How could he have left things in such a mess with Morning Fawn? As soon as she’d glanced at that mustang, his temper had snapped. She’d hurried out to the stables to see him, hair unbrushed, dress not quite buttoned all the way. Maybe she’d done that on purpose. No, absolutely not. Thea or some other woman might do that to get a man’s interest and hands on them, but not Morning Fawn.
Couldn’t she tell by the way he looked at her that he’d love to take her on a walk every evening, go riding with her, hunting… He scrubbed his hand over his jaw. He’d outright court her if it wasn’t for his mission. But that was the problem. He had no business losing himself in her eyes and her company when lives were depending upon him. Not when his deception hung between them like a blade ready to sever any tendrils of affection and attraction that dared spring up between them.
She had the patience of a matchstick. What if his actions drove her right into Moyer’s arms? He shuddered.
His boots crunched on the ground as he approached the Schrams’s two-horse stable. He’d tethered his horse in there to give the illusion he’d spent the night at their place. Trudging onto their backyard, he passed their chicken house and pig pen. The Brahma hens clucked in the pre-dawn gray, but thesow only gave a half-hearted snort. A low light glowed in the small kitchen window. Frieda would be up to greet him. It’d be better if she wasn’t.
The door opened as he stepped onto the cracked stone stoop of the white wood-framed house.
“Come in and get varm.” Frieda wiped sleep from her eyes. Her dark ringlets hung down her back. “I have half a braid of bread from last night’s supper, and I’ll heat some Mettvurst sausage. Maybe boil you an egg too.”
“I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble.” He removed his hat and hung it on a hook. “I’m worn out. A slice of bread would do me fine, then I’ll try to grab a couple hours of sleep?—”
“No trouble at all.” She tied her apron behind her. “Give me your coat, and I’ll hang it by the fire, get it dried off.
He sighed and shrugged out of the wool frock coat he’d borrowed from her father. Briars and leaves clung to the fabric. It was unwise to let her do too much for him. The pretense of courtship was for public eyes, not for the privacy of her home. “I’ll brush it off outside first.”
“I could?—”
He stepped out the door before she finished. Her actions were likely nothing more than kindness and the camaraderie of being joined in a cause. His gut told him otherwise.
By the time he stepped back inside, she had lit the fire in the cast-iron stove. The delicious smell of coffee wafted from a pot.
“Real coffee?” He cocked his eyebrows and draped the damp coat over the back of a chair close to the heat.
Frieda smiled. “Yes, Papa traded an officer for it, for treatment. Some of the soldiers manage to confiscate a portion of vhat comes up from Mexico for themselves.”
“Much obliged for you sharing it with me.” He glanced at his hands. “Mind if I go wash up?”
“Go ahead. I left vater for you in the pitcher in my father’s office.”
“Thank you.” He ducked into the hallway and the second door on the left.
Hands and face scrubbed and hair combed, he returned to the kitchen and sat at the small table. Steam wafted up from a white china cup, the finest one in the house from what he could tell, when tin would have sufficed.
Her hair was now drawn back in a loose knot, and an apron covered her green plaid dress. She set a plate in front of him with a hearty portion of bread chunked full of nuts and dried fruit.
“A real treat.” His mouth watered. “Would you care for a piece?” He picked up a knife from the embroidered tablecloth.
“You go ahead. All of that is for you. You’re the one out in the chill all night.”
He slathered on the butter and ate as sausage sizzled in the pan on the stove. In between bites, he answered Frieda’s questions and savored the coffee.
“Best breakfast I’ve had in years.” Careful to avoid any touch, he sat back when she added the sausage to his plate. A hint of lavender muted the pervasive odors of wood smoke and pork which permeated the rest of the kitchen.
Returning to the stove, she hummed.
Not good. He tensed. This was too homey. “As soon as I finish up, I’ll take a quick nap and then hit the trail.”
“But you vere up all night.” She ladled an egg out of a pan of boiling water. “You can use the cot in my father’s examining room and sleep until ve return from church.”
“I would.” He swallowed a bite of sausage. “Only, I promised Morning Fawn I’d try to make it to our church in the village by Sweet Briar.” It’d been more of a threat than a promise, but he needed to get there and check on her.
Her smile dimmed. “Morning Fawn? You mean Miss Logan?”
“Yes.” He sliced another bite of sausage. “She tends to get nervous in churches, not used to crowds.” This was the right thing to do. Bring Morning Fawn into the picture and put distance between him and Frieda.
She fished out a second egg and placed both in a bowl. “I didn’t realize it vhen I met her the first day you came here, but she’s the captive girl vho stole the Thoroughbred, isn’t she?” Cautious concern laced her tone.
