The man's persistence made Jonah suspicious, so he continued to make his responses vague. "I haven't yet decided."
"I had heard a rumor that a young officer was given temporary command at Fort Griffin until Cap tain Irving returns from Washington. Could you be that officer?"
Jonah's eyes narrowed, and he stepped away from the banker and settled onto a straight-backed chair on the opposite side of the room. "Captain Irving has returned by now."
Edmund was having a hard time controlling his temper. No one had ever treated him with such disrespect. The officer was much too imperious to suit him. As always, though, the banker managed to hide his true feelings behind a smooth smile. "I have a friend who is the Indian agent at Fort Fannin. He said something to me about a young officer who was taking over command there. Could you be that officer?"
"Yes."
"Are you acquainted with Norman Williamson?"
Jonah's eyelids closed halfway. "I have met the Indian agent, but I wouldn't say I was acquainted with him."
An uneasy silence fell across the room as Jonah speculated on the relevancy of a friendship between the Diablo banker and the unscrupulous Indian agent.
At last Edmund spoke. "Nothing can turn a young girl's heart to romance quicker than the sight of a man in uniform." Rage smoldered just below the surface, but Edmund struck a perfectly serene pose. "I'm sure Abby has noticed you."
The banker's rude probing was become entirely too personal for Jonah. "I don't know Miss Hunter very well, but I don't believe she is interested in me one way or another."
"I wager you find her fascinating."
Jonah was on the verge of losing his temper. He had no intention of discussing Quince's sister with this man, so he turned the conversation and threw a question at Edmund. "Why don't you tell me about your friendship with Norman Williamson?"
"Norman and I have known each other for a long time. He is an easy man to do business with, don't you think?"
"I can't speak on that point, since I've had so few dealings with him."
Much to Jonah's relief, Quince reentered the room, and the probing questions stopped.
Edmund had already decided he-would have his hired man, Kane, keep an eye on Major Tremain while he was in the area.
After bathing and dressing in clean clothing, Abby went to the kitchen to help Frances with the evening meal. She found the housekeeper mixing a bowl of frosting to ice the cinnamon cake that cooled on the windowsill. When Abby saw the scowl on the older woman's face, she knew there was going to be trouble.
"Well, missy, I heard that you made a complete spectacle of yourself today."
Abby dipped her finger in the frosting and licked it. "You can't be very mad at me if you made my favorite cake." Then she carefully lifted the castiron lid on the pot that was bubbling on the stove. "Umm, this stew smells wonderful! That's my favorite, too."
Frances gave a disapproving grunt. "You could have worn a dress, since we're having company to supper."
She hoped it wasn't Mr. Montgomery. "Who?"
"That fine major will be staying with us for a few days. I got him settled in Matt's old room. By the way, Brent and Crystal will be here for supper, and so will Quince and Glory."
Abby dropped the heavy lid back in place, reached for a stack of plates, and began arranging them around the table. "As you know, I have only two gowns; one is too tight across the bodice, and the other one is at least three inches too short. And they are both hopelessly out of style."
"That's your-fault, Abby. I know your brother Matt sends you money so you can buy clothing, and don't say he doesn't."
For all Frances's gruffiiess, she was the watchdog of the family. She knew everything that went on, and she tried to take care of all of them. Abby wished she would just give up on trying to make a proper lady out of her.
"It seems more important to pay the bill at the feed store, so that's mostly how I use the money."
It finally dawned on the housekeeper that Abby was setting the kitchen table. "Since we're having such important company, I thought we'd use the dining room."
"The major can eat in here like the rest of us. Although I doubt he's ever seen the inside of a kitchen."
"Why do you say such things? You know Quince will want you to be polite to his friend."
After Abby had finished setting the plates around the table, she went to Frances and smiled teasingly, putting her arm around the older woman. "So you want to change my ways just to get rid of me, do you?"
Frances smiled sadly. "No, it's not that. I just want to see you happy before I die."
