Righteous indignation had him sitting up, ready to go back to the house and inform his recalcitrant bride of his decision. He was halfway to his feet when he suddenly saw Eleanor’s soft brown eyes, flashing with rage but with an underlying hurt in them. He sank back on the blanket, the righteous indignation fading into something uncomfortably close to guilt. Maybe he’d allow her some time to think things over, after all.
He just hoped that her temper would wear off by morning. If it hadn’t, he might be wise to insist on her tasting any food she served him. Mad as she’d been, he was likely to find himself with arsenic in his biscuits.
As it turned out, Luke didn’t have to worry about the possibility of finding hazards in his food. Nor did he have to concern himself with his bride’s mood. Eleanor solved both problems for him by not making an appearance at the breakfast table. Which suited him just fine, Luke told himself as he sliced bacon into a skillet. The last thing he wanted was to deal with a temperamental female first thing in the morning.
He’d just poured his first cup of coffee when his brother came in. The past few days Daniel had been having breakfast at the main house.
“There’s coffee,” Luke said, by way of greeting.
While Daniel poured himself a cup of the syrupy black brew, Luke sliced more bacon into the skillet.
“Where’s Eleanor?” Daniel asked, after taking his first swallow of coffee and finding it nearly thick enough to chew and strong enough to strip paint off a house—just the way coffee should be.
“She’s sleeping in,” Luke said shortly.
As if on cue, they both heard the sound of footsteps in the bedroom overhead. Luke clenched his teeth and cut another slice of bacon, nearly taking a piece of his thumb with it.
“She feeling all right?”
“She’s fine.”
There were a few minutes of silence while they both watched the bacon sizzle in the pan. Luke knew his brother well enough to know he wasn’t likely to let it rest there. He used a fork to pull the bacon out of the pan and then began cracking eggs into the sizzling fat that remained. Daniel found a loaf of the bread Eleanor had made the day before and began cutting thick slices off it. It wasn’t as good as the fresh biscuits Eleanor would have made, but fried in the bacon fat, it would be filling.
“Was she upset about what she heard last night? About us drawing straws, I mean?”
Luke had known the question was coming and he had an answer ready. “She was a bit upset, but I talked to her.” That was true enough. They had talked.
“She didn’t throw a fit?” Daniel brought the bread over and tossed it in the skillet as Luke removed the eggs.
“She saw reason,” Luke said firmly, hoping it was true. He got out two plates and set them on the table, dividing the scorched bacon and overdone eggs between them. A moment later Daniel plopped slices of fried bread on each plate and they sat down to eat.
“I thought she might throw you out,” Daniel said as he picked up his fork. “Figured we’d be seeing you in the bunkhouse.”
“I’m master in this house,” Luke said with repressive dignity. Eleanor hadn’t thrown him out; he’d decided to leave.
“Seems odd, though,” Daniel shook his head as he started to eat.
“What seems odd?” As soon as he said it, Luke had the feeling he was going to regret the question. He was right.
“Well, if Eleanor had thrown you out, it would have seemed natural. But if she didn’t—you bein’ master in this house and all—it’s a puzzle how you got that hay in your hair.”
Daniel looked up from his plate, his grin pure devilry. He was not measurably disturbed by the glare Luke sent in return.
* * *
Eleanor set bowls of potatoes, green beans simmered with a chunk of bacon and a mound of hot biscuits on the table. A big platter of fried steaks sat on the back of the stove, keeping warm. Gravy simmered in the big iron skillet, almost thick enough to be poured into the bowl she had ready and waiting. Wiping her hands on her apron, she walked to the door and stepped outside to ring the dinner bell.
There was a faint tremor in her fingers as she went back to the stove to stir the gravy. She hadn’t spoken to Luke since their quarrel the night before and she wasn’t sure of the best way to handle this first meeting. She’d thought about little else all day and she was no closer to an answer now than she had been this morning.
