“Well, having a baby every year for three years would certainly give a woman pause about getting married again,” Emma said with a snort. “How old is Laurie, Matt?”
“She’s twenty-two, but she doesn’t look a day over eighteen, ‘cept if you look at her hands. Then you can see how hard she works.”
“Maybe you should invite Mrs. Dixon and her children for Sunday dinner soon. I’d like to get to know her a little better. Floyd Dixon kept her isolated out on that straggly piece of land he called a ranch. It wasn’t until she sold it after his death that she bought the café and moved into town. I imagine she’s had a hard go of it and would appreciate someone cooking for her for a change.”
“I’ll ask her, Ma.”
“Do you think she’ll come?”
“Oh, she’ll come all right, if I have to hogtie her to get her here. I’ve almost had enough of her stonewalling me about every little thing. It’s a funny thing how a girl can be pretty as a picture and as stubborn as a mule, all at the same time,” he mused, chewing slowly.
“Morgan can tell you all about that,” Mead offered dryly. “He went to see Callie Mae today.”
“How is Callie Mae?” Emma asked with a smile. “Did you get a look at any of the fancy ladies she brought in from St. Louis?”
“Ma, shame on you for listening to rumors,” Morgan said, wiping his mouth and hiding his grin. “They aren’t fancy ladies. They’re orphans and were about to be put out on the street. They’re all just eighteen years old and needed a job.”
“Orphans and only eighteen? Whatever was Callie Mae thinking? It’s not like she’s able to chaperone, being single herself. Oh, the ladies in town will have a lot to say about this! Poor Callie Mae…”
“Poor Callie Mae, my as…my foot,” Morgan interjected. “She should have known better and I think she’s going out of her way to stir things up, as if buying a saloon wasn’t bad enough. Someone ought to…well, someone should just…ah, never mind,” he sighed, shooting down his napkin.
“When are the girls coming?” Matthew asked.
“Why do you care? You’re sweet on this Laurie, aren’t you?” Morgan demanded, feeling riled up and not liking it a bit.
“Sure I am, but that doesn’t mean I can’t have a little fun while I’m waiting for her to come to her senses and realize what a catch I am,” Matthew replied with a laugh.
“They’re supposed to arrive on the afternoon train. I’m just glad there’s not a herd coming in until later in the week, at least that’s what I heard in town today. Nothing like letting a pack of hounds loose on a group of little foxes,” Morgan said, shaking his head.
“Oh, like over in England,” Emma crowed. “Yes, that does seem rather cruel. At least here we only hunt what we eat, or something wild that is attacking our stock. I don’t see much sport in chasing a fox just for the fun of it.”
“Well, I don’t plan on chasing any, but I think I’ll ride into town tonight and have a look,” Matthew said smiling. Finishing his dinner, he ran his hand through his honey blonde hair and rose from the table. “I’ll be down at the creek, making myself presentable,” he said over his shoulder as he went out the back door and grabbed a bar of soap and a towel from the back porch. “Either of you want to ride into with me?” he asked, poking his head back in the door.
“I’ll ride with you,” Mead said, handing his mother his plate and taking another from her that had a substantial piece of cherry pie on it.
“What about you, Morg? You ready to cut loose and have a little fun?”
“I don’t think so,” Morgan replied. “Not tonight. I’ve got some thinking to do. Ma, I’ll have my pie later if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all, and don’t think you have to stay home and keep an old lady company,” she added as she carried his plate to the sink. “I’m fine here on my own.”
“I know you are,” Morgan replied, stooping to kiss her cheek. “That was delicious, thank you. I’m going out to the barn to take care of a few things. See you later, Mead.”
“Yeah,” Mead answered as he scraped the last of the pie off his plate. Looking around, he began to scowl. “There, they’ve done it again,” he sighed as he carried his plate to the sink.
“Done what?” Emma asked.
“Left me to help with the dishes,” he said as he began to roll up his sleeves.
“Oh, it’s good practice for you,” Emma said, grinning. “I have a feeling you’ll be doing more dishes than your new wife,” she teased, slapping a towel into his hand.
“Humph,” Mead replied. “I just hope she’s learning to cook. When I bought her basket at the church social, I had a belly ache for two days.”
CHAPTER 6
Cara picked up her glass of wine and wandered slowly through the house. It was strangely quiet without the constant drone of the TV spewing out canned laughter from old sitcoms. The living room had been professionally cleaned and it no longer reeked of body odor and stale food. Apart from a few personal items of Morgan’s that were tucked away in the guest room, all traces of him had been removed from the house.
Even if he came back, which she had serious doubts about, they could no longer live together. Their marriage, if one could even call it that, had been over for years, almost from the beginning. He wanted children, she didn’t. She was an intellectual, practical and methodical in everything she did. He’d been impulsive and spontaneous. The country music he enjoyed grated on her nerves, and if she wanted him to go to the opera, he just laughed at her. “Find someone else to go. You know I hate opera and I can’t understand a thing they’re saying.”
