A striped cat with a bent ear scurried out from beneath a bench as she approached. It pattered over to the corner, shaking its paws in the scattering of sawdust and discarded scraps of leather.
Morning Fawn smoothed her hand over the seat of a saddle, rounded and not as hard as the rectangular-shaped, rawhide-covered wood of a Comanche woman’s saddle.
“You miss riding?”
She jumped, startled to find Reynolds two feet from her elbow, studying her. She lifted her chin. “I used to almost live on horseback until a certain party came along and forced an invitation on me to leave the only home I knew.”
He flinched. “Maybe it’s not as wonderful as you remember.” He swatted a fly. “From the little I’ve seen of Comanche culture, you probably spent most of your time scraping and curing buffalo hides, setting up a tipi, or carrying water for some brave.”
She rolled her eyes. “You don’t believe in work, Mr. Reynolds? Not all of us can lounge about as you do until you have another kidnapping.”
“It’s Lieutenant Reynolds, or Devon, to you.”
“It’ll never be Devon.” She crossed her arms.
“Makes no difference to me.” He rubbed his thumb over a rope coil on the bench. “But as for the work part, I left home when I was seventeen. Been working or fighting ever since. I earn my way. I don’t live off the labor of oth?—”
He halted mid-word and glanced back at the owner, who was busy talking to a new customer. To see if they’d overheard?
She tossed a strand of hair over her shoulder. “What aboutyour stepfather? From what I hear, he has a fancy plantation, and you’ve spent your life living off the labor of others.” Though he sure didn’t look like it. Muscular, tanned, more like a man you’d find around a campfire on the trail than standing around a parlor.
“I have never.” He glowered at her, his voice more hushed than it had been before. “My stepfather and I don’t see eye to eye.”
She blinked at him and pivoted toward the harnesses. Was he against slavery, maybe even an abolitionist? A crime in these parts. Enough to get a man hated, or even tarred and feathered. Maybe that was why he was after a piece of land any way he could get it. Maybe he’d lost or declined his inheritance.
“I’m curious, Lieutenant.” She kept her voice low. “Why did you volunteer for the Confederate Army if you’re against slavery?”
“I never said I was.” Jaw firm, he placed his hand on the wall. “But regardless of what sympathies I may or may not have, I’m loyal to Texas, and I’m willing to risk my life to defend her.”
She nudged her straw hat farther back on her head and searched his walled expression for truth. The glance didn’t give her anything but a flutter in her belly. She turned, almost stepping into a blasted spittoon. The nasty things were everywhere, it seemed.
Reynolds hooked his thumb over his cartridge belt. “What I was trying to say before you got snippety was that if you missed riding, perhaps I could ask your uncle for permission to take you on a ride sometime. I wouldn’t mind exploring more of the county.”
A genuine invitation? Her pulse quickened, but she shrugged and meandered toward the bridles. “I heard you already took Thea riding the day after you got here.”
“Thea tagged along. Her choice, not mine.”
“Well, I’m sure she’d be happy to keep you company.Besides, my uncle will likely remind you that I already went riding a few days ago, and it ended with some off-duty soldier yanking me off Mr. Franklin’s Thoroughbred.” Why did her stupid voice rise and fall like a leaf on a breeze? As if she were a maiden greeting a favored warrior by the creek. Maybe the laudanum had finally soaked her brain to the core too deep to ever dry out.
He tugged on a harness ring, testing the strength of the leather. “You can’t run off like that, with no supplies and no plan. Especially on a stolen horse.” His breath smelled like mint. Had he taken one of the peppermint sticks for himself?
“When should I run off, then?”
“You shouldn’t.”
“Stay at my uncle’s forever and be his china doll on a shelf?”
“I didn’t say that either.”
“Oh, you mean take my uncle up on his deal.”
He pressed his lips together.
Of course, that’s what he’d recommend. Marry him. She’d be free of her uncle. Stuck with a man who cared more about money and land than her. She knew every bit of the cold logic, yet the tug was as real as if Devon Reynolds had looped a pair of reins around her heart.
The cat jumped up on a nearby bench and swished her tail.
“I don’t like bridles.” Morning Fawn reached for one that hung near his shoulder, inhaling soap and horse and bay rum as she did so. He’d used cologne? “My aunt seems to think marriage is about bits.” She ran her finger along the edge of the shiny metal, almost as sparkly as a ring. “What do you think, Lieutenant?”
