Four

“Patience Ann Day! Don’t you have any shame?” Glory’s face flamed with pure mortification.

“I was only—”

“Letting your mouth gallop at full speed,” she finished for her. “Put a bridle on it. Mr. McClain doesn’t need pestering.”

The fact that the man tried to hide a broad smile behind his hand did little to dampen the heat rising from her toenails.

“I’d be obliged if you’d call me Luke.”

There went that killer grin. The one that turned her knees watery. Darn her fickle limbs for betraying her. Ignorant of his letters or not, McClain had ample expertise in the lady-charming department. That scared her.

Her tongue worked inside a suddenly dry mouth. “Entirely out of the question.”

“I insist. No more of this ‘mister’ business.”

The man took extraordinary delight in watching her squirm.

“Are you afraid of saying my name…or more of getting to the altar?” A merry glint twinkled.

Patience piped up, saving her from a reply. “Glory’s real nice if you don’t get on her bad side. An’ she hardly ever yells, ’cept if you make her mad.”

Oh Lord, she felt ill.

“Get your little fanny out! Now.” The idea of socking her definitely had merit. No telling what else the pip-squeak would yammer next. “I think I hear Hope calling.”

“No, she’s not. You just say that when you don’t want me around.”

Though not always biddable, Patience had never shown outright defiance. Why today of all times?

“Just because you’ve never had a beau don’t mean you can’t wed if a man asks you.” Chatterbox blurted Glory’s worst shame.

A few months shy of her twentieth birthday and not one boy had ever come courting. Nor had anyone so much as stolen a kiss, not even in her kid days when a group of them played hide-and-seek on a moonless night. He must think her terribly flawed to have never captured a man’s roving eye. For God’s sake, Gwennie Gabriel managed to snag a husband and she was certainly no prize. Glory wasn’t even snaggletoothed or knock-kneed. If she wasn’t quite so busy, she could get one, she told herself.

“Our…my state of affairs doesn’t concern him. Now, I want you to march, young lady. Help with supper.”

“On the contrary, Miss Day,” Luke broke in. “I find your sisterly fuss refreshing. An entertainment I’ve missed. I haven’t seen my family in a coon’s age and this is mild compared to us. When we get together, we’re a downright rowdy bunch.”

Glory failed to see the humor. She pointed sternly to the open doorway. “Scoot.”

“You’re not the boss o’ me. You’re not my mother!”

The gibe hurt all the way down to the quick. Little did Patience know. With their mother becoming more distant, Glory could be the closest the girl had to one.

A creak of the screen door announced Hope’s return. “Patience, come and get these cats. They’re in my way.”

“All right. I will.” The younger sibling made a face that said she was going only because Hope asked and for no other reason.

“I apologize for my sister, Mr. McClain. Patience isn’t always like this. Things aren’t easy for her.”

“Luke. You agreed to call me Luke. And you don’t owe me any amends.” He rose to lean against the iron bedstead.

Silver buttons shone against the dark-blue background of his shirt, stars shining in a midnight sky. His coffee-colored hair went in all directions, as if he’d run his fingers through it a hundred times. She sucked in her breath sharply. Each strand stood on end, lending a wicked charm to his devil-may-care features.

“I agreed to no such thing. Just wouldn’t be proper.” She turned on her heel.

“And you never do anything that’s not.” His soft, seductive tone toyed with her senses, brushing against her face and neck, stopping her in her tracks. “Explains why you’ve never had a gentleman caller.”

He’d poured salt in the wound. Leave it to a stranger to home in on the obvious.

“Patience was wrong. I’ve had my share. Simply had no interest in pursuing them. I have far better ways to fill my evenings.”

“If you say so. Luke McClain never disputes a lady’s word.”

Time had come to bury this particular topic. “What’s this about being a lawman? You never uttered a word to me.”

“You’re mistaken.”

“Patience only dreamed that up?”

The man shrugged. “Like you said, she’s prone to stretching the truth a bit.”

Appeared he shared that with her sister. She recognized sealed lips when she saw them though. Best to let him think he’d won. She’d keep her ears open for further slips. She suspected he was more likely an outlaw than a lawman. “If you don’t feel up to coming to the table, I’ll have Hope bring you a plate. Other than that, I don’t think we have anything else to discuss.”

Just what did that little grin mean?

“I think I can hobble that far. Holler when you’re ready.”

Lord knew that’d be years from now, centuries even, before she’d be up to facing him after Patience’s embarrassing revelations. Not daring a glance his way, she merely nodded.

“Wait. Please?” A slight quaver in the plea halted her escape. She paused in the doorway. “I’m sorry for messing up your plans. Didn’t know how important that reward money was to you. If I’d only…”

The sincerity took her aback. One minute the man joked and ridiculed and the next he spilled true feelings all over the place. A mixture of hot and cold.

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll survive. We always do.”

* * *

Luke pondered her parting statement. Tough lady, that Glory Day.

From what he’d seen and heard of their situation, much of which he owed to Miss Chatterbox, they were in dire straits.

Clearly, Glory stood at the head of the family as provider. That explained her manner of dress. Not that he had anything against the men’s britches. Quite the contrary. They revealed fascinating curves and a waist so narrow he could probably get his hands easily around it.

Now there was a delicious thought. If he dared be so bold, beyond a shadow of a doubt, she’d break his fingers in half without so much as a fare-thee-well.

A worn, faded dress hanging from a nail on the wall pounded home their dour circumstances. Somehow, he knew it belonged to Glory and he also suspected it was the only dress she possessed. Strangely, the wish to see her clothed in it became an intolerable desire. Her rich, blond hair cascading down her back, loose and flowing, would be well worth broken things—fingers or dreams.

