Hoopskirt swishing through the doorway, Aunt Judith stepped onto the porch. A deep frown pinched her pale face as she called into the hallway behind her. “Robert, come quick. They’ve caught her.” She unfurled her flowered fan and flapped it in front of her face as she stepped across the porch. “You worried us sick, Beth, dear. Why, I almost swooned when I heard you’d taken a horse and run off.”
Worried about her or what the gossips would say?
Silver-tipped walking stick in hand, her uncle came through the door as Owens dismounted. A crimson cravat encircled his neck. His lip curled as his icy-blue eyes scoured her from head to toe. “What’d you do, Mr. Owens? My niece looks as if you wrestled her to the ground. There’d better not be a scratch on Mr. Franklin’s horse.”
Mr. Owens smacked his dusty gloves together. “Miss Logan’s a wild one, Mr. LeBeau.”
Reynolds drew up alongside her and tipped his slouch hat up to fully reveal his face. “Afternoon, Mr. LeBeau, sir.” His Texas drawl twanged deep as he dismounted.
“Reynolds? And in uniform? I’d wondered what had become of you after you delivered my niece.” Uncle Robert’s eyebrows arched toward his peppered, pomade-tamed hairline. “What in the devil are you doing here?” His shiny leather boots clicked on the steps as he descended. “You played a part in all of this?”
“Just the rescue, sir.” Reynolds tied the bay mustang to the hitching post and stepped forward. His jacket fit snug over his muscular form. “I’m on leave from the Third Texas Cavalry. Just passing through the area.”
Mr. Owens hitched his trousers. “Lieutenant Reynolds here had to yank the girl off her horse to keep her from riding clear to Dallas.”
“I apologize.” Reynolds stepped forward. “I didn’t intend to rough-handle your niece. Thought she was a horse thief. I had no idea it was Miss Logan until I’d grabbed hold of her.”
“Not a thief. Just a troubled young lady liable to do herself harm. Obliged to you, Mr.—or should I say Lieutenant—Reynolds, for your assistance. Glad to see you’ve joined the service.” Uncle Robert shook his hand. “Lucky you showed up at the right moment. My niece hasn’t attempted an escape in over six months.”
Morning Fawn fidgeted in the saddle. Six months toolong. Every day these people whittled away at who she was. She wouldn’t even be fit to return home by the time she got there.
“Happy to be of service.” Reynolds snagged her bridle in his hands as if he were concerned she might try to take off again. “I had been thinking of stopping by to see you…and then your niece?—”
“Any man serving the Confederacy is welcome in my home, especially one who has rescued a member of my family not once, but twice. You must dine with us this evening and give us news of the front.”
What she wouldn’t give to bury her foot in the belly of this two-bit lieutenant. Any more help from him, and she’d be in chains.
“I’d be much obliged, sir.” Reynolds’s lips flickered upward in a shadow of a smile. “My news might be a bit rusty, but I’ll be happy to share what I know.”
Uncle Robert motioned across the withered lawn to the scattered outbuildings—a smokehouse, spring house, blacksmith’s shop, barn, and much more. “George can show you to the stables and help you look after your horse.”
Lock the horse in the stable. Her in the attic. Owned like his horse. Only less important. They had another thought coming if they believed they could hold her forever.
Reynolds pivoted and extended his hand toward her as if he were a gentleman helping a lady. His blue eyes were similar to her uncle’s, except his were more like a lake at sunset than ice, but it might as well be a frozen lake for the warmth he displayed toward her.
“You forgot something.” She held up her bound hands.
“Sorry about that.” He quickly undid the ropes, and tossing the hemp aside, he held his hand out to her.
She turned up her nose and swung down from the saddle on the other side. “I need nothing from you,” she muttered andmarched past her uncle into the house, not about to give any of them a chance to touch her.
Warm air struck her as she blinked in the foyer’s dim light. Her bruised feet scraped against the woven grass rug and then cooled on the tile beyond.
Thea stood in the parlor doorway twirling a spool of lace around her finger. Her dour expression contrasted with the cheerful light-green wallpaper printed with bright red berry brambles which lined the walls behind her. The curtains on the front parlor window billowed. She’d been listening. “Enjoy your ride, cousin, dear?”
Morning Fawn bit back a rebuttal. Best keep her mouth shut and get upstairs.
“After that scene at church today, there won’t be anybody in the whole county who doesn’t think you’re out of your head.” Thea smoothed her palms over her lavender skirt. “Keep this up, and you’ll be headed for the asylum.”
Morning Fawn’s pulse throbbed. “A better place than you’re headed for the way you hang off Mr. Henry’s arm.”
“At least I’m not being tackled to the ground by strange men and looking as though I just crawled out of a trough.”
Morning Fawn smacked a stray strand of hair from her face. Her torn sleeve hung loose on her shoulder. “A strange man wouldn’t waste his time with you.”
Thea tossed her head. “I wouldn’t get myself so worked up if I was you, or they’ll shovel a double dose of laudanum down your throat.”
“Thea, hush.” Uncle Robert rapped his cane against the door jamb and crossed the floor, Aunt Judith at his elbow. “Beth, get upstairs to your room. If you weren’t under my protection, Mr. Franklin would have sent the sheriff after you for stealing his horse. The man will still probably show up demanding restitution.” He jabbed his pale finger toward her. “You have lost our trust.”
