One Heart to Win (28 page)

To that end she impulsively said, “There’s another gift that would be even better, Mary, at least for the daughter-in-law you’re expecting soon. Well, if it was me, I’d certainly think so.”

Mary perked up. “What?”

“End the feud with her family before the wedding. That would be a magnanimous gesture, don’t you think?”

Mary slumped back against her pillows. “Indeed it would. It’s such a shame. My boys should’ve been best of friends with Frank’s. Heck, we practically live within shouting distance of each other.”

“Then why depend on a marriage to end it? Why not just end it?”

“You think I haven’t tried? Rose wanted the hostilities ended, too. We both did. It just ain’t right, us carrying on something we had no part of starting.”

“Rose?” Tiffany fought hard to keep the blush down, for asking something she already knew.

“Frank Warren’s wife. I’d talk to her whenever we crossed paths in town. She was such a friendly young girl, never put on airs, coming from the big city like she did. She fit right in because she wanted to, but then she and Frank seemed so happy together, always touching, laughing”—and in a whisper—“even kissing in public. Then I heard she turned high-strung and
started complaining about ranch life after Frank got shot. She just up and left one day, taking their little girl with her. Never understood that. To this day, I still don’t. But at least the truce lasted, even with her gone.”

“Perhaps—perhaps she missed city life too much.”

Mary actually snorted. “No, that gal loved it here, really loved it, and her man. I wasn’t surprised when she arranged the betrothal,
and
the truce, demanded it actually.” Another whisper: “I think she scared Zach a little that night she came over here by herself. She was in such a rage she was crying. Least, she definitely confused him. But I seen it coming, her doing something like that. She wasn’t afraid to butt heads with the menfolk over the water access. I knew it infuriated her that they couldn’t just share it. Did me, too. I just never had the nerve to put my foot down the way she did that night. She had fire and gumption, that girl. Must’ve been that red hair . . . ,” Mary said, gazing at Tiffany’s long hair.

Chapter Thirty-Six

“D
O YOU NEVER STAY
in your pen anymore?” Tiffany asked when she felt the nudge on her shoes and glanced down to find the piglet on the porch with her again.

It stood still, staring up at her. She leaned down to pet it, but it continued to stare. She finally gave in with a roll of her eyes, picked it up, flipped it over on her lap, and began to rub its belly while she got back to watching the sunset.

No summer storm had showed up today to ruin the glorious details of this one, such bright streaks of pink and yellow. The trees along the skyline looked as if they were aflame, with so much red behind them. She had time to enjoy it while the bread baked.

“Don’t mind me, gal,” Zachary said as he stepped out of the house and headed down the porch to his favorite chair for his evening smoke.

He didn’t comment on the piglet in her lap, which meant he hadn’t really looked at her. She was just another servant to him. Invisible. Actually, he did vaguely know she was there, so
she probably shouldn’t tar him with her own brush. Her mother’s house was full of servants, but how often did she actually notice any of them other than Anna? This role she was playing was giving her insight into herself that she wasn’t all that comfortable with. But she could ignore Zachary as he, apparently, intended to ignore her. And she didn’t mind sharing the porch with him. With the breeze blowing his way, she wouldn’t notice the smoke either.

“Something smells damn good, coming from the kitchen,” he yelled her way before he lit up his cigar and enjoyed the sunset, too.

Tiffany smiled. Dinner tonight was going to be a cause for celebration . . . well, for her, anyway. Mary’s cast-iron Dutch oven turned out to be an amazing covered roasting dish. It was shallow enough to fit on the stove’s baking shelf. It had handles so Tiffany could simply bring it to the table and serve from it. It even came with a platform it could rest on, so it could be used over a fire, too. It was on the kitchen table right now, the roast inside it simmering in its gravy while the bread baked.

She’d left a note on the lid that simply read,
Don’t touch
. It was going to be her surprise, her first good meal, and she wanted to be the one who revealed it. Of course the aroma that had filled the kitchen for most of the afternoon was a good indication. Still, presentation was everything, and she’d arranged the vegetables that Andrew had brought in and washed for her just right, circling them around the huge roast. And timed them perfectly, not adding them too soon.

It had been a busy day, but it had gone smoothly—well, mostly. That unease she’d felt after leaving Mary’s room was long gone now. She’d been foolish to think even for a moment that Mary had somehow guessed who she really was when she’d
mentioned Rose’s red hair and had stared at Tiffany’s—red hair. But the shades weren’t similar! It was absurd to think the woman might have made the connection. Even if it did occur to her, she would quickly have scoffed at the notion. Which is what Tiffany should have done sooner, instead of letting it make her uneasy for half the day. What really bothered her was what Mary had said about Tiffany’s parents. . . .

Happy, so in love, and yet Rose just up and left.
Why?
Was no one ever going to answer that question for her? But this was the first she’d heard about how happy Rose had been here, which just made it all the more confusing. And made her realize for the first time, too, that she’d be a different person if Rose hadn’t taken her away from here. Tiffany would have grown up knowing Hunter and would probably be looking forward to marrying him, would probably be head over heels in love with him by now. It wasn’t such a horrible thought anymore; it was a bit sad because it hadn’t been destined to happen.

“I’d like to see you hold him like that six months from now. Didn’t hear my warning about size, did you?”

