Charlie pointed to the floor, and Jack sat. “Were there any bulls in the herd? How did you get them to not fight?”
Ben poured himself a cup of coffee and took his seat. “Yep, there were a couple in the herd. Best way to keep them from fighting is to keep them out of each other’s territory.” He flicked a glare Cora’s way as she set a venison roast on the table.
Charlie shot out another string of questions.
Picking over the meal he’d looked forward to for two weeks, Ben answered the boy and responded to Cora’s inquiries about the cattle transaction with sparse words. Beneath the table, his knee jerked up and down faster than a horse trot. It was all he could do to not drum his fingers on the table.
Halfway through the meal, Cora’s eating picked up speed. Chomping her food, she finished before Charlie and sat there, hands clasped, lips pursed.
As Charlie scooped his last bite of pie into his mouth, Cora nodded to the skillet on the grill. “Why don’t you take Jack outside and feed him the scraps?”
“He’ll love that.” The boy jumped up. “Then maybe you can read to me and Ben.”
“Not tonight. I’m sure Ben’s tired.” She placed her palms on the table. “After you finish with Jack, I want you to take the horses into the stable. I’ll read you a quick Bible story before bed.”
Ben swallowed the rest of his coffee. If she wanted to talk, he was ready.
Jack, who’d been napping under the table, scurried to his feet and followed Charlie into the hall and out the back.
Cora fiddled with her napkin. “You might as well say it.”
“Say what?”
“Whatever is bothering you.”
“What makes you think something is bothering me?”
She held her hands wide. “A couple hours ago, you were all excited about your success, and now smoke is practically coming out of your ears.”
He blew out a breath. “You exaggerate, Miss Scott.”
“‘Miss Scott’?” She crossed her arms. “Charlie told you about the doctor coming to visit, didn’t he?”
He leaned forward and pushed his plate out of the way. “Yes. Was it supposed to be a secret?”
“Of course not. It’s none of your concern. The doctor merely?—”
“Don’t you mean Arthur?”
She blew out a breath. “Charlie told you that as well?”
He shrugged.
She narrowed her eyes. “Well, I’m not the one receiving perfumed letters with the cursive scribbled so poorly that a body can hardly read who it’s addressed to.”
“You read it?”
She swatted a fly. “Only the envelope. To make sure of who it was addressed to. I could care less what it had inside.”
He cocked his eyebrows. “Is that why you sat around on the porch all afternoon drinking tea with the overly friendly neighborhood doctor?”
“My keeping company with Arthur has nothing to do with you.”
“For your information, I threw the letter behind my bunk.”
She jutted out her chin. “That sounds about like what you’d do with a letter from a woman pouring out her affection on you.”
He pushed up from the table. This woman! Back turned to her, he flexed his hands at his sides, fighting the urge to clench them. Fighting the urge to turn around, take her in his arms, and kiss her. He had no right. “Send Charlie out with my breakfast in the morning.” He shoved his fingers through his hair. “I’ll leave day after tomorrow for the widow’s in Palo Pinto.”