The men piled into the kitchen just as they always did, unwashed and unkempt. After two weeks she could now connect names with faces and was starting to know them as individuals apart from the large mass of male bodies invading her kitchen once or twice a day.
She poured the gravy into its bowl and carried it to the table. Neither Luke nor Daniel had appeared yet and, apart from a few sidelong glances and a polite nod or two, the men didn’t seem aware of her existence. Eleanor set the gravy down on the nearly full table and stood watching the usual display of flying fingers as they grabbed at the food before them. They ignored the serving utensils in favor of the more expedient method of picking up the entire bowl and dumping a portion of its contents onto their plates. Biscuits flew across the table like fat golden brown leaves caught in a tornado.
When Gris and Joe grabbed for the same steak, there was a brief tug-of-war across the tabletop before Joe’s fingers slipped loose, leaving Gris the triumphant owner of the piece of meat. He grinned, displaying a mouthful of biscuit and potatoes.
“Ya’ll just ain’t fast—ow!”
His sentence ended on a pained yelp and the steak landed on the tabletop with a plop as Eleanor’s big wooden spoon caught him across the knuckles. The bowl of potatoes pinged against the wood as Slim’s wrist received a sharp rap from the same source. Never slow on the uptake, Shorty Danvers hastily dropped the biscuit he’d just grabbed and moved his hands prudently out of reach.
There was a stunned silence as they all turned their eyes toward the small but fierce-looking woman who stood at the end of the table. Eleanor held the wooden spoon like an avenging angel’s sword. Her dark eyes sparkled with anger as she looked at the men before her.
“I’ve seen hogs with better manners,” she said sharply. “You come to this table and fall on my food like wolves on a freshly killed deer. You walk in here without so much as wiping your feet and track dirt and manure over my clean floors.” She used the spoon to point to the trail of mud that led from the door. All heads turned and looked guiltily at the evidence.
“I’m right sorry, ma’am,” Slim said. “Never thought about it none.”
The humble apology was not enough to mollify her. Eleanor pointed the spoon at him and Slim pressed his back against his chair, actually seeming to pale beneath the force of the gesture.
“Did you think about washing the filth off your hands and face?” she demanded.
“No, ma’am.” There was a chorus of mumbled agreement as her eyes swept the table. Guilty looks were cast at grimy hands.
“Were you all raised in barns?”
“No, ma’am.” That was Shorty. “Leastways, I wasn’t, and my mama would’ve been madder than a wet hen if I’da come to her table without washing.”
“Then why do you come to this table in that condition?” Eleanor demanded, pointing her spoon at his dirty hands.
Though it was Shorty she was looking at, the question was directed at all of them. But no one said anything, leaving it to Shorty to come up with an answer that might satisfy their diminutive interrogator. He glanced uneasily at his companions, hoping for assistance. When none was forthcoming, he swallowed and lifted his eyes to Eleanor’s face.
“I don’t reckon there’s a good reason, ma’am. ‘Ceptin’ maybe, us bein’ just men for so long, we done forgot the manners our mamas taught us.”
The others nodded their agreement with this theory, fixing their eyes hopefully on Eleanor’s flushed face. There’d been some doubts about the wisdom of Luke’s decision to get married but, in the two weeks she’d lived on the Bar-M-Bar, the men had
decided that the boss had made himself a pretty good deal. His bride not only made biscuits light as a feather but she had a way of smiling at a man that made him think twice about the benefits of being a bachelor. None of them liked the idea of the little missus being permanently riled at them.
“Do you think you could remember some of those manners if you tried?” Eleanor asked, her voice softening a little. Ridiculous as it was, considering the tough cowboys sitting before her, she suddenly felt as if she was scolding a bunch of youngsters.
“Yes, ma’am. I reckon we could.”
Shorty stood and the other men followed his lead, then they trooped back out the door to wash their hands at the pump. Eleanor’s eyes followed them, skidding to a halt on the two men standing just inside the doorway.
Luke.
