife, he began carving the roast.
For a while, Mort was frozen, his face beet red.
His eyes, as green as his son’s, locked on Wade’s, and they held in a battle of wills.
Mort surely had a thousand horrible things to say, but Wade’s crack about his being a weakling had obviously started a war in the old man. Finally, Mort ate in sullen silence.
No one spoke a word through the entire tense supper except an occasional “pass the bread” or something else necessary to complete the meal.