“Oh. I’d hoped—” Disappointed, she sighed. “I’d hope for more.”
“If there is more, that’d be for Morgan to tell you.” Mrs. Sterling tilted her head as she studied Jane. “He’s not exactly an open book, is he?”
Jane smiled ruefully. “I don’t know anything about where he grew up, nothing about his parents, brothers, sisters, cousins.”
“I couldn’t tell you about that.”
Jane went on. “There are no stories. None. It’s as if he did not exist before Morning Star.”
“Maybe he didn’t.” Mrs. Sterling waved a hand dismissively. “Just a fancy crossing my mind. You’ll have to press him some if there are things you want to know. You’re not afraid of him, are you?”
“No. No, not at all.”
“Well, then, you have to keep at him.” She pushed aside the plate of cookies and laid a hand over Jane’s. “But gentle. You said that he gave you a mustang.”
“Yes.”
“If he meant for you to ride it, he would have been particular about how it was trained.”
“He was. I watched him.”
“Then you know how it’s done.” She smiled encouragingly. “I just recollected something else Benton said about the boy: He has a fine hand and the patience to put it to proper use. I’d forgotten that ’til now. Maybe you want to think about that when you talk to him.” She patted Jane’s hand, sat back, and pointed to the plate. “Now have a cookie. I’m going enjoy myself watching you eat until Morgan gets back from the hardware store.”
When Morgan arrived at the Pennyroyal, he found Mrs. Sterling in the kitchen but not with his wife. “Where is Jane?” he asked without preamble.
“She walked over to Mrs. Garvin’s. I’m surprised you didn’t see her. She only left a few minutes ago.”
“Mrs. Garvin.” Morgan frowned slightly, trying to place the name. “The milliner? Jane already has a fine hat.”
Ida Mae made a tsking sound with her tongue as she regarded Morgan sorrowfully. “A woman can always use another hat, but she went there with the idea of finding a pattern and material for something she can wear when she’s riding. Mrs. Garvin has books and such that she can look through. Goodness, what has your dander up? Your wife intends to do the sewing; although it seems to me you could part with money enough to see that she doesn’t have to.”
Morgan lifted his hat, plowed his fingers through his hair, and then slapped his hat against his leg instead of returning it to his head. “She didn’t say a word about it, didn’t ask me for money, and she’s not where she told me she’d be.”
“And yet you’re glowering at me.”
It did not happen immediately, but Morgan eventually got around to taking a calming breath. “Sorry.”
“Humph.” Mrs. Sterling returned to peeling potatoes. She gestured with her chin to the plate of almond cookies. “Jane managed to choke down two of those. I think you’ll have an easier time.”
Morgan picked one up and bit it in half. “What do you mean she managed to choke them down?”
Mrs. Sterling shrugged. “She doesn’t seem to have much of an appetite.”
“Maybe she was too polite to tell you she doesn’t like almond cookies.”
“That’s probably it.”
Morgan wasn’t fooled. “Out with it. You’re the one who’s going to choke on what you have stuck in your craw.”
Firmly setting down her knife, Mrs. Sterling regarded Morgan with her most penetrating gaze. “Do you ever intend to tell that girl anything about you?”
“Whoa. What’s this about?”
“She has questions, Morgan. Any woman would, living with a man who doesn’t have two words to string together about himself. She’s looking to know you better, and she’s come to me for the blank parts. Apparently there are a lot of them.”
Morgan pulled up a stool up and sat down. He set his hat on the table away from the potato shavings. “What kind of questions?”
“What kind of questions,” she repeated flatly. “Hmm. Can you think of any that you’ve answered about your family?”
