Morgan nodded solemnly. “Yes, Miss Middlebourne. Annie Oakley is real.”
“Well, I am heartily relieved to hear it.”
He pointed to the left. “Come, I’ll show you the rooms.”
Jane stayed at Morgan’s side as he escorted her through the house. A stone fireplace dominated the front room. The sofa had wide arms, a curved back, and was covered in navy blue velvet that was shiny in places from wear. There were two armchairs similarly covered. One showed evidence of more use than the sofa while the other showed less. The upright chairs had seat covers that revealed skilled embroidery work. The French knots numbered in the thousands. There were two tables with lamps, and candles on the mantelpiece. Other than an empty vase, the room was devoid of items that might grace other front rooms. There were no photographs, no figurines, no little boxes that could hold small treasures or even a deck of playing cards. The piano was unexpected, but Morgan told her that it came with the house, a gift from Uriah Burdick to his wife. It neither kept the wife faithful nor kept her on the ranch. She ran off with a railroad surveyor, and as far as Morgan knew, the piano had not been used since.
He did not ask Jane if she played, and she did not volunteer the information. Instead, she lightly dragged her fingertips across the keyboard’s lid as she passed.
In addition to the front room, there was a dining room, a study that Jane judged to be seldom used, two bedrooms, one half the size of the other, and a loft space that Morgan told her had two more beds. The ladder to reach the loft was put away since he had no use for the space now. Someday, he had said, rather more offhandedly than not, and Jane kept her eyes averted, afraid he would know all her secrets at this casual reference to a future that figured children into it.
They ended in the kitchen. Jem Davis was waiting for them, one hip cocked against the sink while he drank his fill of water from a jar. Jane observed a broad face, square jaw, shoulders that extended like planks from an iron ship, and without conscious thought, she edged closer to Morgan. If Morgan was aware that she had inched toward him, he gave no indication. He made the introductions and told Jem to wash his hands before he offered one to Jane.
Far from taking offense at the directive, Jem grinned so widely Jane thought she could count his entire mouthful of teeth.
“Sure, and I was going to do just that,” said Jem. He set the jar down, turned to the sink, and scrubbed up while he hummed “Sweet Betsy from Pike.” He shook off his hands, looked around for a towel, and when none magically appeared, wiped his hands on the front of his green flannel shirt. He stepped around the table, nodded, and waited for Jane to extend her hand first.
She did. His hold was gentle and put her immediately in mind of Walt back at the Pennyroyal. Something of her surprise must have shown on her face because Jem gave a lopsided, oddly endearing smile.
“Renee says I have hands like hams and fingers as thick as sausages, but it’s all tender cuts.” He added, “Renee’s my fiancée except she doesn’t always own that she is.”
“I see,” said Jane. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”
“Well, that’s what I would call a mutual feelin’ except I know there’s more pleasure on my side.” He looked at Morgan. “So you finally gone and done it. Hired yourself a cook and housekeeper. And none too soon. We were just jawin’ about having to cook for ourselves this winter, and there wasn’t one of us looking forward to it. Me and my brothers probably could survive, but that runt Max Salter hasn’t got but a minute’s worth of meat on his bones and no stores of fat. He wasn’t going to make it, Morgan.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m serious. It was going to be a problem.”
Jane found herself once again the target of Jem’s hopeful expression. “Do you make fritters, ma’am? Corn. Apple. Cauliflower. Celery. Calf’s brains. Tomato. It don’t matter much what you put inside it. I’m partial to corn, but I like them all.”
Before Jane could respond, Morgan put up a hand. “Jem, settle yourself and give her a chance to breathe. I noticed you are less concerned about her housekeeping talents.”
“Sorry, ma’am. My mouth runs and the rest of me is hard-pressed to keep up.” His eyes shifted to Morgan again. “I figure the housekeeping doesn’t include the bunkhouse. Hard for me to get excited about that. Unless she’s going to do our laundry?”
“No.”
Jem shrugged. “Well, maybe we can pay her under the table.”
“I’ll beat you with the table.”
Jane heard no rancor in Morgan’s tone and saw no fear in Jem’s expression. She reflected on what Morgan had said about telling Jem who she was. I won’t have to. If I know Jem, he’ll figure it out. What Morgan hadn’t revealed was that he’d known all along that Jem would figure it wrong. She was aware that Morgan had subtly influenced Jem’s assumption by introducing her as Jane Middlebourne, not Miss Middlebourne. It would be in keeping with Jem’s assuming nature that he thought there was a man somewhere. Then again, Jem was single-minded about the fritters. Perhaps it was no matter to him if she was single, married, widowed, divorced, or had two heads. Propriety was about the only thing she could not batter dip, fry, and serve to Jem Davis.
Morgan could not interpret Jane’s silence on the ride back to Bitter Springs. She responded when he spoke, but in the absence of her questions, it was too difficult to know what to say. He did not have a good sense of what she thought of the house. Her expression, except for the brief exchange with Jem, was largely neutral. There had been her interest in the gun, but for all he knew that interest was a prelude to shooting him.
Before they left, he took her out back to see the garden, the pigs, and the henhouse. The chickens scratched the ground when he scattered corn for them and ignored Jane, but the rooster marched right up and tried to peck at her shoes. He was encouraged when Jane bent, firmly picked up the bird in both hands, and tossed it away. The bird left her alone after that. She looked over the smokehouse, saw the woodhouse was full, and stood beside him at the corral until one of the mares came over to see if Morgan had anything for her. He noticed that Jane was initially shy around the animal until Morgan told her the mare’s name was Periwinkle, but answered better to Winkle. For whatever reason, that seemed to make a difference. She stroked the white star on Winkle’s nose with increasing confidence. It was only when Winkle tried to nuzzle her that Jane backed away.
Morgan decided to bypass the barn after that and escorted her to the bunkhouse. Jem had already gone back there and turned out the troops. Wiry Max Salter was wedged between Jessop and Jake Davis, but he managed to get a hand out and gave a good account of himself. Jane was polite, reserved, and deeply thoughtful by then, and she sat beside Morgan in that same vein now.
“That’s the town’s cemetery on your right,” said Morgan.
“Yes, I know. I saw it on the way out.”
Morgan grimaced slightly. Of course she had. He might have even pointed it out to her; he couldn’t remember. “We’ll be at the Pennyroyal soon.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jane nod. “By the time we return, it will be almost exactly twenty-four since your arrival.”
“Yes. I’m aware.”
“I know what I want to do. Do you?” Jane caught him off guard by grabbing his wrist. There was considerable strength in her grip. She made him pull up on the reins.
