Abby dropped the heavy lid back in place,
reached for a stack of plates, and began arranging
them around the table. "As you know, I have only
two gowns; one is too tight across the bodice, and
the other one is at least three inches too short. And
they are both hopelessly out of style."
"That's your-fault, Abby. I know your brother
Matt sends you money so you can buy clothing, and
don't say he doesn't."
For all Frances's gruffiiess, she was the watchdog
of the family. She knew everything that went on,
and she tried to take care of all of them. Abby
wished she would just give up on trying to make a
proper lady out of her.
"It seems more important to pay the bill at the
feed store, so that's mostly how I use the money."
It finally dawned on the housekeeper that Abby
was setting the kitchen table. "Since we're having
such important company, I thought we'd use the
dining room."
"The major can eat in here like the rest of us.
Although I doubt he's ever seen the inside of a
kitchen."
"Why do you say such things? You know Quince
will want you to be polite to his friend."
After Abby had finished setting the plates around
the table, she went to Frances and smiled teasingly,
putting her arm around the older woman. "So you
want to change my ways just to get rid of me, do
you?"
Frances smiled sadly. "No, it's not that. I just
want to see you happy before I die."
Abby had heard all this before, and she knew the
lecture by heart. At the moment, though, she had
other matters to worry about. She certainly didn't
relish the thought of sitting down at the table with
Major Tremain and making polite conversation
after all that had transpired between them. She
stared at the dinner plates as if seeing them for the
first time. Some of them were chipped; others were
actually cracked. "Do you think he'll notice that the
dishes aren't a matched set?"
"If you mean the major, he'd be too polite to
mention it even if he did notice."
"From the way Quince spoke about Major
Tremain, I thought he would be someone I could
really like and respect. But when I met him, he
wasn't anything like the man my brother described."
Frances swirled her knife around the cake,
making the frosting peak on top. "You're too
critical, Abigail. The major is my notion of what a
real gentleman should be like."
"If he's considered a gentleman, there is no hope
for the rest of the men of the world," she replied
haughtily. "Major Jonah Tremain is pompous and
arrogant, and I don't - 2'
"Good evening, ladies," came a clipped voice just
behind Abby. "Something sure smells good in here."
Abby turned to find Jonah just behind her. He
must have overheard her unflattering remarks about
him, but his cool gaze gave nothing away. He might
be a gentleman to Frances, but he wasn't to her. "I
would venture a guess that you don't have anyone
in the cavalry who can cook as well as Frances."
He continued to look down at her until his dark
lashes swept over his eyes. "I'm sure you are
right -I can't wait to taste those biscuits I smell,
Mrs. Reilly."
Frances colored with pleasure and nodded.
"We'll eat as soon as the others get here."
Abby turned abruptly away to place frayed napkins beside each plate. "I don't know if Papa will be
home in time to eat with us." She hoped he wouldn't
come home drunk, as he had on so many occasions.
Jonah's gaze followed Abby as she placed knives
and forks at each plate. She was tall for a womanhe would guess somewhere around five-seven oreight. It was hard to tell her shape because of the
baggy trousers she wore. Her skin had a healthy
golden glow to it. He could not imagine her
bothering to follow the regimented ritual most
women practiced to maintain a pale complexion.
When she moved past him to set more utensils on the
table, he caught a whiff of sweet honey probably
the soap she used; he could not imagine her taking
the time to dab perfume behind her ears either.
The single black braid that hung down her back
swayed with every movement she made. He found himself fantasizing about how she would look if her
hair were unbraided and fell loosely about her face.
His gaze lingered on the swell of her breasts, then
settled on the top button of her shirt as he imagined
himself unbuttoning it to explore the delights that
lay beneath.
His carnal thoughts rocked him a bit, yet still he
went on assessing her other features. Dark brows
arched above those wonderful eyes-her lashes
were long and curled against her cheek. Her pert
nose could have made her almost cute, but her
fragile bone structure made her beautiful.
