“What about your brothers? You three are about as tight as a square knot and you come as a set. God knows, it took me better than a day to know who was who, and a week to tell you apart at a distance. If Renee is sensing your doubts, could be it has something to do with your brothers. You probably want to make some decisions about family.”
Jem nodded slowly. “Maybe you’re right. Guess that wasn’t a consideration for you.”
“No,” Morgan said quietly. “It wasn’t a consideration.”
Jane was the last one to sit down for dinner. When Morgan started to get up to hold a chair for her, she almost waved him back before caught herself. Here, she thought, it felt right to observe convention. She had already changed the routine by deciding this meal would be served in the dining room. Crowding around the smaller kitchen table was fine for breakfast, especially if they continued to eat in shifts, but for the most substantial meal of the day, Jane wanted to enjoy it separate from where she had prepared it. She explained that to Morgan when he asked her about it, owning that it was a selfish indulgence on her part. Oddly enough, it was this last part that seemed to make him reconsider the objection she saw hovering on his lips. Instead, what he said was, “As long as it suits you.”
How could it not? she wondered. This was an appreciative audience. They were sufficiently well mannered so as not to fall on the food, but the speed with which the platters and bowls made the first pass around the table was nothing short of remarkable. They layered their plates with slices of baked ham, boiled potatoes with butter and parsley, creamed peas, and apple fritters.
Jem had his fork poised to stab a fritter when he suddenly came to attention and jabbed the tines in his brother’s direction instead. “D’you do that?”
Jake frowned at him across the table. “Do what?”
“You know.”
“I asked, didn’t I? That means I don’t know. And stop pointing your fork at me.”
Jem looked sideways at Jessop. “You?”
Jessop held up his hands, palms out. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Then who kicked me?”
Across the table, on Jake’s right, Max Salter said, “I did.” If he was concerned that he took up half the shoulder space of any of the Davis brothers, it did not show. “Didn’t expect you to fuss about it. Polite thing to do before you poke at your food is to say a prayer over it, or at least wait until the boss’s wife finishes hers.”
Jem sat back. “Oh.” His gaze swiveled to Jane. “Sorry, ma’am.” He put down his fork, folded his hands, and bent his head.
Until Max spoke up, Jane was unaware that she had called attention to herself. She looked to the other end of the table where Morgan sat. He still had his hand around his fork and was closer to spearing a fritter than Jem had been. She waited to see what he would do. There was all his talk about not being a godly man.
Morgan grunted softly, darted a narrow look at Max, and set his fork down slowly and deliberately. He did not follow Jem’s example and bow his head. He stared straight ahead at Jane as she bowed hers.
Jane did not hurry through her thanksgiving, but in deference to her company’s hunger, she kept it short. When she closed with “Amen”, it was as if a pistol had been discharged on opening day at the races. From Jane’s vantage point, it was difficult to tell who dug in first. It might have been Max who led the charge.
“Good fritters,” said Jem. “Damn if they aren’t the best I ever had. Ow!” This time he jabbed his fork in Max’s direction first. “What’d you kick me for now?”
“Didn’t.”
Jake held up a finger. “Me. Mind your language.”
Jem frowned as he reviewed what he’d said. “Oh. Sorry, Mrs. Longstreet. Just sorta slipped out.”
Jane smiled. “I heard the compliment, not the curse, but for the sake of your shins it might behoove you to temper your enthusiasm.”
“Consider me behooved.” Grinning, he returned his attention to his plate.
When Jane glanced at Morgan to gauge his reaction, he was simply shaking his head, but what remained of his faint smile struck her as indulgent. It came to her then that he genuinely liked the men working the ranch with him, enjoyed their company, and probably only intervened when they failed to police themselves. She had seen evidence of the men’s respect for Morgan, and here was evidence that it was returned.
Jessop smashed his potatoes with the back of fork and pushed cream peas onto the pile. “How’d you find things up at Blue? Herefords okay?”
Morgan said, “Mostly.”
“Wolves,” said Max. “A pack of seven or eight from what I could tell.”
Jem said, “Max set off to round up some strays and ended up following the pack’s trail.”
“I brought back five strays. Wolves cut out a calf.”
“Seems early,” Jake said. “Winter’s not set in.”
