Another evasion? One too many! In a fury, she reached into the basket at her feet and threw a handful of the contents at him, then screamed in frustration when she saw it was just carrots.
She ran into the house to find something heavier to hit him with, shouting back, “You’ve stolen our mine! Claim-jumped it, or whatever you call it out here. That’s why you want to hide it from me!”
He followed her inside, growling, “You’re out of your mind!”
“You’re right and it’s your bloody fault!”
She grabbed cans off a shelf and started throwing them at him. She didn’t pause to see if any hit him before reaching for more. But when strong arms clamped tightly around her middle and her feet left the floor, she burst into tears at being thwarted.
“So much for the lady story,” he said as he put her down on a bed.
“Go to the devil!” she yelled, and turned over to face the wall. And cried a lot more.
Chapter Thirteen
“We’re so happy you’re home, Violet.” Sophie sat beside her on the blanket. They were on an outing in the park, a few of the younger girls picking wildflowers. But their favorite park didn’t have wildflowers. She tried to tell them that, but no one was listening to her. One of her cousins reached into a picnic hamper and asked her, “D’you want crumpets or cat meat?” Appalled, Violet looked around, expecting to see a cougar, but saw Lord Elliott approaching instead. He looked so handsome in riding jodhpurs and holding a crop. All the girls gathered around him excitedly. He kissed Sophie’s hand, patted each of the younger girls on the head, then glanced at Violet and raised his nose a little higher in the air and walked on. He was snubbing her?! Sophie stopped giggling long enough to say, “He heard you’re a pauper now. Shame on you, Vi, for letting that happen.” Violet burst into tears and started throwing carrots at Elliott’s retreating back. But Elliott must have forgiven her, because suddenly she was dancing with him in a beautiful ballroom, laughing at his clever quips. Everything was right with the world again until he pulled away from her, looking horrified: “A snake is slithering out of your reticule!”
It was the snake that woke her. She looked around frantically for a moment to make sure there wasn’t one with her in the bed that had wormed its way into her dream—nightmare was more like it. She shuddered briefly once she was sure there wasn’t a snake in the cabin, as far as she could see.
She took note of her surroundings. There were just the two windows in the front wall to let in light, the glass so thick she could barely see through it. There was next to no furniture. Instead of a cabinet, Morgan had a wall of deep shelves, one for folded clothes and bedding, one for dishes and pans, the rest for supplies, some of which were stored in baskets. Several crates were now stacked against a wall, too. Three chairs surrounded a rectangular table in the center of the room. Apparently, he did get visitors. There was no kitchen, just a fireplace with two raised griddles over it. A Dutch oven sat on the higher one, two pots on the lower one, a low fire burning beneath them. It was a decent fireplace, though, built of stone with a mantel on which a lantern and a few knickknacks sat. She was disappointed by the spartan accommodations. No sofa, not even one comfortable chair, just two narrow beds in opposite corners. Two?
Morgan walked in with a large sack of grain over his shoulder. She could see that he’d bathed. A long towel was still hanging about his neck, but he hadn’t fully dressed. His chest was bare and wet, his hair wet, too. It was too much when she wasn’t fully awake yet, all that bare brawn utterly transfixing her, not letting her thoughts through, not letting her breathe. . . .
“I built most of the furniture, so it’s as rough as you might expect, since I’m not a carpenter. The table wobbles. Ignore it, I do.”
She breathed deeply, and tore her eyes off him. He must have noticed her looking about the room to say that. She’d rather ignore him and his comments about his living quarters. Was he trying to soothe her with trivial conversation? That wasn’t happening.
She glanced between the two beds, one crumpled with bedding, the one she was sitting on made up neatly. “Who else lives here with you?”
He put the grain sack on a shelf before he turned and said, “No one now.”
“Was it my father? Is his mine actually that close to yours?”
“Should I brace myself for another conniption?”
Normally she would be mortified that she’d let him see her at her worst. Good Lord, she’d actually thrown things at him. But he’d deserved it. And then she realized he’d just evaded again!
“I think if I had a gun right now, I’d shoot you,” she said tonelessly.
“And miss.”
“Probably,” she agreed. “Though it would be satisfying to try. You really can’t keep doing this to me. That mine is too important to my family.”
“Well, that’s the thing, Violet Mitchell pretender, it’s not. It’s important to Sullivan, and what’s really important to you is his agenda. Now, I might have thrown a wrinkle into your plan by figuring that out, but you apparently had a fallback plan ready in case I did. Bottom line, Charley’s mine is still none of your business, so do us both a favor and stop nagging me about it.”
“This is bloody absurd. You assumed this impostor nonsense simply because Katie Sullivan befriended me in town, but it’s simply not true. I am exactly who I said I am.”
“I spent enough time with Charley to know he was from the East, Philadelphia, I think he said. You, however, aren’t from there. Sullivan was pretty dumb to hire a foreigner to play the part of Charley’s daughter.”
She sighed. It was suddenly clear why he refused to believe her—he’d even brought it up before. Her accent. Even her brothers had mentioned it.
“I tried to tell you on the trail that I’ve been living with my aunt and uncle in England for the last nine years, which may be why my father never mentioned me to you, and is why I speak with an English accent. Even my brothers teased me about sounding like a Brit now.”
“Are they children?”
“What difference does that make?”
“Then they are?”
“No, they are two years older than I.”
“Then they wouldn’t have let their younger sister come out here alone. You’re just providing more proof that you aren’t a Mitchell.”
She growled under her breath in frustration. “On the trail you implied that once we reached your mine, the truth would be revealed. Well? What kind of proof do you have that what you say and not what I say is the truth?”
“You won’t be leaving here until you admit the truth,” he replied. “That’s all I implied, and I don’t give a damn how long it takes.”
She was dismayed. Her brothers needed help immediately! “That’s unacceptable. My visit to this territory is a matter of the greatest urgency, and besides, I can prove who I am. You need only send a telegram to my brothers. Time is of the essence. I can give you the address, but you might think that’s prearranged. I can also give you their names, but again, you might think they are coconspirators. So just send it to Charles Mitchell’s sons. Our family is well known in Philadelphia. It will be delivered to them and they will confirm that I came here to find our father. And one of them intended to come with me, but he was detained. He was supposed to follow, but sent word that he couldn’t. They are depending on me to find Father’s money. D’you have it?”
“You’re too interested in that money,” he remarked. “Why is that?”
“Because my brothers and I need it.”
That got her a long stare before he said, “The brothers who aren’t actually yours? When it’s more likely that Sullivan has promised you that you can keep any money of Charley’s you find out here?”
“D’you realize how exasperating you are? I told you exactly how you can prove who I am. I demand you take me back to town to do so!”