What arrogance! At least he hadn’t been able to tell that she’d rather liked the kiss, found it quite intriguing. That would have been too embarrassing. But he was still insulting her with that actress nonsense, so she stressed, “I’m not an act—”
He cut in, “A little too much protesting, or are you regretting the role you got stuck with? You do know you can improvise, right? So don’t kick yourself too hard over the lost opportunity. I’m sure you’ll get another.”
Opportunity? “That will not happen again,” she insisted.
“Does that mean I have to shove you away next time?”
She gasped. She sputtered. He added, “That’s a yes, I take it? Fine, since you obviously spent a lot of time rehearsing, I won’t interfere with your role again.”
Was that an assurance that there would be no more kissing? She wasn’t exactly sure, but he’d already walked away, so she followed. But she couldn’t help wondering how she might have reacted if he hadn’t insulted her before he’d kissed her. Would she have pushed him away? Yes—no—maybe. She didn’t know! But for a first kiss, it had certainly been memorable, even if she wouldn’t have picked the bear for such an experience.
Back in the yard she hung her wet clothes to dry on the fence at the side of the cabin where they would be out of view of anyone entering or leaving the cabin. Coming back around the porch, she saw Morgan leading his horse into his storeroom. She frowned when he came out alone, closed the large steel door, and locked it. But he’d told her that he stabled his horse in his mine....
Her eyes immediately moved to the other big hole in the cliff, which she’d wrongly assumed was his mine, just as she’d wrongly assumed the steel door led to a storeroom. Her father’s mine was this close to Morgan’s?! Yes, of course it was, verified by two chairs on the porch and two beds inside the cabin.
Hands on hips, she demanded, “Why didn’t you admit my father’s mine is right here in your yard?”
He was approaching her but didn’t stop, just growled in passing, “I’m pretty sure I warned you not to open that can of worms. Not another word about it, lady.”
Oh, they would most definitely discuss it, but maybe after dinner. When he wasn’t growling. But why was it such a bone of contention with him?
She followed him inside to return the bar of soap to the basket and was amazed to see shaving tools in it, razors, strops, a fancy lather mug, little scissors. It was a miracle that they hadn’t all rusted from disuse. When she turned around, she saw Morgan slipping his arms into a white shirt. After lighting a lantern, he picked up both pots from the fire and carried them to the table. The wooden table. And there was no metal pot holder to set them on.
“Wait!” She quickly grabbed a small towel from the shelf, folded it, and laid it on the table. “There. So you don’t warp the wood.”
She heard his snort, but didn’t wait for his sarcastic reply. She fetched her brush instead and sat down on the bed to tackle the tangles in her hair. They were as bad as she figured, and her hair was still damp, which didn’t help.
But Morgan was suddenly sitting down next to her and taking the brush from her hand. She leaned away with a gasp. “What are you doing? I don’t need your help.”
“Instead of getting all prissy, why don’t you just wait and say thank you later?”
She closed her mouth on what she’d been about to say. Did she really come across as prissy to him? Well, what did he expect when everything she’d experienced with him was new and utterly foreign to her? Including this, a man brushing her hair. Only her maid or Aunt Elizabeth or Sophie had ever done this for her.
She expected to cry from his yanking her hair out by the roots as he brushed through the tangles, but instead she kept feeling his fingers brush against her neck as he divided the locks and held them tight by her nape so he didn’t pull any. She was amazed that someone like him could be so gentle, but she wasn’t about to share that thought with him. By the time the last of the tangles were gone and he was running the brush through the entire length of her hair, she was close to sighing in pleasure!
When he stood and moved back to the table, she said softly, “Thank you.”
His eyes met hers before he replied, “My pleasure. No different from grooming a mule’s tail.”
He was comparing her to his mules? She decided not to reply and joined him at the table as he ladled out two large bowls, then two small ones. A thick stew with carrots was in the large bowl and beans in the smaller one.
“This isn’t the cougar you shot, is it?” she asked hesitantly before she picked up her spoon.
“No, this meat isn’t as tender. Dried venison never is. Too bad you’re so finicky.”
He broke off a chunk of bread for her, but there was no butter for it on the table. It was possibly the last of the fresh loaf he’d brought from town, not so fresh now two days later. Would he make more? Did he know how? The stew was evidence that he had some knowledge of cooking.
She watched him dip his bread in the stew to coat it with gravy before taking a bite of it. She tried that and was surprised by how good it tasted.
“Are you good at map drawing?” he asked after a while. “Or are you just supposed to dazzle me with your beauty?”
These backhanded compliments didn’t impress her, but they did disconcert her a little. He had been watching her while they ate, so she had a feeling he was leading up to discussing that kiss, or getting ready to insult her again.
Violet had kept her own eyes averted—the man still hadn’t buttoned up his shirt! But she glanced up at him now to abruptly change the subject. “I want to view my father’s mine after dinner.”
“There’s nothing for an impostor in Charley’s mine,” he replied.
“His money?”
