“Honey, what we do isn’t fighting, it’s just you doing your best to infuriate me.”
“That isn’t—” she started to deny, but he was already walking back to the cabin, so she hurried after him to point out, “Don’t you need to unlock the gate for him if he’s coming for breakfast?”
“No. I usually leave it open when I’m here. I must have been distracted by you yesterday when I relocked it, but I corrected that while you were taking your long nap.”
He could have told her that before she’d climbed over the bloody fence! She didn’t say so. She really didn’t want to keep fighting with him. What she needed was to come to an arrangement with him. He might have given her leave to search for her father’s money, but what if she couldn’t find it? And even if she did and there was enough money to pay off the loan, that wouldn’t solve her and her brothers’ entire dilemma. They needed a lot more money to maintain their lifestyles. She had to persuade Morgan to turn the partnership he’d had with her father into a partnership with her.
She groaned, realizing what a challenge that would be. She’d have to make him like her, want to help her. Of course, she remembered that he’d seemed to like her last night when he’d kissed her—but had he thought he was kissing Violet Mitchell or an actress? And using his attraction to her could be a dangerous road to take, considering that they were sleeping in the same room. She wouldn’t be blatant about it; she’d simply be more like her usual self, charming. Aunt Elizabeth had often told her she was charming. And her aunt had given her and Sophie pointers on how a lady could wrap a man around her finger. Violet would just have to see if an opportunity arose to tame a bear. . . .
He’d already disappeared inside the cabin, so she sat on the porch. It was still cold, the sun still behind the range, but the yard was a little lighter and the scent of pine in the air was pleasant.
Before long Morgan came out and handed her a cup of coffee, which meant he’d made a fire. She was tempted to go back in the cabin, but didn’t. There was something nice about this porch so early in the morning with wilderness all around them and the mules grazing across the stream. She wondered if this was what his family’s ranch in Nashart was like.
She took a sip from the cup to find he’d sweetened the coffee with something that made it quite tasty. “No tea?” she teased. He just raised a brow at her, so she added, “That was a joke.”
“Could have fooled me.”
When she set the cup down on the floor, he went back inside, but came right back out carrying a crate; he set it down next to her chair, then reached down to put her cup on it. How could such an ornery man manage to be so thoughtful—occasionally?
“How much time do I have to look for Papa’s money before you take me back to town?”
“Two weeks at least.”
“What if I find it today?”
“Ask me after you get that lucky. But you can’t go looking for it outside the fence without some protection.”
She was sure he wasn’t offering to escort her. “I can take my father’s rifle.”
“It’s not loaded. Charley ran out of shells trying to hunt and asked me to pick up more for him, but I didn’t see the point. He wasn’t a good shot.”
“Then why did you get so mad last—”
He interrupted, his voice surly. “You didn’t know that rifle wasn’t loaded, and we’re not discussing your intent again. Flapjacks will be ready shortly.”
He turned and went back inside, done talking. She sighed, once more regretting making him so angry last night that she’d lost all headway with him. If she could just stop thinking of him as a bear and stop detesting her surroundings, she was sure her natural charm would resurface.
There was no sign of his friend coming up the hill yet. It probably would take a while since he would have to ride all the way down from the cliff top to where the rocky slope started before he could then come up Morgan’s hill.
Before going in for breakfast, Violet decided to fetch her father’s valise. It felt wrong to just leave it in the mine, and she wanted to go through it more thoroughly later. Now that there was daylight, she didn’t need a lantern to enter the mine, since it wasn’t very deep.
Mission accomplished, she entered the cabin cautiously, hoping Morgan had calmed down. He was putting an open jar of preserves on the table, as well as a crock of butter. Their eyes met for a moment. His were inscrutable, and his beard and mustache hid most of the lower part of his face so it was impossible to tell if he was still angry.
She pushed her father’s valise under the bed, then sat on the edge of it as she braided her hair, aware that he’d paused to watch her. And then she heard him snort and turn about to get their food. Had she merely distracted him, or was he fascinated by her hair?
He’d begun piling a plate with flapjacks. He’d rigged a metal shelf over the fire, high enough not to be touched by the flames, and had cooked the flapjacks on it. Rather ingenious, she thought.
He turned to set the plate on the table. She quickly sat down. He filled two more plates before he sat down to start eating, apparently not waiting for Texas to arrive.
She tested his mood by asking, “Was your friend using the second bed in here?”
“No, I built that for Charley. Tex has his own camp up on the hill. We share the hunting and he comes down occasionally for dinner, but otherwise, he likes being alone up there where he can do his composing without me interrupting him all the time or complaining about the racket.”
“Composing?”
“He plays the harmonica and loves creating his own music. He’s damn good at playing, but it’s not at all harmonic when he starts composing, no pun intended. ’Course, every other week he’ll head to town to play poker and get drunk.”
She realized that might cut in half the two weeks Morgan had said she’d be at his camp, since Texas could take her to town. But she didn’t need to mention that yet, since Morgan had already told her to ask him again if she got lucky. “That long ride just for that?”
“Habit. Cowboys are used to hitting the saloons for some hell-raising every weekend. It took some arguing to get him to go only twice a month.”
“Were you a cowboy, or did you consider yourself a rancher because your family owns a ranch?”
“I herded cattle until the day I left home, so, yeah, either name applies.”
“Do you have a big family?”
“Felt like it, growing up with three brothers.”
One of Aunt Elizabeth’s pointers was that men liked to talk about themselves, so a lady could get in their good graces by asking them about themselves, but Morgan was providing only terse answers to her questions. Was he the exception that Elizabeth had never run into?
She tried again to find a subject he might want to talk about. “Why didn’t you like being a cowboy?”
“Never said I didn’t like it. Fact is, I loved ranching with my family. But there are other things I want to do now that I consider more important.”
He didn’t elaborate, and despite her curiosity, she recalled another of her aunt’s adages: never pry or become a nuisance when you ask a man about himself. So she referred back to his mention of poker. “You don’t get the urge to hit the saloons, as you say, like your friend?”
“I did until Sullivan found out about my silver and started hounding me to sell my mine. I stopped going places where he’d find me. I do my drinking here now, and if I feel like a game of poker, I’ll head up the hill. But it’s no fun playing with Tex. He loves the game, but he’s no good at bluffing or recognizing a bluff, so it’s like stealing money from him.”
“It’s complicated, that game?”
“No, but there are some nuances that make it more interesting. You play?”
He raised his brows, waiting for her answer, looking hopeful. She almost wished she could say yes. “Is it anything like whist?”
“Like what?”
“Never mind. Perhaps I’ll ask your friend to teach me how to play poker during his visit.”