She hoped he got the point. Just because she’d lain naked with him didn’t mean she would eat or sleep all night that way.
Dressed, she tied her hair back, too hungry to braid it, and hurried back inside. He’d put his pants back on, even his shirt, though he hadn’t buttoned it. That’s not what caused her to blush again. She was feeling incredibly embarrassed over what they’d done in that very room.
He put the large bowl of stew in front of her, remarking, “Why’d you tie your hair back?”
“To keep it out of the way.”
“It’s never in my way. I like it better down.” She started to remind him about tangles, but he said, “We can argue about it later.” And he tossed her half of the bread loaf with a grin.
He sat down across from her. She wanted to look away but really couldn’t. He was too bloody handsome now, and maybe only a few years older than her.
“How old are you?” she asked.
“Twenty-three, second son of four. Hunter’s a year older and the charmer in the family. Our brother John is twenty-one and hot-tempered. The runt, Cole, is just nineteen and can’t make up his mind who he wants to take after.”
“How would you describe yourself?”
“You know me. What would you say?”
“You’re still a bear even if you don’t look like one now,” she replied. “But I suppose if I had to describe you in one word, I would say determined.”
He grinned. “Good choice.”
He shouldn’t do that. His smile almost transfixed her, making him even more handsome. Thank God she hadn’t been able to see that before. But how was she going to deal with it now when it was hard to tear her eyes away from him?
She stared at her stew, determined not to look up again. “What was it like, growing up with three brothers?”
“Fun—usually. The old feud we have with the Warrens, neighboring ranchers, led to all sorts of mischief, since they have three boys near our ages.”
“What sort of feud? The killing kind?”
He snorted. “No—least, not in our day, though it might’ve led to that if a truce hadn’t been arranged years ago by Mrs. Warren with the offer of a marriage to her only daughter, who was still a baby at the time. The peacekeeping wedding is to happen sometime this summer. It could be over with, for all I know—or called off, if Hunter backed out of it. He sure wasn’t happy about our parents volunteering him just because he’s the oldest, without his having any say about it, and to a filly he’s never met. The Warren daughter was raised back east for some reason. Never did find out why. But if that wedding doesn’t happen, then there might end up being bloodshed.”
“So you don’t really know what you’ll be going home to, when you get around to it?”
“I’ll likely know. My ma writes me here and keeps me apprised of what’s happening at home. There are probably a few letters waiting for me in town that I didn’t pick up this last trip.”
Because of her. Because he got the wrong idea about her, got mad about it, and arbitrarily abducted her instead of simply knocking on her door at the hotel and asking her why she was looking for him. But she wasn’t going to open that can of worms, as he would say.
So she only said primly, “Feuds are archaic. No one in the civilized world has them anymore.”
He laughed at the remark. “Want to bet? They might not label them feuds where you come from, but there will always be neighbors who can’t get along, grudges that escalate, and the more common revenge motives that can affect whole families. Emotions that start disputes like that can arise anywhere, in any country. In your civilized world, it might even be labeled war.”
She blushed slightly, forced to allow, “I cede to your reasoning.”
“Well, that’s a surprise.”
She made a face and stood up to go outside. She wasn’t going to embarrass herself by saying why. He followed her out, but when she glanced back she saw him heading to the pasture to check on the horses. Now that there were two extra ones, she supposed she could offer to help him. After all, she did know how to saddle and unsaddle a horse; she’d just never had a reason to tell him that. Would he still lock Caesar in his mine now that the claim jumpers were no longer a threat? Probably.
Drowsy after that filling meal, she was extra careful with her steps on the way back to the cabin, now that it was mostly dark. The moon wasn’t up yet, but she could see well enough with the streaks of the sunset in the sky. She wanted a bath, a real one, craved it, but her mind balked at cold stream water tonight, and the thought of going to bed with wet hair was just as abhorrent, so a bath would have to wait until morning.
Returning to the cabin, she found Morgan putting the dinner bowls away, his back to her. And it was close enough to the time they usually went to sleep, so she said, “Good night.”
He turned. She was immediately arrested again by the new him, the too-handsome version. She ended up standing there like a bedazzled loon, which allowed him to reach her and put his arms around her before she even thought about retreating out of his way.
The hug was gentle, the kiss somewhat brief, before he said with a smile, “Sweet dreams, Thorny Violet.”
But he didn’t let go of her, and she felt the urge to hug him back. She resisted, turned away, although she no longer felt the least bit tired. And suddenly she stopped resisting. She turned back, put her arms around his neck, and whispered, “Morgan . . .” Then led him to her bed.
Chapter Thirty-One
VIOLET WAS ALONE IN her bed when she awoke—and naked. The skin on her face felt a little chafed. She recalled Morgan kissing her and her kissing him during the night. But in the cold light of morning, she remembered everything else that had happened last night, and was mortified by what she’d done.
At least he’d hooked up her screen when he left her bed. To save her embarrassment? Nothing could. But she quickly reached for the clothes that had been laid over the crates at the foot of her bed and dressed, hoping he wasn’t still in the cabin.
He was. Stepping out from behind the screen, she saw him fully dressed and sitting at the table drinking coffee. She paused to ask, “We slept together all night?” Then she blushed furiously again.
Morgan raised a brow. “The sleeping part is all you remember?”
“We shan’t talk about it,” she said as she sat down at the table.
“If you say so.”
“I do. Nor shall it happen again.”
“I thought we weren’t going to talk about it.”
“I simply don’t want to raise expectations.”
“Consider them not raised.” But then he said, “You know, you don’t have to be beyond-the-pale polite with me—did I use that phrase right?”
“Not really, but I caught the drift. However, I will always be polite, no matter whom I’m talking to.”
“Always?” He grinned.
Good Lord, was he constantly going to make allusions to what they’d done last night? He’d saved her twice yesterday, first from harm, then from her horrific memories and fear. And the two outlaws had deserved to die, had killed people for no reason and without remorse. By getting rid of those two men, Morgan had likely saved countless other lives they would have taken. Yes, she could deal with that harrowing adventure pragmatically now. But she wasn’t sure she could deal with resisting Morgan.
“How are you feeling this morning? You were pretty shaken up yesterday.”
“I’m better,” she assured him.
“You still ought to rest up today, maybe give up on searching for your father’s money, or wait until Texas returns. He doesn’t sleep the entire day and could go with you some.”
“I’ll be fine, and I’ll have my gun.”
“That gun didn’t help you much yesterday,” he said pointedly.
“I erred in not using it, but I learn from my mistakes. I’ll fire off a shot immediately if I see anything that walks on two feet.”
“Well, help yourself to lunch today, since I might be late. There’s a lot I want to accomplish in the mine before we return to Butte next week to meet up with your brothers.”