Abby had heard all this before, and she knew the lecture by heart. At the moment, though, she had other matters to worry about. She certainly didn't relish the thought of sitting down at the table with Major Tremain and making polite conversation after all that had transpired between them. She stared at the dinner plates as if seeing them for the first time. Some of them were chipped; others were actually cracked. "Do you think he'll notice that the dishes aren't a matched set?"
"If you mean the major, he'd be too polite to mention it even if he did notice."
"From the way Quince spoke about Major Tremain, I thought he would be someone I could really like and respect. But when I met him, he wasn't anything like the man my brother described."
Frances swirled her knife around the cake, making the frosting peak on top. "You're too critical, Abigail. The major is my notion of what a real gentleman should be like."
"If he's considered a gentleman, there is no hope for the rest of the men of the world," she replied haughtily. "Major Jonah Tremain is pompous and arrogant, and I don't - 2'
"Good evening, ladies," came a clipped voice just behind Abby. "Something sure smells good in here."
Abby turned to find Jonah just behind her. He must have overheard her unflattering remarks about him, but his cool gaze gave nothing away. He might be a gentleman to Frances, but he wasn't to her. "I would venture a guess that you don't have anyone in the cavalry who can cook as well as Frances."
He continued to look down at her until his dark lashes swept over his eyes. "I'm sure you are right -I can't wait to taste those biscuits I smell, Mrs. Reilly."
Frances colored with pleasure and nodded. "We'll eat as soon as the others get here."
Abby turned abruptly away to place frayed napkins beside each plate. "I don't know if Papa will be home in time to eat with us." She hoped he wouldn't come home drunk, as he had on so many occasions.
Jonah's gaze followed Abby as she placed knives and forks at each plate. She was tall for a womanhe would guess somewhere around five-seven oreight. It was hard to tell her shape because of the baggy trousers she wore. Her skin had a healthy golden glow to it. He could not imagine her bothering to follow the regimented ritual most women practiced to maintain a pale complexion. When she moved past him to set more utensils on the table, he caught a whiff of sweet honey probably the soap she used; he could not imagine her taking the time to dab perfume behind her ears either.
The single black braid that hung down her back swayed with every movement she made. He found himself fantasizing about how she would look if her hair were unbraided and fell loosely about her face.
His gaze lingered on the swell of her breasts, then settled on the top button of her shirt as he imagined himself unbuttoning it to explore the delights that lay beneath.
His carnal thoughts rocked him a bit, yet still he went on assessing her other features. Dark brows arched above those wonderful eyes-her lashes were long and curled against her cheek. Her pert nose could have made her almost cute, but her fragile bone structure made her beautiful.
He mentally compared the perfection of Patricia's porcelain, milk-white complexion to Abby's golden hue. He had never seen Patricia when she wasn't well-groomed; she never had a hair out of place, while Miss Hunter threw convention to the wind with her unsuitable apparel. Still, he would never forget the sight of Abby breaking that gelding. Much to his surprise, he w
as finding that she was taking up a great deal of his thoughts. In fact, the memory of her unusual green eyes had remained with him throughout the day.
When Abby turned back to find him watching her, he quickly focused his attention on the housekeeper. "That cake looks mighty good."
"It tastes good, too," Frances said with certainty. "My grandma brought the recipe with her all the way from Pennsylvania-she was Dutch, you know."
"Then Reilly must be your husband's name."
"It was; may he rest in peace. He came out here from Ireland and didn't last the second winter. But that was thirty years ago."
"I am from Philadelphia myself."
The housekeeper paused with frosting dripping from her knife. "I recall my grandma telling me when I was young that not a day went by that she didn't miss the countryside back east." She quickly wiped up the frosting that had spilled on the stove and smiled at him. "She never got to go back."
Abby was disgusted by the way that man had charmed Frances into making a fool out of herself-the housekeeper was practically purring like a barn cat.
