“Yes. But you declined. Other contenders entered into the picture, one with thousands of acres and a bright future.”
How bright could a man’s future be if he was so puffed up his head might float away? “Your niece needs a man of honor who will love her and care for her as she deserves. Moyer’s first love is himself.”
LeBeau snorted. “We’ll see who crosses the finish line, Lieutenant.”
Devon’s hands clenched and unclenched as he marched up the stairs. If it wasn’t for Morning Fawn, he’d grab his gear and sleep in the stables rather than spend another night under this man’s roof. No, the stables wouldn’t be far enough. He’d clear off the man’s property completely.
In the privacy of his own room, Devon threw his hat on the floor and drove his fingers through his hair. The nerve of that man, questioning whether he was good enough for Morning Fawn. Asking for references. References from his home county. That’d be enough to get him treed as a spy. His stepfather and others were not ignorant of his Unionist views.
Even if it wasn’t for the sham courtship with Frieda, he couldn’t declare intentions toward Morning Fawn. Couldn’t risk LeBeau having him investigated. Not until the mission was over. Not until the whole war had been won, unless he could get Morning Fawn out of here.
Would there ever be a time and place for a courtship with her?
He’d never be able to compete with Moyer in LeBeau’s eyes. He didn’t own an inch of land at the moment. In regard to Morning Fawn’s dreams of those acres in Parker County? Devon was about as far as she could get from finding a loyal Confederate.
No more evening strolls. LeBeau had made that clear. No more unaccompanied anything, not until he petitioned to court her. If Devon violated the rule, the man would likely bolt her door shut or kick him off the premises.
Two days of silence. Morning Fawn couldn’t tolerate another morning of it. She threw off the covers and shuffled over to the window. The gray of dawn hovered across the sky. A trickle of orange edged above the horizon, blurred by a curtain of light mist that enveloped the yard and beyond. This was her chance. Devon was an early riser. Her relatives were not—at least, not in winter.
She grabbed her green wool dress and tugged it over her head, thankful for the protection against the chill that pervaded her room. Devon would be at the stables. Grabbing her shoes, she slipped out of her room, tiptoed down the stairs, and headed for the back door.
Pans clanked, and the sweet scent of freshly baked bread wafted from the detached kitchen, but she didn’t dare stop for a bite.
The light frost stung her stockinged feet as she pattered across dried grass and pebbles. The soap vats lay idle. She sat down on an upturned barrel by the smokehouse and wiggled on her shoes. The warmth of two days ago had vanished. She shivered. She should have grabbed a coat or at least a shawl, but she wasn’t about to turn back now.
Morning Fawn entered the stables through the side, out of view of the house, in case someone was watching. The worn wooden door creaked as she opened it. Voices hushed. Dressed in his lieutenant’s uniform, Devon squatted in the open grooming area, giving Ginger’s cinch belt one last tug. His eye widened as he pivoted. “Morning Fawn?” He lost his balance, dropping to one knee.
George paused in the middle of mucking out a stall, and the boy Oliver swayed from the weight of two feed buckets, one in each hand.
Devon nodded to George. “Could you give us a few minutes?”
“Yes, sir. We’ll take a couple of these beauties out for some fresh air.” He leaned his pitchfork against a pole and slipped a halter over a quarter horse’s head. “Come on, Ollie. Set one of those buckets down and bring Prince out for a walk.”
Benson, the hound dog, loped out of an empty stall and followed along after them.
Ebony lifted her head over the stall door and stared. Morning Fawn’s fingers twitched to stroke the beauty’s mane. Instead, she clasped her hands and waited.
Cavalry boots hugging his lower legs, Devon looped the strap through the saddle ring and then slowly pivoted toward her when the back stable door swung closed. His cartridge belt and holster hung low on his hips. He was going somewhere.
Where?
His hands dropped to his sides as his gaze drank her in. A smile vanquished his frown. “You were in a hurry?”
Morning Fawn touched a hand to her hair. My goodness, she hadn’t even brushed it. It hung loose over her shoulders and down her back. “I didn’t want to wait around for my relatives to crawl out of bed.” She smoothed her hand over her waves.
“Don’t worry about it.” He drifted a step closer. A red linen shirt showed beneath his unbuttoned shell jacket. “You look mighty fine.”
She crossed her arms, but that didn’t stop the flutter in her stomach or the wobble in her knees. “Where have you been?”
The crinkles at the corner of his eye deepened as he glanced at her shoulders. “Is your dress buttoned all of the way?”
“What?” Her face heated like a kettle on a stovetop. She reached up and around. Her collar dropped away from her neck. How in the world could she have forgotten the last three buttons?
“Turn around. I’ll see what I can do.”
“I don’t need your help.”
He cocked his eyebrows as if to say differently. “Should I close my eyes while you take care of the problem?”
