"Mr. MacQuade," she said between gritted teeth, "I'd eat you first, except you'd probably give me indigestion."
The tiniest hint of a smile played about the corner of MacQuade's mouth, a twinkle of raw amusement glinting in his eyes. "There'll be plenty of time for that, Sister, once we get on the trail," he said in a voice saturated with mocking seduction.
With a shiver of awareness that made her skin burn Ash spun away, stomping through the wreckage of the things Garret MacQuade had tossed from the wagon.
It doesn't matter, she said inwardly, turning her gaze away from the remains of the meager possessions she had managed to gather since her arrival in America. Nothing matters except getting the children safely to Texas.
Her grim thoughts were cut off by MacQuade's hard voice. "Just one more thing, your holiness."
She wheeled to glare at him.
"I'm not a nursemaid. One episode of whining or weeping or complaining about the work, the heat, or the hardship, and I dump the lot of you in the middle of nowhere. We do things my way. Mine. If I tell you to drive that wagon off a blasted cliff, you'll do it and won't bat an eye. Understood?"
It was the outside of enough. Ashleen stalked over to him, her whole body shaking with fury. "You burst in here, breaking my possessions—"
"You can build a new table in Texas," he snarled.
"Trade my horses—"
He snorted a crude oath.
"And stomp around, roaring like—like a wounded lion, and then you expect total obedience? Who do you think you are, Mr. MacQuade? God?"
She disliked the narrowing of quicksilver eyes, disliked the danger in the harsh planes of that devastatingly sensual face.
"Yeah. Come to think of it, as long as we're on the trail, Sister Mary Ashleen, I am God. That ought to make things simpler all around."
Ash started to say something but was suddenly aware of a small hand clutching at her dressing gown, a tiny body pressed against her leg. She looked down into Meggie's wide, dark eyes.
"It's all right, Meggie, love." With agonizing effort she softened her voice. "Mr. MacQuade and I were—were just having a little disagreement."
But the eyes that had been so achingly blank for so long were fixed upon Garret's face, Meggie's baby-pink lips parted in awe and more than a little trepidation. It was the same odd expression with which the child had been regarding MacQuade since the first time he had blazed up to the wagon.
It seemed that innocent stare pierced MacQuade, somehow chafed at him.
He glared down at the little girl, and there was something in his face, some lurking of pain so swiftly hidden, Ashleen was sure she'd imagined it.
"You've been staring at me for two days, girl," he snapped. "If you've got something to say, spit it out."
Meggie dived behind Ashleen's dressing gown like a frightened fawn, and Ash could feel the child trembling.
"Leave her alone!" Renny blazed. "You leave Meggie alone!"
"What the—"
"She can't talk," Ashleen cut in with frigid accents.
The expression that had been so arrogant, so smug, wavered into confusion. "What the devil do you mean, she can't talk?"
"She hasn't spoken a word since I found her. Huddled on a cot beside her dying mother."
Ash saw something akin to regret flit across Garret's face, a deep crimson staining his high cheekbones. She could almost have felt sorry for him in that moment—if he hadn't been a mule-stubborn, pompous, intolerant oaf.
"I didn't know," MacQuade said stiffly, those disturbingly unreadable eyes flicking again to the child's upturned face.
"Well, maybe when you're arranging things tonight, God, you could give her the power of speech. Heaven knows I've been trying to long enough."
She saw MacQuade's flush deepen. She wanted to sweep the little girl into her arms, hold her, soothe her, but she knew Meggie would pull away. Ashleen’s throat constricted with tears as she took the little girl's hand and guided her back to the wagon.