Quince's voice broke into her thoughts, and he came trailing into the kitchen, accompanied by Glory, Brent, and Crystal. Abby stood off to the side, observing how graciously the major acknowledged both her sisters-in-law. He certainly had not shown her the same kind of courtesy. She began to dislike him even more... if that were possible.
She noticed Brent staring at her with hazel eyes so like their father's. As he approached her, he bestowed a look on her that she had come to know only too well.
Disapproval.
"Here it comes," she said quietly. "Go ahead, tell me how you think I shouldn't have ridden the Johnson horse."
Brent shook his head. "Dammit, Abby, that horse-"
Quince appeared beside Abby and slid his arm around her shoulders, quietly conveying his support. "That horse," he finished for his brother, "is saddle broken, and I have the money from Mr. Johnson right in my pocket. Leave her alone, Brent."
The two brothers glared at each other until Glory cleared her throat. "Isn't anyone but me hungry?" she asked, causing everyone to talk at once.
The huge oak table could easily seat twenty, and had on many occasions when Abby's mother had been alive, and the sheer number of guests had spilled over from the dining room into the kitchen. Of course, the neighbors never came around anymore, and since her father had returned, mealtime was usually a silent and painful event.
Abby watched Brent and his wife. Crystal's blond hair was pulled away from her face with a blue ribbon, and she seemed to be blooming with health-her stomach was rounded from the child she carried. Abby observed the soft glances that passed between the two of them and wondered what it would feel like to have someone look at her that way. She glanced at the major and found him watching her so intently it made her squirm in her chair.
Quince was also watching Abby, but his gaze was questioning; no doubt he was wondering why she was not joining in the happy banter. "You'd better eat, little sister, or you are going to get even skinnier than you are, and no man will want you until we can fatten you up."
She glared at her brother. "As if I cared."
Glory patted Abby's hand. "Don't let him tease you. He's just as proud of you as he can be."
Glory matched her name in sweetness and ap pearance, although Quince claimed his wife had a temper to match her flame-colored hair. She was wearing her hair up tonight with wispy curls about her lovely face. When she turned her winsome smile on Quince, he looked as if he would practically melt at her feet.
Abby glanced across the table to find Major Tremain still staring at her.
"Major," she said, determined to show him that she wasn't intimidated by him. "I understand Quince saved your life."
"That's right; he did."
"I suppose when Yankees come out here they think they know the lay of the land and are surprised to find themselves in trouble."
She heard Quince's intake of breath and saw the disapproving frown on his face.
"Yankee?" Jonah's mouth eased into a smile. "Now, that's a term I haven't often had applied to myself. My father fought in the Civil War, but I was only sixteen when Lee surrendered to Grant."
She bristled. "Surely you are referring to the War Between the States, Major. That's what we call it here in Texas."
He paused with his fork halfway to his mouth and said in a tone one might use with an unruly child, "If you prefer, Miss Hunter. It actually comes down to a matter of semantics, doesn't it?"
Knowing his sister and how far she would go to make a point, Brent intervened. "I am happy to have this chance to thank you." He stared pointedly at Abby. "Major, I know it's because of your friendship with Quince that we have the army contract. And my brother has told me that you want us to supply horses for Fort Fannin as well. How can our family ever thank you for still another contract?"
Abby's face flushed at the news. The major had helped her family in the past, and he was helping them again. She stared down at her plate, remembering how discourteous she had been to him that morning, and tonight also, for that matter. But she just didn't like him.
"As I told Quince today," Jonah was saying, "we have all benefited from the contract. And Brent, I wish you would drop the `Major' part-just call me Jonah."
"Major"-Abby stressed his title-"with your sworn duty to protect the people of Texas, how do you plan to tackle the Indian problem?"
"Miss Hunter," he replied,-his lips almost curving into a smile, as if he knew she was taunting him, "I learned quickly that the Indians are much better horsemen than my troopers, but we still have the advantage over them."
