Zachary nodded, Mary looked at her in surprise, and John blushed furiously as he scrambled to his feet. Charles protectively put his arm around Violet’s waist. But Hunter was bent over laughing. It must have been infectious, because now the other Callahan men were laughing, too.
Mary didn’t find it funny and admonished sternly, “She’s right, you’re no better than wild broncos. Keep those fists in your pockets, John. And stop teasing your brothers, Hunter. All of my boys are beautiful.”
Hunter grinned. “Only a mother would say that.”
“Well, I’ll say this, if no one else will,” Zachary began, his eyes on Morgan. “It’s about damn time you came to your senses and got yourself home, Son.”
Violet noticed Morgan stiffen, even if no one else did. “I never lost my senses, Pa. But if you want to have this argument right here and now—”
Mary cut in, “You’ll do no such thing. We’re tickled pink you’re home, Morg, all of us are. Now, let’s get you home and settled, then you can regale us with your exploits and explain how you came to have a partner, and why on earth you would call this beautiful lady a thorn.”
Morgan actually grinned. “She’s named after a flower.”
“Violets don’t have thorns, boy,” Zachary pointed out.
“Don’t they?”
Mary snorted. Violet felt a blush creeping up her cheeks, and she knew the others would notice it because all eyes were on her after those ridiculous remarks. And when she saw Morgan still grinning over that offensive name he’d given her, she pressed the point of her parasol to his chest and said, as politely as possible, “I may have thorns, but you, sir, have the manners and temperament of a bloody bear.”
The Callahans looked stunned. Mary broke the silence, saying, “Well, then, shall we go?”
As Mary led Violet to a buckboard wagon, she whispered, “So, how did my son behave like a bloody bear?”
Chapter Forty-Four
VIOLET BLAMED HER REACTIONS at the train station on how unusual Morgan’s family had turned out to be. She hadn’t expected his mother to be a cowboy—well, cowgirl, but still . . . She hadn’t expected his father to be so testy, though she should have, considering what Morgan had told her. She hadn’t expected one of his brothers to throw punches. But it was obvious that Morgan was glad to be home, despite that tense moment with his father. This was the Morgan she liked, relaxed, quick to laugh, not so much carefree but definitely tolerant—or at least, hard to provoke, which was definitely a good thing for a man as big as he was.
Mary insisted that Violet ride with her on the perch of the two-seater buckboard, while Tiffany rode in the back with Charles. A horse had been brought from the ranch for Morgan and he rode with the rest of the men, fanned out on both sides of the buckboard, not close enough to hear the uncomfortable conversation Violet was having with his mother.
In low tones Violet tried to reassure Mary that she’d been exaggerating when she called Morgan a bear, but admitted he’d had quite a shaggy beard when they first met, that he used it to disguise himself as a mountain-man trapper to hide the fact that he was mining. Which led to a whole different topic about keeping the location of his mine secret. She finally eased out of the subject, since it was Morgan who should be telling his mother about his mine, not her. She simply commented on the beautiful landscape they rode through—green, grassy fields and magnificent snowcapped mountains in the distance.
It didn’t take long to reach the Callahans’ home, and on the way Tiffany pointed out her own home, a pretty house surrounded by trees and fronted by a lovely lake. And then the ranch loomed ahead, with so many buildings that it looked like a little village. Violet was impressed by the size of the ranch, and was relieved it wasn’t as primitive as she’d imagined.
Morgan let out a whoop. “It’s good to be back at the Triple C!” And he raced his brothers to the house.
Two stories high and built of smoothly cut boards, the house was big and spread-out, with a long, covered porch in front. There was nothing rustic about it. The moment Violet stepped inside, she loved the ambience, half western, half eastern, a very homey balance.
This was where Morgan had grown up. The front room alone could have been his playground, it was so big and open, with no walls separating the parlor, hall, and foyer. She could picture him and his brothers playing here, running through the house, riding horses outside. What a wonderful place for boys to be raised.
Mary took her straight upstairs to the large bedroom that would be hers, saying, “There’s a bathing room downstairs off the kitchen that’s got its own pump. You’re welcome to first dibs on it before dinner.”
Violet smiled. Well, the house was a bit rustic after all, with one shared bath downstairs. But she would make do. She wasn’t there to be critical, and in fact, she already liked this house and would probably enjoy her stay there for a week or two.
After her bath, she changed into her only other skirt and blouse that weren’t stained, then went to find her father. She found him asleep in bed. A tray holding an empty plate sat on the night table. She smiled. Of course her father was tired after their long journey. How thoughtful of the Callahans to bring dinner to his room.
Downstairs she found most of the Callahans in the large room. They were standing as they talked and laughed, all of them holding drinks, even Mary. She saw them all vaguely because her eyes went straight to Morgan and stayed on him. He hadn’t shaved yet and his cheeks were shadowed with stubble, but he was wearing a string tie and a light-blue shirt that matched his eyes—and he was still too bloody handsome. She felt a little giddy just being in the same room with him.
And then the two missing Callahans walked through the front door, Hunter and his wife, Tiffany, who was wearing a sparkling evening dress. Violet felt like groaning. She hoped her brothers would arrive soon so she’d have more clothes to choose from.
Mary raised a brow at her daughter-in-law. “I hope you didn’t ride over in that getup.”
“I did,” Tiffany said, but pointed her thumb at Hunter. “In his lap on his horse.”
That got a few chuckles, but Mary teased, “You didn’t need to dress up, gal. I’m not breaking out the good china tonight.”
Tiffany grinned. “Don’t begrudge me. How often do I get the opportunity? And your houseguests are as eastern as I am. They will appreciate that we’re not all cowpunchers here in Nashart.”
Violet certainly did. Mary urged everyone into the dining room then, and Violet ended up sitting directly across from Morgan—not by choice; it just worked out that way after Tiffany insisted Violet sit next to her. Platters and large bowls were already being passed around the table, so she didn’t think it would be too difficult to keep her eyes off Morgan long enough to eat.
There was a lot of noise, with many people talking all at once, but that quieted down once everyone started eating. So Mary’s voice was quite clear when she said to Morgan, “I hope you brought your shaving razor home with you.”
Violet smiled. So Morgan and his brothers got their penchant for teasing from their mother. Morgan glanced at Violet before he laughed at Mary. “It was the bear remark, huh? She explained it to you?”
“Barely any skin visible on your face, Morgan? Really?”
“I wouldn’t know. Didn’t have a mirror, didn’t care. I wasn’t there to look pretty.”
Hunter was laughing, but still got in, “So you really got rich?”
Morgan nodded. “I accomplished what I set out to do—well, half of it.”
“And the other half?”
“None of your damn business, Brother.”
So he’d told no one yet about his plans for an emporium, not even his brothers? Or was he just making sure that his father found out first? It could get uncomfortable around here once they learned he hadn’t come home to join them on the range again. She hoped not.
And then she heard next to her, “Have you heard yet how Hunter and I met?”