“Because I would strike you down if you removed your breeches in the road.”
His smile widened to stretch his cheeks. “Strike me down? Really. What weapon could you possibly wield against me, given that we left the pistols at the inn.”
She looked his way again and rolled her wondrous eyes. “See, that is the problem with men. They think forever in terms of blunt force and raw power.”
“And women are much wiser, I suppose?”
“Naturally.”
“Explain, please.”
She circled her hand in the air. “While men chase the herds, women carry literally the entire household behind them, stopping only to birth children and fend off the wolves. Out of necessity, we have opted for sophistication over brute strength.”
“I see. How would sophistication kill me, then? Force me to attend ballroom dances until I died of boredom?”
She laughed musically. “No, sir. Too obvious. I would likely poison your brandy. Clean and quite unexpected.”
“But now you have warned me. I will watch my brandy carefully.”
“Your plan has two fatal flaws.”
“Enlighten me.”
“You underestimate my patience and overestimate your diligence. I would simply outlast you.”
The rollicking if morose conversation continued unabated all the way to the inn. On arriving, they were both wiping tears from bouts of laughter. And for the hundredth time in days, Steadman marveled that he could have such camaraderie with a woman. In a life of the unforeseen, Morgan was becoming the most astonishing surprise of all. Given his bewildering surrogate fatherhood of Lucy, that fact was hard to admit.
Steadman opened the inn door for Morgan with a flourishing bow. She crossed the threshold and froze. “Steadman.”
Her ominous tone drew him immediately inside to find Three-Finger Jack lounging against a wall. The big man uncurled his frame. “Out for a walk with the misses?”
“She’s not my misses, but yes.”
The man leered at Morgan. “I would not let her stray too far. Might attract amorous attention.”
The hackles rose on Steadman’s neck, but he reminded himself to pummel the man later. “Can I do something for you, sir?”
“Glad you asked.” The giant placed a paw and Steadman’s shoulder. “We’ve another job tonight and I need your muscle. Meet us again at the tavern.”
Something about the invitation struck Steadman as disingenuous, but he could not refuse. He had come too far to lose his nerve. “Of course. One round on me.”
“Perfect.” Jack squeezed past him and Morgan as he lumbered out the door. “Don’t be late.”
Steadman frowned, ready to dismiss his instinct.
“It’s a trap.”
He blinked surprise at Morgan’s assessment. “What makes you think so?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. Just a feeling. You said you could recognize a liar. Well, I can recognize when a man is preparing to humiliate or hurt someone. I have experienced it far too often. He seems prepared to do both.”
Steadman considered lying to her, sweeping aside her notion. However, that would be disrespectful of her good sense. “I agree. It is likely a trap.”
She sighed in relief. “Good. Then you will not attend.”
“I must. And you know why. We’ve no choice.”
Morgan appeared ready to disagree before surprising him yet again. “Then I will go with you. Two officers, two pistols.”
