Jane’s brow furrowed. “No. She didn’t.”
“There’s a wonder.”
“She mentioned that you were sitting alone. She had some hesitation going to your table because you appeared to be deep in thought.”
“See?” Morgan leaned toward her and set his forearms on the table. “There is nothing that happens in this town that is considered so dull that it doesn’t bear repeating. I figure there are not more than four, maybe five, people who don’t know by now that I was at the station to meet you yesterday. It doesn’t matter that they don’t know why. Speculation is a favorite way to pass the time in Bitter Springs, like playing dominoes or reading dime novels.”
She lifted an eyebrow. Her smile was faintly mocking. “Do you imagine it is different elsewhere? I assure you, I am quite familiar with speculation passing for fact. In New York there are newspapers entirely dedicated to creating a story where none exists.”
“There is no newspaper in Bitter Springs.”
“That could very well be a point in its favor.”
“I am forced to agree that you might be right.”
Jane tilted her head toward the kitchen door as it opened. “She’s coming now. Please don’t scowl at her.”
Undecided, Morgan grunted softly.
“Yes,” said Jane when Cil Ross offered her coffee.
Morgan merely pushed his cup and saucer toward her. “Do you have cream and sugar for Miss Middlebourne?”
Jane raised her hand before Cil could reply. “Neither for me. I prefer my coffee black.”
Morgan was skeptical, but he said nothing.
Cil said, “There’s steak and eggs. Hotcakes so light you’ll have to drown them with molasses to keep them on your plate. Applesauce. Grits. Fried potatoes. Oatmeal. What’s your pleasure?”
“Oatmeal,” said Jane.
Morgan broke the silence that followed Jane’s request. “She’s waiting for you to say something else.”
“Please?” said Jane.
Morgan grinned while Cil choked back a laugh. “Not that. She wants to know what else you want to eat.”
“Oh.” Jane looked up at Cil. “Nothing else, thank you.”
“Oatmeal will sit in your belly,” Cil said, “but it won’t put meat on your bones. How about some bacon on the side?”
Morgan’s look cautioned Jane about pitting her will against Cil Ross’s. She said, “Bacon will be fine.”
“Good. And you, Mr. Longstreet? Do the hotcakes tempt you?”
“They do, as long as you bring them with steak, two eggs, scrambled, potatoes, and that applesauce you mentioned.” He intercepted Jane’s wide-eyed astonishment. “I don’t much like oatmeal,” he said. “And I had grits at breakfast yesterday.”
Cil winked at Jane. “Didn’t I just say?” Chuckling under her breath, she pivoted smartly and headed back to the kitchen.
Morgan turned to Jane as soon as Cil was out of earshot. “What was that about? What else did she tell you before I arrived?”
Jane picked up her fork and fiddled with it, turning it over several times before she spoke. “I think she might have predicted what you would have for breakfast.”
“Jesus,” Morgan said feelingly. When he saw Jane’s lips purse with disapproval, he reminded her that he was not a godly man. “Taking the Lord’s name in vain is the least of the commandments I’ve broken.”
“I’m not sure they were numbered for purposes of ranking. I believe they deserve equal weight.”
“Maybe so, Miss Middlebourne, and maybe the next time I get the urge to invoke the Lord’s name, I’ll just kill Miss Ross instead.”
