As she set the pouch aside, a corner of Devon’s handkerchief slipped out. Foolish of her to keep it. She fingered the initialed edge. Did it still smell of bay rum a week later?
Steps on the stairs.
She sucked in a breath and stuffed everything back inside the leather, crumpling a sheet in the process.
A knock.
“Who is it?” She shoved the pouch under the bed, no time to wiggle it into place.
“Me.” Lucy bounded in with a boldness unknown to the rest of the house. “And you’re never going to guess what.”
Morning Fawn stood, dusting her hands on her skirt, her heart pounding from the scare. “What? Come in and close the door.”
Lucy shut it and hurried over. “Moyer’s here, and he’s got a horse.”
“Doesn’t he usually have a horse? After all, he has to ride here. But what’s he doing here so early?”
“That’s just it.” Lucy peeked out the side of the forest-green curtain. “He has an extra horse. A black mustang, and he says it’s for you.”
Morning Fawn gaped. “You can’t be serious. Did he—I mean, I mentioned a mustang last Saturday. You don’t think he went out and bought?—”
“Well, I think he did.” Lucy jabbed a hand to her hip. “That man is pursuing you like there’s no tomorrow.”
Morning Fawn braced herself on the bedpost. He was unbelievable. “I couldn’t possibly accept such a gift.”
“Your uncle already has but says you can only ride it when Mr. Moyer or someone else is around to watch over you. As a matter of fact, Massar wants you to come right down and go for a ride.”
“I might have known.” She glanced out the window.
Gussied up in a dark-blue cutaway morning coat, tan trousers, and shiny riding boots, Moyer stood at the corner of the porch talking with her uncle. Digging his hand in his pocket, Moyer fished out an apple and held it up to the black beauty’s lips.
The animal chomped down on the offering.
The apple wasn’t the only thing Nicholas Moyer was fishing for. She had obviously underestimated the man.
In need of a good bath and a decent bed, Devon nudged his bay mare through Sweet Briar’s gate and down the tree-lined lane at dusk. Red dust from the trail clung to every inch of him. But maybe if he cleaned up in a hurry, he could join the family for the last half of supper. He hadn’t seen Morning Fawn since Monday.
The trip had been profitable, however, and not just for LeBeau. Under the guise of being LeBeau’s cotton factor, he’d gained information on the new planned cotton routes to Mexico via Laredo and Eagle Pass. He’d stuffed so many encrypted notes into the heel of his sock, he’d gotten a blister.
Voices, male and female, carried down the lane. Laughter rang out too. Why would they be gathered outside at supper time?
His stomach soured as he rode into the clearing. Off to the side of the porch, Morning Fawn stood next to a black mustang,stroking the animal’s mane. Moyer waited beside her, one hand on the saddle horn, the other on his hip. Mr. and Mrs. LeBeau hovered nearby, faces lit up like someone had won a prize. Above them, Thea leaned against a white porch column, arms folded, face disgruntled.
Decked out like a fancy English gentleman, Moyer dug in his trouser pocket and brought something out. Whatever it was, he had the nerve to take Morning Fawn’s hand, unfold her fingers, and place the object in it. She smiled and slipped her palm beneath the horse’s lips.
Devon’s muscles tensed like a drawn-back hammer on a Colt revolver, ready to explode at the flick of a finger on the trigger.
They were so engrossed that he was almost upon them before anyone—other than the blue tick hound at LeBeau’s feet—turned to notice him.
LeBeau tapped his silver-tipped walking stick to the ground. “Reynolds, you’re just in time to admire the newest member of our stable.”
Morning Fawn’s gaze shot up. Her hand fell away from the horse, her smile gone. But there was a flush in her cheeks she couldn’t erase.
Devon gave his reins a light tug, drawing his bay to a halt. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt anything.” His voice sounded as if he’d swallowed a handful of gravel.
“Reynolds.” Moyer grinned and threw back his shoulders. “So glad you made it in time to join us for supper.”
LeBeau strutted forth and slapped his hand on the mustang’s withers. “This little beauty is a gift from Nicholas to my niece. Fine animal. What did you say you named him, Beth?”
