As for the copper-haired beauty with emerald-green eyes who had caused Violet a brief moment of pique, she turned out to be Hunter’s new wife, Tiffany, the feud-ender. Violet was glad to meet her now that she knew she was married. They were the same age and might become friends. It would be so nice to have a friend here, someone with whom she could share confidences as she’d done with Sophie.
“You’re from England, aren’t you?” Tiffany asked Violet.
“London,” Violet replied.
“You have a lovely accent. I look forward to hearing about all the latest fashions and social events.”
Hunter chimed in, “My wife used to be a fancy easterner, now she’s a fancy westerner, but she’ll still talk your ear off about fashions.”
But with the introductions over, Zachary was quick to seek the answer to his earlier question. “Mr. Mitchell is your partner in what?”
Morgan ignored it and asked, “How in blazes did you know I was on this train?”
Zachary raised a brow, not missing his son’s evasion, but he let it go and answered, “That’s a mite funny. We got a telegram this morning from Abe Danton, who moved to Billings last year. He thought he was doing us a favor letting us know that Hunter had just boarded the eastbound train and should be home soon. Hunter had a good laugh about it, since he was out front with his brothers waiting for me and your ma before heading out to the range.”
Morgan snorted, insisting, “Hunter and I don’t look that much alike.”
Hunter elbowed him. “From a distance we do, and stop complaining. You should be thankful you share my devastatingly good looks—”
“Devastatingly good—”
“So my wife tells me. Too bad our other brothers, the runts, missed out and resemble the mules in the south pasture.”
“Hey, now,” Cole mumbled.
But John actually took a swing at Hunter, who apparently expected such a response from him and stepped out of the way, allowing the punch to catch Morgan’s shoulder, which prompted Morgan to put his brother in a headlock. But John managed to trip him and they both went down, sprawled at Violet’s feet.
She jumped back to avoid getting knocked down herself and brandished her parasol at them, scolding, “Children have better manners!”
Zachary nodded, Mary looked at her in surprise, and John blushed furiously as he scrambled to his feet. Charles protectively put his arm around Violet’s waist. But Hunter was bent over laughing. It must have been infectious, because now the other Callahan men were laughing, too.
Mary didn’t find it funny and admonished sternly, “She’s right, you’re no better than wild broncos. Keep those fists in your pockets, John. And stop teasing your brothers, Hunter. All of my boys are beautiful.”
Hunter grinned. “Only a mother would say that.”
“Well, I’ll say this, if no one else will,” Zachary began, his eyes on Morgan. “It’s about damn time you came to your senses and got yourself home, Son.”
Violet noticed Morgan stiffen, even if no one else did. “I never lost my senses, Pa. But if you want to have this argument right here and now—”
Mary cut in, “You’ll do no such thing. We’re tickled pink you’re home, Morg, all of us are. Now, let’s get you home and settled, then you can regale us with your exploits and explain how you came to have a partner, and why on earth you would call this beautiful lady a thorn.”
Morgan actually grinned. “She’s named after a flower.”
“Violets don’t have thorns, boy,” Zachary pointed out.
“Don’t they?”
Mary snorted. Violet felt a blush creeping up her cheeks, and she knew the others would notice it because all eyes were on her after those ridiculous remarks. And when she saw Morgan still grinning over that offensive name he’d given her, she pressed the point of her parasol to his chest and said, as politely as possible, “I may have thorns, but you, sir, have the manners and temperament of a bloody bear.”
The Callahans looked stunned. Mary broke the silence, saying, “Well, then, shall we go?”
As Mary led Violet to a buckboard wagon, she whispered, “So, how did my son behave like a bloody bear?”
Chapter Forty-Four
VIOLET BLAMED HER REACTIONSat the train station on how unusual Morgan’s family had turned out to be. She hadn’t expected his mother to be a cowboy—well, cowgirl, but still... She hadn’t expected his father to be so testy, though she should have, considering what Morgan had told her. She hadn’t expected one of his brothers to throw punches. But it was obvious that Morgan was glad to be home, despite that tense moment with his father. This was the Morgan she liked, relaxed, quick to laugh, not so much carefree but definitely tolerant—or at least, hard to provoke, which was definitely a good thing for a man as big as he was.
Mary insisted that Violet ride with her on the perch of the two-seater buckboard, while Tiffany rode in the back with Charles. A horse had been brought from the ranch for Morgan and he rode with the rest of the men, fanned out on both sides of the buckboard, not close enough to hear the uncomfortable conversation Violet was having with his mother.