He mentally compared the perfection of
Patricia's porcelain, milk-white complexion to
Abby's golden hue. He had never seen Patricia
when she wasn't well-groomed; she never had a
hair out of place, while Miss Hunter threw
convention to the wind with her unsuitable apparel.
Still, he would never forget the sight of Abby
breaking that gelding. Much to his surprise, he was
finding that she was taking up a great deal of his
thoughts. In fact, the memory of her unusual green
eyes had remained with him throughout the day.
When Abby turned back to find him watching
her, he quickly focused his attention on the
housekeeper. "That cake looks mighty good."
"It tastes good, too," Frances said with certainty.
"My grandma brought the recipe with her all the way
from Pennsylvania-she was Dutch, you know."
"Then Reilly must be your husband's name."
"It was; may he rest in peace. He came out here from Ireland and didn't last the second winter. But
that was thirty years ago."
"I am from Philadelphia myself."
The housekeeper paused with frosting dripping
from her knife. "I recall my grandma telling me
when I was young that not a day went by that she
didn't miss the countryside back east." She quickly
wiped up the frosting that had spilled on the stove
and smiled at him. "She never got to go back."
Abby was disgusted by the way that man had
charmed Frances into making a fool out of
herself-the housekeeper was practically purring
like a barn cat.
Quince's voice broke into her thoughts, and he
came trailing into the kitchen, accompanied by
Glory, Brent, and Crystal. Abby stood off to the side,
observing how graciously the major acknowledged
both her sisters-in-law. He certainly had not shown
her the same kind of courtesy. She began to dislike
him even more... if that were possible.
She noticed Brent staring at her with hazel eyes
so like their father's. As he approached her, he
bestowed a look on her that she had come to know
only too well.
Disapproval.
"Here it comes," she said quietly. "Go ahead, tell
me how you think I shouldn't have ridden the
Johnson horse."
Brent shook his head. "Dammit, Abby, that
horse-"
Quince appeared beside Abby and slid his arm
around her shoulders, quietly conveying his support. "That horse," he finished for his brother, "is saddle
broken, and I have the money from Mr. Johnson
right in my pocket. Leave her alone, Brent."
The two brothers glared at each other until Glory
cleared her throat. "Isn't anyone but me hungry?"
she asked, causing everyone to talk at once.
The huge oak table could easily seat twenty, and
had on many occasions when Abby's mother had
been alive, and the sheer number of guests had
spilled over from the dining room into the kitchen.
Of course, the neighbors never came around
anymore, and since her father had returned,
mealtime was usually a silent and painful event.
Abby watched Brent and his wife. Crystal's blond
hair was pulled away from her face with a blue
ribbon, and she seemed to be blooming with
health-her stomach was rounded from the child she
carried. Abby observed the soft glances that passed
between the two of them and wondered what it
would feel like to have someone look at her that way.
She glanced at the major and found him watching
her so intently it made her squirm in her chair.
Quince was also watching Abby, but his gaze
was questioning; no doubt he was wondering why
she was not joining in the happy banter. "You'd
better eat, little sister, or you are going to get even
skinnier than you are, and no man will want you
until we can fatten you up."
She glared at her brother. "As if I cared."
Glory patted Abby's hand. "Don't let him tease
you. He's just as proud of you as he can be."
Glory matched her name in sweetness and ap pearance, although Quince claimed his wife had a
temper to match her flame-colored hair. She was
wearing her hair up tonight with wispy curls about
her lovely face. When she turned her winsome
smile on Quince, he looked as if he would
practically melt at her feet.
Abby glanced across the table to find Major
Tremain still staring at her.
"Major," she said, determined to show him that
she wasn't intimidated by him. "I understand
Quince saved your life."
"That's right; he did."
"I suppose when Yankees come out here they
think they know the lay of the land and are
surprised to find themselves in trouble."
She heard Quince's intake of breath and saw the
disapproving frown on his face.
