“He did more than that. He welcomed me.”
“But not your cousin.”
“No, but she tolerated me, and she did not send me away when her husband died. She showed considerable forbearance. I will always believe it was the best she could do.”
Morgan’s soft grunt was noncommittal. “Did you make a list?”
His question made no sense to Jane. She stared at him, puzzled. “Pardon?”
“A list. Jem’s going to town tomorrow. I suggested you make a list of things you need. Did you?”
So he was changing the subject. And rather firmly too. “No, I did not. Truthfully, I had forgotten. Thank you. I will do it first thing in the morning. Is there any particular thing you want?”
“Maple syrup.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “If you’re going to feed us hotcakes, I prefer mine with maple syrup, not molasses.”
“All right.” Jane unfolded her legs, stretched, and started to rise.
“What are you doing?”
She thought the answer to that was so obvious that his question must have a deeper meaning. She pointed to the door. “I am going to bed.”
“This is your bed.”
Jane froze. “I don’t think that?—”
Morgan did not allow her to finish. “My bed is on the other side of that wall.”
It required a little effort, but Jane managed to unlock her knees and straighten. “I am not helping you walk next door.”
He shrugged.
“Good night, Morgan.” She snapped the quilt and let it flutter across his legs. “Shall I turn back the lamp?”
“I’ll do it.”
Jane nodded. “Sleep well.”
Morgan watched her go. He picked up Daisy Miller and opened it in his lap. He had been thinking about naming the mustang Daisy, but that was before he knew her name was Sophie. The memory of Jane’s explanation surprised a chuckle out of him. Sophie. Morgan could only shake his head. He wondered if Jane knew that it meant wisdom. From the beginning, the mare struck him as more wily than wise, but then Jane was disposed to see the better side of all God’s creatures. If she could do it for Frances Ewing, she certainly could do it for a feral horse.
Whether or not she could do it for him remained to be seen.
CHAPTER 7
The first thing Jane noticed about occupying the bed where Morgan previously slept was that the scent of him lingered. It was faint but clearly identifiable, and not at all unpleasant. She felt a little foolish that she had mistaken Morgan’s meaning when he referred to the bed he was in as her bed. She thought he meant to invite her to join him. For an instant in time, hope had warred with alarm. Of course, neither was warranted. He had only been pointing out that they should return to the accommodations of the previous night.
Her disappointment, and surely that was what she had momentarily felt, disturbed her. She knew herself well enough to know that she did not love Morgan Longstreet, not today, probably not tomorrow, but the idea that it might be hers to grasp at some future time was both tantalizing and terrifying. What if it was in her reach and she hadn’t the courage to embrace it?
Fearless. No, she wasn’t that.
What she was, Jane reminded herself, was practical. So, apparently, was Morgan. It made no sense for her to share his bed when she might cause him further distress by crashing into his cracked ribs or kicking his sprained foot. He had arrived at the same conclusion and because he was gallant in his own fashion, he was willing to surrender some of his comfort to assure hers.
Except Jane was not entirely comfortable, not with the scent of him on her pillow and between the sheets. Closing her eyes only created disturbing images in her mind of the two of them lying together. Was it truly possible to become so entangled? She could not quite define where she ended and he began; he was that close.
She did feel his heat. She felt his fingertips grazing her throat and following the line of her collarbone. She felt his mouth in the sensitive hollow below her ear. He laid his palm on her shoulder, let it slide down her arm. His thumb made a pass across the delicate underside of her elbow. He cupped her breast. There it was again, the warmth of his hand, the comfort. He was easy with her, easy because it was his way to go slowly and tread lightly.