And Daniel, she added belatedly. Peripherally, she was aware of the amused sparkle in her brotherin-law’s eyes. Obviously, they’d been there long enough to overhear at least a portion of the scene just past. Equally obvious was the fact that Daniel had found it highly amusing. Luke’s reaction was not so easily read, at least not in the darting glance that was all Eleanor could manage in his direction.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone or anything back down Shorty Danvers,” Daniel said, brushing past Luke as he walked farther into the kitchen. “Most of those men would tackle a herd of buffalo bare-handed if the notion struck them, but they looked meek as lambs after that dressingdown, Eleanor.”
“I don’t see any cause to eat like a pack of wolves,” she muttered.
She picked up the steak Joe and Gris had used in their brief tug-of-war and set it back on the platter. Using a towel to wipe the table where it had been gave her a good excuse to avoid looking at Luke as he pulled out his chair at the table.
“You want to check behind our ears to see if we washed well enough?” he asked in a slow drawl that sparked Eleanor’s anger all over again, making her momentarily forget the cool, calm image she’d determined to present to him.
“It might not be such a bad idea at that,” she snapped.
She jabbed a fork into the platter of steaks, wishing it was some portion of her husband’s anatomy instead. Just seeing him brought memories of last night’s quarrel rushing over her, most vividly the humiliation of finding herself facedown across Luke’s lap.
“It seems to me that the hands aren’t the only ones who’ve forgotten how to behave like civilized men instead of unreasoning brutes.”
The glance that slashed his way left Luke in no doubt as to the direction of her thoughts. It didn’t sound as if having had a day to think things over had inspired a mood of repentance in his bride. He stared at the fork that stood upright in the middle of a thick steak and knew she’d just as soon it was stuck in him.
Across the table he caught Daniel’s questioning look, caught also the amusement in his eyes, and knew Daniel was remembering his determination to get himself a docile bride. Daniel didn’t know the half of it, Luke thought, rubbing his fingers absently over the bruised place on his thigh where Eleanor had sunk her surprisingly sharp little teeth into him.
If she hadn’t had other things on her mind, Eleanor would have been amused by the careful display of manners at the dinner table that night. Not that any of them were ready to dine in high society, she thought, watching Gris pick up the gravy bowl and carefully pass it across the table to Joe. But at least there seemed no danger of blood being spilled in the melee to fill plates.
She ate almost nothing herself. Every time she glanced in Luke’s direction she was reminded that they hadn’t exactly settled anything the night before. She was annoyed to see that Luke ate with his customary hearty appetite. Obviously, he wasn’t going to let a little thing like beating his wife get in the way of his dinner, she thought angrily. A small voice of reason suggested that perhaps “beat” was a trifle strong and pointed out the damage she’d inflicted in turn. Eleanor did her best to ignore it.
The men departed as soon as they’d eaten and, despite her preoccupation, Eleanor was amused by the careful way each of them thanked her for the meal and wished her good-night.
She was grateful when Luke and Daniel went with them. The longer she could put off talking to her husband, the better, as far as she was concerned. And as for Daniel, she was in no better charity with him than with his brother. It had been the pair of them drawing straws to see which would have to get married, and it was humiliating to think that someone else knew the circumstances of her marriage.
Luke’s footsteps were slow as he climbed the stairs. If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought that Eleanor had gone to bed. But he’d seen the bedroom light burning and he knew she was awake. In the weeks before the wedding, there had been times when he’d imagined what it would be like to have a wife waiting up for him. He’d fancied the idea that she’d be keeping the bed warm, pictured the welcoming smile on her face, the eagerness in her eyes.
After last night, it seemed the only eagerness he was likely to see in his bride’s eyes was for his blood.
Considering the way she’d torn a strip off the men at supper, he wasn’t holding his breath in expectation of seeing her fall over herself to repent for last night’s display of temper. He had to admit to a certain reluctant pride at the way she’d dealt with the hands. If he hadn’t seen it for himself, he wouldn’t have believed that five foot nothing of female could buffalo his cowboys. Gris Balkin, as tough a man as Luke had known, had damn near shuffled his feet like a schoolboy in trouble for putting a frog in the teacher’s pocket.
