“Thanks, Mrs. Bentley,” Maggie said.
“How many times have I told you, child? Call me Mama.”
“Yes, Mama,” Maggie said.
Will studied his mother’s face for a second. Yes, there was no doubt about it. She was having fun. Sly fun. Something about Will and Maggie.
What did Mama suspect? What did Mama know?
“Ready, Mr. Bentley?” Maggie said cheerily.
“Almost. You have any weapons?”
“I do not,” Maggie said. “Our guns burned in the fire.”
“We still have the shotgun you gave us before heading to Colorado,” Mama said. “She can borrow that.”
“Thank you, Mama,” Maggie said and retrieved the shotgun from where it leaned beside Mama’s bunk.
Will was pleased to see Maggie break open the double-barreled coach gun and check the loads.
Out of habit, he checked his own arsenal: the .44 caliber 1860 Colt Army Model revolver; the Dragoon of the same caliber, which he’d taken off the highwayman; his fourteen-inch Confederate Bowie knife; his seven-shot .56-.56 Spencer rifle; and the thirteen-cylinder Blakeslee box, which weighed nine pounds and held ninety-one rounds of ammunition that he could load with lightning speed.
“Loaded for bear, aren’t you, son?” Mama asked. “You expecting trouble over there?”
“No, ma’am,” Will said. “Not really. But I did see a light over there last night, so there’s no telling. Better safe than sorry. Speaking of which, here.” He handed Mama the Dragoon. “No sense you being unarmed while we’re away.”
“I wish I’d had the shotgun the day Pew kidnapped me,” Rose said. “Would’ve gotten home a lot sooner.”
“Home or hung,” Mama said. “It’s best to leave men like Pew alone these days. Same goes for folks like the Weatherspoons. You hear me, Will?”
“Yes, ma’am, I do. Don’t worry. I have no plans of starting trouble with anybody, not even snakes like Sully Weatherspoon.”
“Good. Because that is trouble we do not need.”
“Go ahead and ride Winnie,” Rose said. “No self-respecting cavalryman should be seen riding a mule.”
“Normally, I’d defend my mules from a comment like that, dear sister, but seeing as how they’re worn to a nub, I’ll take you up on your offer and give them a break. We might end up riding around the property some, so don’t worry if we’re gone for a while.”
“Oh, you two young folks take your time,” Mama said, and there was that amused look again.
This time, Rose giggled, and Maggie blushed bright red.
“Am I missing something here?” Will said.
“I hope not,” Rose said. “I really hope you don’t miss anything,” and this time, it was Mama’s turn to laugh.
Maggie blushed all the brighter.
“Come on, Maggie,” Will said. “These two have a case of the giggles. Let’s get out of here.”
They went outside and mounted up and rode across the property.
Maggie rode well. She always had. She didn’t just ride well. She was a great trainer, too. Even as a child, she had all her father’s horses doing tricks. At ten, she could make them bow, kiss, jump, or rear up on her call.
The Dunnes were horse people, and Maggie had been riding since shortly after she could walk. When she was little, she’d driven her family crazy by racing and jumping and acting thoroughly unladylike, but now she rode with poise, her long, red hair fluttering like bright flames behind her.
For a second, Will could only stare, drinking in her beauty, studying every line of her perfect face, admiring her Roman nose, emerald eyes, and full lips.
