“Got your balance now?”
“I believe so. Merci.” A quick smile, and then she lowered her gaze. Her stare fixed on the Walker Colt at his hip.
“You’ve been eyeing my gun all afternoon. Does it bother you?”
Long, dark lashes fluttered through a couple of blinks before she raised her head. “I am unaccustomed to civilized men wearing firearms…at least, where one can see them.”
A grin tugged at his lips. Were all New Orleans belles so unspoiled? “Civilized? That’s asking an awful lot of a Texan.” He presented his arm. “Let’s walk. Might help your stiff muscles.”
She tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, and again a burn scorched through his shirt. “Do you always carry a pistol?”
“Out here? Yes, I do.” With the toe of his boot, he pointed to a spot in the sand beside the water. “See that?”
She peered at the set of four-toed tracks and then nodded.
“Bobcat. Snakes and gators out here, too. Had some trouble with a cougar a while back.”
A rustle in the tall grass tightened gloved fingers on his arm. The chirruped bob-white, bob-white that followed plastered soft, feminine curves to his side while a wide, gray-green gaze lanced to his.
Only his inability to draw a complete breath smothered the laugh that begged for freedom. “Quail. They’re not dangerous.” He reached for a wink. “Are tasty, though.”
“Oh.” Pressing a palm to her bosom, she released a gust of relief and relaxed. “Do wild animals come near the house? Napoleon is so small—”
“That’s why we keep the hounds happy. They and the barn cats chase critters away most of the time. Keep le petit caporal close to you. He’ll be fine.” Amon pulled on a mock frown. “Unless one of the cats gets him. He is awfully little.”
Her laugh wound through his chest and squeezed. “That is what Jenny said. ‘Keep him away from the cats. They will think he is something to eat.’”
“I’d listen to Jenny. She’s kept us all out of trouble for thirty years.” He grinned. “And that’s not easy with Colliers.”
The sparkle of amusement in mademoiselle’s expression faded as she cast her gaze into the distance. The ghost of a pucker settled beside her eye.
Of its own accord, Amon’s hand rose to smooth the worry from her perfect skin. Before the touch connected, he snatched a fist and drew the hand to his shoulder. “Something on your mind?”
Teeth planted in her bottom lip, she shook her head.
Had the lady been a gambler, she’d be impoverished. “What troubles you, mademoiselle?”
“Nothing troubles me. I am merely restraining a meddlesome urge to snoop.”
The slight tint in her cheeks and the shy smile she flicked his direction tangled his gut. “Ask your question. I haven’t bitten anyone in months.”
“Jenny.” She contemplated the polished boots that peeked from the hem of her riding skirt with each step. “Jenny and your father…”
Dread swelled behind Amon’s breastbone. The mademoiselle wavered on the threshold of the question he’d read in her eyes during supper the night she arrived. In the three days since, he had yet to devise an explanation that wouldn’t send her fleeing for civilized New Orleans.
He stopped, took possession of her shoulders, and turned her to face him. After warning his hand to ignore the touch of her skin, he tipped her chin, hoping she’d hide behind the dense curtain of her lashes so he didn’t have to watch disgust kick up a storm in the Gulf. “Yes. They live as husband and wife. They have for eighteen years.”
Without so much as a blink, clear gray-green eyes stared right into his, curious but not repulsed. “Such a thing is allowed in Texas?”
“No. No more than it is anywhere else. Pa and Jenny don’t care. Neither do I. Neither do the hired hands or the house staff, or they wouldn’t be here.”
A man could drown in her eyes, and his fingertips hadn’t paid the slightest attention to his warning. A burn gnawed all the way to the bone. He blinked, hard, and sucked a breath. “Bennett is the only one who disapproves.”
Chapter Four
Jo paused in her pacing long enough to examine her image in the chamber’s three-glass Cheval. Again. Every detail must be perfect when she faced her bridegroom for the first time.
The pink taffeta dinner gown augmented the creamy complexion of which Maman had been so proud. Not a flounce on the skirt or the wide pagoda sleeves fell out of place. Deep-rose ribbons complimented the glossy braids that began at her temples and ended wrapping an elaborate chignon at the back of her head.
The woman in the looking glass appeared elegant and confident…but the flurry of wings beating at the top of her stomach refused to settle.
Bennett disapproves.
She leaned closer to the mirror, pinching her cheeks until the apples blossomed.