Friend? Guard. And company wasn’t exactly what she wanted. She’d prefer to look at one of their books than try to make polite feminine conversation.
Devon shot her a warning glance before he disappeared down the hall.
Frieda motioned to a wooden chair with a well-padded cushion. “Have a seat, Miss Logan. Vould you like some refreshments?”
“I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble.” Morning Fawn settled onto the edge of the seat. She really needed to get herself a reticule. Give her something to do with her hands. This felt too much like a social call, something she’d had very little practice at and avoided at all costs, especially since it usually entailed sitting around a parlor chatting beside Aunt Judith or Thea and both of them critiquing her every move.
“No trouble.” Frieda beamed. “I’ll be right back.”
Such a docile creature wouldn’t survive more than a week on the prairie.
Morning Fawn fumbled with her fingers and glanced around the room. The logs showed through, no plaster like the painted and papered walls of her uncle’s mansion. A faded carpet covered the floor with a rag rug at the entrance. The tick-tock of a mantel clock, the fanciest thing in the room with its bronze-leafed casing, broke the silence.
Not even a murmur from down the hall. Did Devon’s eye hurt him much? What had happened? When he kidnapped her, he’d had two piercing blue eyes, hard as flint. His callused hands had jerked her wrists behind her back and tightened the ropes. That was after he’d stuffed a gag in her mouth, preventing her from crying out for help.
At the time, she’d regarded him as no better than the dirt on her moccasins. But later, on the trail to the settlements, he’d protected her against every insult and hint of mistreatment. Why? Did he get more money for bringing her back safe? Or was there a streak of honor buried beneath his ruffian exterior?
Not to mention his visit to her room a few nights ago after she’d been given the laudanum…that had nothing to do with money.
“I hope you like lemonade.” Frieda strolled in with a tray and smiled as she set it on the doily on the table just shy of the Bible. “Though I must apologize. Ve’re a little short on sugar. Mixed it with honey instead.”
Morning Fawn thanked her and sipped. A bit tart but sweet. Probably like the girl across from her. Clean white apron, not a hair out of place, pert, and polite. Nothing like Morning Fawn. She accepted a piece of buttered bread and answered her hostess’s questions with as few words as possible.
“It must be lovely to live by the river.” Frieda beamed after Morning Fawn had responded to her inquiry about the plantation. “This town is a bit rough, as you may have noticed. Pa and I moved down from Friesburg after the railroad came. People flocked here after the depot vas built, and Pa knew they’d need a doctor.”
A door down the hall opened. Footsteps followed. Morning Fawn stood, and a crumb flittered to the floor before she could catch it.
Frieda dabbed her mouth with a napkin, then stood without a speck of bread on her.
“Take care of yourself, Lieutenant.” Schramm patted Devon on the back. “And use the ointment.”
“Thank you, sir.” Devon shoved something into his trouser pocket and started to don his hat. A glimpse in Frieda’s direction, and he paused the latter action. “Thank you kindly for your hospitality, Miss Schramm.” He glanced at the tray.
“Surely, you von’t leave without taking a bit of refreshment, sir.” She pressed her hands against her apron and practically stood on her tiptoes in eagerness. “I have two glasses vaiting in the kitchen for you and Papa.”
“I’m afraid we’d best be going, miss.” But he turned toward her and away from the door.
“Stay for a bit of lemonade, son.” Dr. Schramm adjusted his spectacles.
“I’ll go get the glasses.” Frieda moved around Devon, her skirt coming within inches of his boots.
Morning Fawn wasn’t going to stand around and watch him have a parlor chat with this too-perfect girl. “We don’t have time. I’m sorry.” She picked up a slice of bread without butter and stuck it in Devon’s hand as he gaped at her. “Thank you kindly for the offer, Miss Schramm, but my aunt is waiting.” She marched out the door.
If Devon didn’t follow double-quick, he could find her in the next county. She was already mounted by the time he made it down the path.
Hat on his head, he glared at her as he hurried to his horse. “Wait up.” Was there a blush on his cheeks, or was it just the heat of exasperation? “You’re not the one in charge here.”
A frigid smile trickled across her lips. “I wouldn’t want to keep you from your lemonade.”
“Miss Frieda is bringing me a cup.” He reached for her reins.
Miss Frieda? The girl had gone from Miss Schramm to Miss Frieda in the two minutes since Morning Fawn had walked out? She whipped the reins from his almost-grip and pressed her knees into horse flesh, pulling the mare’s head hard to the right.
He reached, his hand landing on her skirt, but not quick enough.
She spurred the horse toward a gallop, almost colliding with a carriage.
Behind her, Devon scrambled into his saddle, his harsh words a mere rumble as she neared the intersection.