Thinking of the devil, she gave Hunter a smile. He was leaning in the doorway, a book in hand and freshly washed, by the look of his damp hair. He’d spoken quietly enough that Zachary hadn’t noticed him yet.

“I don’t fetch him,” she said in her defense. “He seems to find me whenever a door is opened or I step outside.”

“I know just how he feels.”

She blushed and glanced back at the sunset. She should go back inside. He’d probably come out to talk to his father; he just wasn’t moving in that direction yet. And she didn’t move yet either.

She even delayed him by nodding at the book he was holding. “Where did you get your schooling—or did you get any?”

“Thinking I’m not up to your standards, Red?”

“No, I just wondered.” Her talk with Sam last night had got her curious about the boys from both families growing up together, but she couldn’t mention that. “Where I come from, schools are plentiful. It occurred to me that isn’t the case out here.”

“Ma taught us boys. She was going to be a teacher herself, but got married instead. But Nashart did finally get a schoolroom. And I brought this out for you.” He put the book down on the swing next to her. “Figured you might enjoy some fiction set west of the Rockies—if you find time to read.”

She probably would since she didn’t expect every day to be as busy as today, but her curiosity wasn’t satisfied yet. “A single schoolroom implies you had to attend with your hated neighbors. Did you ever pick on them? Were you a bully growing up, Hunter Callahan?”

He chuckled. “If I’m going to fight someone, he needs to be my size or bigger. I don’t mind bigger. The Warren boys never fit the bill. Even with Sam full grown now, I’ve still got a lot of weight on him.”

Yes, he was definitely bigger, more muscular, broader in the shoulders, stronger in the legs . . . she got her eyes off him fast and shot to her feet. She started back into the house, but stopped when she remembered the piglet in her arms. She turned to take him back to his mama.

Hunter held out his hands. “I’ll take him. I’m sure you’ve got a table to set or other things to finish up before dinner.”

She nodded and handed the animal over. She was just inside
the door when she heard Zachary say, “What the hell is that doing here? Jakes needs to be more careful with the food stocks.”

Tiffany yelled as she marched down the hall, “He is
not
going to be dinner! Ever!”

“Did I hear her right? She can’t—”

She missed the rest of what Zachary said because his voice was drowned out by Hunter’s laughter.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

H
UNTER CONTINUED TO WATCH
Jennifer as she marched down the hall, her bustle swaying, her copper hair tied at the neck, but still so thick it spread across her back all the way to her waist. Those emerald eyes were probably flashing right now, proving she’d do battle for a pig. She would, too. He didn’t doubt it, and it kept the grin on his lips even after she’d disappeared into the kitchen.

He’d laughed when he’d read the note she’d left on top of the Dutch oven. She didn’t even have to be in the room and she could make him laugh. . . .

“Stop it.
Stop it!
”

He turned toward his father to find Zachary sitting forward in his chair, glowering at him. Hunter moved to the end of the porch to half sit on the rail, one leg dangling, the pig tucked under his arm. “Stop what?”

“Looking at her like that.”

Hunter wasn’t abashed when it was something he seemed
to have no control over. He said as much with a shrug. “Can’t help it.”

“You sure as hell can.”

Hunter chuckled. “I guess you don’t remember what it was like, when you were young.”

“I’m not that old,” Zachary grumbled. “And this ain’t amusing.”

“Now that’s where you’re wrong, Pa. I’ve never laughed so much in my life as I have since Jenny got here. It’s like when she walked in the house, joy walked in with her. Everything about her makes me want to smile.”

“Damnit, Hunter, you need to nip that in the bud
right
now. You think I don’t know where this is heading?”

Hunter put both feet back on the porch. “And what if it is?”

“She’s already got a man, and you’ve got a gal coming across the whole country for you.”

“You know how I feel about that, Pa.”

“Yeah, I do. I hate it just as much as you do. But Rose Warren got me to agree to it . . . well, it was mostly your ma who did, taking Rose Warren’s side in it. Now it’s a matter of honor.”

How many times had Hunter heard that? But no one else was the sacrificial offering here, just him. While he’d never done more than complain about having this all set up for him before he was old enough to have a say in it, he’d never had reason to simply refuse either—until now. Actually, he didn’t have that reason yet, just hoped he would. He sighed.

“We give them back their steers that wander over,” he reminded his father. “They do the same. It’s been mostly peaceful around here for fifteen years other than those fights between Cole and Roy, and John and Sam, and simple squabbles before that.
Peaceful
, Pa. We don’t need a marriage to keep it that
way. Make a damn agreement with Franklin already. You’re not Grandpa, who wouldn’t even talk to one of them.”

“Can’t trust Frank to honor a mere agreement. It’s got to be signed with a blood bond. His wife knew that. It’s why she put that card on the table.”

“You’ve got four sons. Any one of them will do.”

“Well, Rose picked you. We agreed it’d be you because you’re the oldest.”

“So disagree on that point.”

“We’ve had this discussion before, Hunter. I could’ve sworn we settled it. You meet her first,
then
you decide if you want her or not. In the meantime, keep your hands off the hired help. I raised you better than to trifle with a woman already spoken for.”

Zachary had to pull out that card? Hunter threw up his hands in defeat or started to, until he nearly dropped the pig. “Fine,” he snarled, and left the porch, heading around to the back of the house.