It had certainly been something to see, but if Eleanor thought she’d be able to run roughshod over him the way she had over the men, she was wrong. He had no intention of letting his wife rule the roost.
The bedroom door was partially open and Luke approached it somewhat cautiously. Her aim the night before had been uncomfortably accurate and she’d had all day to restock her arsenal. He pushed the door open and stepped inside, prepared to duck, if necessary.
Eleanor was sitting in the rocking chair, her slender fingers busy picking apart the seams on a dress. Luke vaguely recognized the garment as having been his mother’s. There were trunks of her things in the attic and he’d told Eleanor to make use of them if she wanted.
Though she must have heard him enter, she didn’t look up immediately but continued clipping threads to open the seam. She presented a picture of domestic tranquillity, as calm and cool as a spring shower. If it hadn’t been for the fact that her fingers were shaking so hard it was a wonder she didn’t drop the tiny scissors she held, Luke might have thought her completely indifferent to his presence.
Eleanor could feel Luke watching her, and it took every ounce of concentration she could muster to keep her eyes on the material in her lap. The small black circles that patterned the rich green silk blurred together as she waited for him to speak.
He shut the door behind him and she jumped as if the quiet click had been a gunshot.
Aware that she could no longer control the unsteadiness of her fingers, she set the scissors aside and folded her hands in her lap. With an effort she lifted her head and, for the first time since their quarrel the night before, she forced herself to really look at her husband.
He looked back at her, his eyes wary. She could hardly blame him for that, Eleanor admitted, letting her eyes flicker up to the scrape on his forehead. Seeing where her attention was directed, Luke lifted his fingers to the small injury.
She knew she should apologize, should say she regretted throwing her shoe at him, not to mention the books, water pitcher and her hairbrush. But the truth was, she wasn’t in the least sorry. Though she’d gotten over the worst of her anger, it still seemed as if whatever small injury she’d inflicted was the least he deserved. Besides, he’d gotten his revenge quite thoroughly, she thought, shifting a little on the pillow she’d put down to cushion her slightly tender posterior from the hard seat.
Seeing her shift uncomfortably and knowing
the cause, Luke felt a twinge of guilt. But it was only a twinge. The way she’d come at him last night, it was a wonder she hadn’t done permanent damage. And if her butt was tender, it couldn’t be more so than his forehead or the bruise where she’d sunk her teeth into his thigh.
“Don’t try and bring any of those trunks down out of the attic by yourself,” he said abruptly, nodding to the pile of fabric in her lap. “They’re too heavy. If I’m not around, ask Daniel or one of the men to help you. After the talking-to you gave them, I’d guess if you said jump, they might ask how high.”
Eleanor didn’t smile at his slight attempt at humor. “I got tired of watching them eat like animals.”
“I think you made that pretty clear.” Maybe we could just forget last night, he thought with considerable relief. He walked farther into the room and reached for the buttons on his shirt.
“I’d prefer it if you slept elsewhere.” The words were rushed as if they’d had to be hurried out or not said at all.
Luke’s fingers stilled, his eyes taking on a chill as they settled on her face. Eleanor swallowed but met his gaze steadily, hoping she looked more calm than she felt.
“We’re married,” he said flatly, as if that answered everything.
As if she should just ignore the fact that her marriage had come about because he’d gambled and lost. Anger stirred in the pit of her stomach. She forced it down. She didn’t want to quarrel with him.
“I know,” she said, proud of how calm she sounded. “I know you’ve every right to sleep in that bed.”
It wasn’t exactly sleeping I had in mind, Luke thought.
“And to demand your marital rights,” she continued, as if reading his thoughts.
“You haven’t exactly objected to those demands,” he snapped, stung by her cool tone.
Short Straw Bride (Harlequin Historical) Page 14