He had more charm that anyone had a right to, and a male beauty that could not be matched by any man she had ever seen. He probably had enough women paying homage to his handsomeness; she certainly wasn't going to be one of them. She fastened her gaze on the gold bars of his wideshouldered uniform, determined not to look into those hypnotic blue eyes. "And what would that advantage be?" she asked in a breathy voice that took the sting out of her words.
He laid his fork across his plate and gave her his full attention. "What we lack in horsemanship we make up in firepower. We have superior weapons, Miss Hunter."
She made the mistake of looking into his eyes and found them flaming with the passion of life, and she tingled all over. It took her a moment to speak. "Is that right?"
Now his words were stilted, as if he wearied of their conversation. "I can assure you it is, Miss Hunter."
Abby became aware that her family was watching her, and she could feel their uneasiness. Even Crystal and Glory were frowning at her. Undaunted, she charged forward. "We have driven the Indians from their lands and left them nowhere to go, haven't we?" She expected him to argue the point; in fact, she depended on it.
He wiped his mouth on a napkin before he spoke. "I see you and I share the same view on that. But sadly the conflict is almost over for them. The plight of those who haven't been shipped off to reservations is extremely dire."
"Yet you helped bring about their downfall," she insisted.
"It is the way of life," Jonah replied. "The strong have always held sway over the weak. For myself, I followed orders-but I think... I hope I have never killed any man except in duty to my country."
She bit into a biscuit, feeling everyone's eyes on her. Most of all, she could feel both her brothers' disapproval mounting. It was hard to chew and downright impossible to swallow. There was an unspoken rule in this house-they were never to be rude to guests. Abby didn't understand why she had felt the need to challenge the major at every turn. He had proven to be a worthy and gracious opponent he had left her nothing to debate.
After a moment Jonah turned his attention to Glory, who was speaking to him. "My husband tells me you were in the New Mexico territory searching for Victorio."
"I never got close enough to take him on in battle. He's good at avoiding capture."
"Isn't he dangerous?" Crystal asked.<
br />
"Yes, ma'am, he is," Jonah said. His gaze went to Abby. "I doubt any of us would react any differently than he has if we had been driven from our land."
Abby heard someone enter the front door, and an uneasy feeling enveloped her. "That will be Papa." Her gaze met Quince's, and she could see they shared the same thought they hoped that Jack Hunter would not be drunk.
Moments later her father appeared in the doorway, smiling and sober. "It's always nice to see my family partaking of a meal together." His gaze went around the table and stopped at the man in uniform. A broad grin lit his face, and he extended a hand while walking toward Jonah. "I don't need to be told who you are-you have to be Major Tremain."
Jonah stood, shaking hands with Jack. "Mr. Hunter. I am grateful for your hospitality. And I have never dined better."
Frances must have heard Jack's voice, because she returned and set a plate before him. It did her heart good to see the family together like this. It didn't happen very often.
The talk turned to horses, and Abby was relieved when the meal was finally over. The men migrated to the porch where it was cooler, while Glory and Crystal stayed to help her with the dishes, giving Frances a rest.
"You two go on and join the men," Abby said. "I'll finish in here."
Glory shook her head. "That won't do, Abby. That gorgeous man out there couldn't take his eyes off you all during supper. Crystal and I will finish here and you can join your brothers."
Abby draped the dish cloth over her shoulder and lifted a stack of saucers into the cupboard. "I can assure you that if the major was looking at me, he was only trying to find flaws. He certainly made it clear today that he disapproves of me."
"Maybe," Glory said, twisting a red strand of hair that had come loose and pinning it up with the rest. "But there was interest there, too. I have a feeling he's never met anyone like you, and he is more than likely intrigued by you, maybe even fascinated."
Crystal agreed with a nod. "You're at least a mystery to him-a mystery that he wants to solve. And I saw you watching him, Abby, so don't deny it."
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