“Kind of you to mention that.” Devon gritted his teeth.
“Reynolds did us a fine service.” LeBeau tugged on his waistcoat stretching over a slight bulge. “Best scout I could find.He got the job done and did it right. Brought her back without a scratch.”
Morning Fawn skewered Devon with her gaze.
“Lieutenant Reynolds has my eternal gratitude.” Moyer smoothed his fingers over his waxed mustache. “But I’d love to hear of Miss Beth’s life in the West.”
Morning Fawn blinked wide.
“Her life is right here in East Texas.” LeBeau cleared his throat. “And Tennessee before that.”
“Oh, but sir, I wish to hear of the natural wonders she beheld in her journeys. I have longed to travel to the western frontier and beyond. Of course, I wouldn’t want to cause her undue pain if the memories are too fresh.”
The man was like an overflowing rainspout of words.
“I would like to hear also if Beth wouldn’t mind.” Mrs. LeBeau dabbed her napkin to her lips.
They’d never asked her details about her life before?
Thea’s nails pressed deep into his sleeve, her proximity filling his nostrils with a scent much more potent than rosewater and not half as pleasant. “I’m sure it’s all desert, cacti, and thistles, a wasteland.”
Morning Fawn narrowed her eyes at her cousin and maybe him too. “Only for those who don’t know what to look for.” She swatted at a curl away from the smooth, bare skin of her upper shoulder. “There’s the Red-Capped Canyons. But Palo Duro, as the Spanish call it, is the best. Miles and miles of mesas dressed in orange and red like Spanish skirts and trimmed in gray and white, with puffs of green dotting the valley floor…”
Her eyes lit as she talked. Her love for the lands of endless sun shone through. Enough to make him want to crawl under the table. He’d taken her from the land of her heart.
The servants cleared the plates and served a lemon tart dessert. The conversation moved on to the war. Further progress by the Yankees on Matagorda Island and Peninsula,even rumors that Fort Espenanza would fall. A silent hurrah echoed in his head. And the most significant news—orders had come through for the cotton shipments to be halted temporarily until it could be determined that the road between Columbus and San Antonio was secure. The cotton would pile up in Alleyton for now. Suited him just fine.
Just when they’d almost made it through dinner without open conflict, Moyer turned the conversation to talk of horses and asked Morning Fawn her favorite.
She stirred her peas, eyes downcast, as if she might not answer. “My favorite was a sleek black mustang. Full of spirit. My pia gave her to me?—”
“What’s a pia?” Thea brushed her napkin against the lace that decorated her gown’s low neckline.
Morning Fawn glowered at her.
Trouble, if Devon’s recollection of the Comanche word proved accurate.
Morning Fawn jutted her chin. “Moth?—”
“I think we should go riding.” Devon laid his fork down. Her uncle would go through the roof if she finished the word.
LeBeau sat up straight, his voice rigid. “I’d like to hear what Beth was going say.”
Morning Fawn lifted her head. She met his concerned gaze with wall-like obstinacy. “I honor my mother. But my Comanche pia took me in and treated me as her own. Her, too, I honor and love.”
“A filthy Indian.” LeBeau spit out the words.
Morning Fawn flinched. “A woman who loved me and cared for me as a daughter, and who’d go hungry so I could eat, who nursed me in illness?—”
“I’ve heard enough.” LeBeau’s lip curled. “Feeding you was the least they could do after what they did to your entire family, your sister included.” He threw down his napkin.
“Robert, we have guests.” Mrs. LeBeau clasped the table edge.
“And I have a sister who was murdered and likely died defending her children. I’ll not have her attackers glorified.”
“My pia had nothing to do with that.” Morning Fawn clenched her hands. Moisture glistened in her eyes.
“They weakened your mind, young lady, turned you against your own?—”
