“Jenny took charge of her right away. I’m sure she’ll be fine.” Amon helped himself to a cut-crystal glass and a liberal splash of the old man’s Kentucky bourbon. “She’s curious about her bridegroom, though. Any word from Ben?”
“I’m afraid not.” At last, the snowy head rose. Brilliant blue eyes—the only part of Edson Collier with any vitality left in them—pinned Amon with an uncompromising stare. “If he doesn’t return on his own by week’s end, we’ll fetch him. He can’t pay this to go away or pretend it doesn’t exist.”
“Don’t you mean ‘she’? He can’t pay her to go away or pretend she doesn’t exist.”
“Of course that’s what I meant.” The shrewd eyes narrowed behind wire-rimmed lenses. “You seem out of sorts, Amon. What’s on your mind, son?”
“You may have gone too far this time, Pa. You can’t just throw a wife at a man and expect him to like it—especially a man like Ben.”
“Your brother has sown enough wild oats—with at least a bit of discretion, thank God. A wife will be good for his image. Make him appear settled, responsible.”
“Mademoiselle LaPierre will serve admirably in that regard. She’s lovely and quite the lady.” And much too genteel for Ben. If the heir apparent found even one chink in his unwelcome bride’s New Orleans belle armor, he’d pry at the flaw until the whole suit disintegrated. Amon lifted the glass to his lips and spoke around the rim. “She reminds me a bit of Suzette.”
“Excellent. Bennett’s mother, God grant her peace, was a good woman. A good wife. Had she not been the lady she was—”
Raising a hand to cut off the words, Amon tossed the entire splash of whiskey down his throat in one gulp. “Let’s not go through that again. Serves no purpose.” He sucked a deep breath to temper a hot throb in his soul. The scar from that brand would never heal. “It’s not like Ben’s hiding. I can fetch him any day. But it might be best to let him come to grips with this in his own time instead of forcing him to take the bit.”
Edson slammed his palm on the desk with more force than Amon thought lived in his father’s deteriorating body. “That boy will come to heel, or I swear to God I’ll disinherit him and leave everything to you.”
“That gun’s empty—and all three of us know it.”
The old man grumbled. “There is too little justice in this world.”
Amon refilled his father’s crystal jigger and set the glass in a hand gnarled by age and infirmity. “Give him time, Pa. He’ll come around. It’s not easy being Bennett Collier.”
His father peered at him over the wire rims of his spectacles. The rebuke in the look pushed a chuckle from within Amon’s ribcage. “Ben’s always going to be Ben. But he’s also going to put a Collier in the statehouse one of these days. Isn’t that what you want?”
“I want both of my sons to have good lives, make good choices.” The old man removed the spectacles and rubbed his eyes on a sigh. “I wish there were better ones available to you, Amon. You don’t deserve to be condemned by one of mine.”
One thirty-year-old decision—and a good one, at that—would haunt his father to the grave. Amon reached across the desk and curled his fingers around a knobby fist. “I’ve never resented your choice, Pa. Ben may, but I don’t.”
The old man cleared his throat. “You’ll be at supper.”
The command cocked Amon’s head on a confused frown. “What the hell for?”
“Cursing is a sign of poor breeding.” His father’s piercing gaze betrayed not the slightest acknowledgement of the irony in the statement. “And you’ll join us because I asked.”
****
Jo ignored the first tap on her shin. She also ignored the second. The third was more swat than tap.
She glanced down. Napoleon sat up on his haunches, one forepaw braced on her leg and the other waving to attract her attention.
In as unobtrusive a manner as possible, she slid a bite of meat from her plate and slipped the morsel to His Highness, along with a pointed look intended to remind him of his manners. Napoleon snatched the treat and scooted under the table.
“Have you found Texas to your liking so far, Miss LaPierre?” Despite his pale cheeks and gaunt frame, Edson Collier’s rich baritone filled the cozy family dining salon. With brilliant blue eyes and a rough edge to his polish, the elderly gentleman must have been a charmer in his youth.
Jo returned his warm smile. “Oui, what I’ve seen. Very much. Dumont is lovely.”
Monsieur Collier fixed a fond gaze on the other end of the table. “For that, I must thank Jenny. She has exquisite taste.”