"Yankee?" Jonah's mouth eased into a smile.
"Now, that's a term I haven't often had applied to
myself. My father fought in the Civil War, but I was
only sixteen when Lee surrendered to Grant."
She bristled. "Surely you are referring to the War
Between the States, Major. That's what we call it
here in Texas."
He paused with his fork halfway to his mouth
and said in a tone one might use with an unruly
child, "If you prefer, Miss Hunter. It actually comes
down to a matter of semantics, doesn't it?"
Knowing his sister and how far she would go to
make a point, Brent intervened. "I am happy to have
this chance to thank you." He stared pointedly at
Abby. "Major, I know it's because of your friendship with Quince that we have the army contract. And my
brother has told me that you want us to supply horses
for Fort Fannin as well. How can our family ever
thank you for still another contract?"
Abby's face flushed at the news. The major had
helped her family in the past, and he was helping
them again. She stared down at her plate,
remembering how discourteous she had been to him
that morning, and tonight also, for that matter. But
she just didn't like him.
"As I told Quince today," Jonah was saying, "we
have all benefited from the contract. And Brent, I
wish you would drop the `Major' part-just call me
Jonah."
"Major"-Abby stressed his title-"with your
sworn duty to protect the people of Texas, how do
you plan to tackle the Indian problem?"
"Miss Hunter," he replied,-his lips almost curving
into a smile, as if he knew she was taunting him, "I
learned quickly that the Indians are much better
horsemen than my troopers, but we still have the
advantage over them."
He had more charm that anyone had a right to,
and a male beauty that could not be matched by any
man she had ever seen. He probably had enough
women paying homage to his handsomeness; she
certainly wasn't going to be one of them. She
fastened her gaze on the gold bars of his wideshouldered uniform, determined not to look into
those hypnotic blue eyes. "And what would that
advantage be?" she asked in a breathy voice that
took the sting out of her words.
He laid his fork across his plate and gave her his
full attention. "What we lack in horsemanship we
make up in firepower. We have superior weapons,
Miss Hunter."
She made the mistake of looking into his eyes
and found them flaming with the passion of life,
and she tingled all over. It took her a moment to
speak. "Is that right?"
Now his words were stilted, as if he wearied of
their conversation. "I can assure you it is, Miss
Hunter."
Abby became aware that her family was
watching her, and she could feel their uneasiness.
Even Crystal and Glory were frowning at her.
Undaunted, she charged forward. "We have driven
the Indians from their lands and left them nowhere
to go, haven't we?" She expected him to argue the
point; in fact, she depended on it.
He wiped his mouth on a napkin before he spoke.
"I see you and I share the same view on that. But
sadly the conflict is almost over for them. The
plight of those who haven't been shipped off to
reservations is extremely dire."
"Yet you helped bring about their downfall," she
insisted.
"It is the way of life," Jonah replied. "The strong
have always held sway over the weak. For myself, I
followed orders-but I think... I hope I have never
killed any man except in duty to my country."
She bit into a biscuit, feeling everyone's eyes on
her. Most of all, she could feel both her brothers' disapproval mounting. It was hard to chew and
downright impossible to swallow. There was an
unspoken rule in this house-they were never to be
rude to guests. Abby didn't understand why she had
felt the need to challenge the major at every turn.
He had proven to be a worthy and gracious
opponent he had left her nothing to debate.
After a moment Jonah turned his attention to
Glory, who was speaking to him. "My husband tells
me you were in the New Mexico territory searching
for Victorio."
"I never got close enough to take him on in battle.
He's good at avoiding capture."
"Isn't he dangerous?" Crystal asked.
"Yes, ma'am, he is," Jonah said. His gaze went to
Abby. "I doubt any of us would react any differently
than he has if we had been driven from our land."
Abby heard someone enter the front door, and an
uneasy feeling enveloped her. "That will be Papa."
Her gaze met Quince's, and she could see they
shared the same thought they hoped that Jack
Hunter would not be drunk.