MORGAN HAD TOLD HER to bring a pillow, had yelled it from the other side of her door early that morning. She’d told him not to be absurd. When she had to sleep sitting up in a moving stagecoach that night, she kept leaning in his direction, waking, and apologizing. She realized then why he’d suggested a pillow.
The fourth time she fell toward him, he pulled her closer, put her head on his shoulder, and said, “I can’t sleep if you keep crashing into me. Stay put.”
Violet would have argued if he hadn’t made it seem like she’d be doing him a favor. But when she woke again in the daylight, her head was on his chest instead of his shoulder, and her hand rested on it, too. His arm was around her back, holding her close to him. She leaned away slowly in case he was still sleeping. And caught her father watching her. She wasn’t fully awake yet, or else she would have blushed.
She whispered across the aisle to him, “Did you get a good night’s rest?”
“Better than you two did, I imagine,” Charles said in a normal tone of voice, adding, “And he’s awake.”
Now she really was embarrassed, but Morgan straightened up in his seat and said, “We’ll have our own beds tonight in Billings, and get you settled in at the ranch tomorrow.”
The ranch? She hadn’t imagined they would be staying with his family in Nashart, though she probably should have after her father had said he was looking forward to his stay there. And it might be nice. Morgan had told her enough about his family to make her feel like she already knew them. She wondered how he would behave around them.
He didn’t come knocking that night at the Billings hotel. She kept listening for it, not that she would have opened the door. Maybe he’d been serious about appointing himself her chaperone. The thought was silly enough to make her smile.
After riding in a stagecoach for two full days and all of one night, Violet found the train ride on the third day quite comfortable. Bo seemed to prefer it, too. They pulled into the Nashart station late in the afternoon.
“Well, hell, so much for surprises,” Morgan said when he looked out the window and saw the crowd on the station platform.
He immediately got up and jumped off the train. Violet heard hoots and hollers, whistles and voices raised in excitement, and when she looked out the window, she saw Morgan being overwhelmed with bear hugs and pats on his back, and some kisses, too.
His whole family was there, apparently. The older couple were obviously his parents, the three young men also obviously his brothers, but the beautiful copper-haired woman who greeted him so warmly, even kissing his cheek—who the bloody hell was she?
Violet stood up and put her bustled jacket back on. It had been too warm to wear it on the train, but with Morgan’s family outside, she wanted to look her best and was glad she’d worn her fancy rose traveling ensemble today. Parasol in hand, she offered her arm to her father.
“How do you think they found out he was on this train?” she said as they headed to the exit together.
“Texas, probably,” Charles guessed. “He would have sent word to his fiancée that he was coming home for good, and Emma could have told the others.”
“That’s a shame. I was looking forward to seeing the surprise on their faces, but instead it’s Morgan who got surprised.”
Violet stepped off the train first and turned to help her father down to the platform. She wished she hadn’t heard the whisper behind her: “You think he brought the thorn home with him?”
She didn’t blush, but she did purse her lips in disapproval of that ridiculous name Morgan had called her more than once. And he’d obviously referred to her that way in a letter to his family, since one of them had just used the silly name. She swung around to see who had made that remark, but found they were all looking at her.
Morgan took that moment to make introductions. “Ma, Pa, I’d like to introduce my partner, Charles Mitchell, and his daughter, Miss Violet Mitchell.”
Mary Callahan stepped forward to shake their hands, saying, “I’m Mary, my husband is Zachary. Any friend of Morgan’s is a friend of ours, so y’all are welcome to stay at our ranch.”
“You are most kind, Mrs. Callahan,” Violet said.
But Zachary wanted to know, “What kind of part—?”
Morgan cut in, “Pardon me, Pa, I’d like to finish the introductions first.”
He went on to do that, ignoring his father’s frown. Zachary Callahan appeared to be in his fifties, with coal-black hair and dark-brown eyes fanned with laugh lines, hinting at a good-natured temperament. He didn’t look like a man who could intimidate the bear, yet she knew Morgan was dreading the fight he expected when he got around to sharing his plans.
As for Zachary’s sons, John—the hot-tempered one, according to Morgan—had black hair and brown eyes and a look all his own, darkly brooding, one might say. Cole, the youngest, had brown hair and eyes, and was shorter than his brothers by a few inches. He had boyish good looks, sort of like a younger version of all of them. They did all resemble each other in certain ways—except that Hunter and Morgan looked very much alike. If she didn’t know they were a year apart in age, Violet would have thought they were twins.
Mary Callahan was the most surprising member of the family. She was petite but she didn’t look delicate. She wore her long brown hair in a single braid lying over her shoulder and had keen blue eyes. Morgan’s eyes—Hunter’s, too. She was wearing a skirt made out of rough material that might actually be rawhide. When she moved to say something to her husband, Violet saw it wasn’t a skirt at all, but very wide pants. A female cowboy! She even had the wide-brimmed hat, which she held in her hand, a red bandanna around her neck, scuffed boots, and, most intriguing of all, a gun belt around her hips.
As for the copper-haired beauty with emerald-green eyes who had caused Violet a brief moment of pique, she turned out to be Hunter’s new wife, Tiffany, the feud-ender. Violet was glad to meet her now that she knew she was married. They were the same age and might become friends. It would be so nice to have a friend here, someone with whom she could share confidences as she’d done with Sophie.
“You’re from England, aren’t you?” Tiffany asked Violet.
“London,” Violet replied.
“You have a lovely accent. I look forward to hearing about all the latest fashions and social events.”
Hunter chimed in, “My wife used to be a fancy easterner, now she’s a fancy westerner, but she’ll still talk your ear off about fashions.”
But with the introductions over, Zachary was quick to seek the answer to his earlier question. “Mr. Mitchell is your partner in what?”
Morgan ignored it and asked, “How in blazes did you know I was on this train?”
Zachary raised a brow, not missing his son’s evasion, but he let it go and answered, “That’s a mite funny. We got a telegram this morning from Abe Danton, who moved to Billings last year. He thought he was doing us a favor letting us know that Hunter had just boarded the eastbound train and should be home soon. Hunter had a good laugh about it, since he was out front with his brothers waiting for me and your ma before heading out to the range.”
Morgan snorted, insisting, “Hunter and I don’t look that much alike.”
Hunter elbowed him. “From a distance we do, and stop complaining. You should be thankful you share my devastatingly good looks—”
“Devastatingly good—”
“So my wife tells me. Too bad our other brothers, the runts, missed out and resemble the mules in the south pasture.”
“Hey, now,” Cole mumbled.
But John actually took a swing at Hunter, who apparently expected such a response from him and stepped out of the way, allowing the punch to catch Morgan’s shoulder, which prompted Morgan to put his brother in a headlock. But John managed to trip him and they both went down, sprawled at Violet’s feet.
She jumped back to avoid getting knocked down herself and brandished her parasol at them, scolding, “Children have better manners!”