Chatterbox’s question about marrying her sister skittered across his mind, coaxing a wide grin. A tempting proposition.

If he was in the market for a wife, that is.

Which he wasn’t, he quickly added.

The beauteous Jessie Foltry had smitten his heart. He couldn’t imagine feeling about anyone like he did her. Too bad his older brother had made her his wife instead and she happily rode herd on a mess of little ones.

Still, a lady with stonewashed blue eyes shouldn’t have to do a man’s work. When he got up and around, he’d make himself useful before he took off again after Mad Dog Perkins. Kill some game to last a while, make some repairs to the place.

And it was a pure sin to Moses for a girl to never know the thrill of a first kiss or the advantages of a little caressing. Those fine, capable hands could soothe the wildness out of a whole pack of coyotes. No lye soap he knew could wash off the remembrance of her accidental touch where it came in contact with his thigh.

He listened to the three sisters in the next room, easily distinguishing Glory’s disarming, refined voice from Patience’s pouty tone and Hope’s calm, easy way.

“You’re a jewel, Hope. I don’t know how you can make a meal from so little,” he heard Glory say. “I think we can fill our stomachs quite well, despite me coming home empty-handed.”

Guilt had a way of kicking a man in the gut. She had evidently spent the day locating Perkins, and partly thanks to him, lost the man. Then she’d toted his carcass home with her and saved his leg from amputation. He shuddered as he remembered her wielding the scissors. A woman with blood in her eye could do nigh most anything. He’d been briefly worried about her amputating another part of him altogether. Almost involuntarily, he lifted the sheet to make double sure he was still in one piece.

Relieved, he returned to his conscience. He’d kept her too busy to hunt meat for the table.

They had barely enough food for the four of them, yet stretched what they had to include him. Yep, that was true charity. He mentally kicked himself again.

“I found a few squash and collard greens that hadn’t shriveled to nothing in the garden. Those with the dwindling stock of sweet potatoes in the root cellar will go fine with hot biscuits. I even fished around in the pork barrel and came up with a nice hunk of sowbelly to season the greens with.”

Luke salivated at the mention of hot biscuits. Hadn’t had a decent one since those Jessie made. Collards weren’t his favorite, but he’d try to pretend—for the ladies’ sake.

If you don’t feel up to coming to the table, I’ll have Hope bring you a plate. He’d seen more than a glimmer of expectation in Glory’s gaze when she uttered those words.

Small chance. No one was going to bottle-feed him—despite the fact that Glory obviously preferred he stay in bed.

That was when he spied the sewing basket beside the short bed from which his feet dangled. The blue-eyed vixen had slit the right leg of his britches from stem to stern. Necessary, she’d said. Likely story. She’d seemed to derive just a tad too much satisfaction from the act. But, he’d better get busy sewing.

Hobbling into their midst half-naked would surely have Mrs. Day in a fine state. Might throw her into one of her conniptions Glory spoke about. He allowed a few things he lacked education in, but when it came to temper fits, he knew both the ins and outs.

He slid out of what remained of the trousers, and hastily threw the sheet over his bare legs before someone passed by the open door. Then he lifted the sewing basket.

Fixing the pants shouldn’t pose much problem. After all, he’d sewn up a rent in the seat of his long johns once. Of course, he refused to dwell on how many times he stuck himself with the needle. Or how it looked when he got done. Didn’t really matter that it more resembled a cat’s cradle or a crazy spiderweb. Wasn’t anyone going to see it but him. No sirree. He could sew with the best of ’em.

Black thread already stuck through the needle’s eye. Good enough. He reckoned any color would work. Laying the two cut pieces together, he started at the ankle. The first rattle out of the box, he punctured his thumb.

Criminy! After sucking the blood off, he bent again to the task.

At twelve, he lost count of the sticks. How did womenfolk manage to get anything accomplished with an implement as sharp as a cactus needle? Pure torture.

Not only that, but he had more blood on his pants from the sticks than he did from the load of buckshot.

“Ouch!” This time he couldn’t keep silent. It hurt like hell. With speed that made him suspicious, Glory appeared in the doorway.

“What’s wrong? Is your leg hurting?”

“Not my leg.” Luke held up the needle and thread, bloody fingers and all.

“Whatever are you trying to do?”

“Fix my blasted pants so I can be decent for female company.”

Chuckles tumbled from her curved-up mouth. The sight almost made him forget his hunch that she’d been listening from the next room.

“Not a darn bit funny.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t help it.”

The girl looked young, carefree, and utterly breathtaking when she abandoned the frowns. He decided holes in his fingers were worth seeing this lighthearted side.

“Go ahead. Laugh at a foolish, almost-naked man. Reckon I’ll have to take my supper in here after all.”

“Wait. I’ll be back.” In a flash, she grabbed his trousers and disappeared, leaving him wondering what on earth she was up to.

As if he’d go anywhere bare-legged. Unease gripped him. He had made her mad as hell. Enough for revenge?

He stood, yanked the sheet off, and tucked it around him. He was about to give chase when the sound of her boots struck the wooden floor. He admired the easy sway of her hips as she moved toward him.

“Here. Put these on.” She handed him a pair of homespun woolen britches. “My papa’s,” she explained.

Only after he assured himself she didn’t lurk outside the door for a peek, he pulled them on, careful of his wounded leg. The girth of the pants swallowed him, but he was a man with few options. He peered at his achy hands. Might not be able to hold a knife and fork, but at least he could join the ladies around the table.

* * *

Supper was quite an affair. Patience chattered nonstop, asking questions and keeping them thoroughly entertained.

Mrs. Day didn’t appear as harried as Luke recalled her from earlier. Still quite lovely with her peach coloring and pale-blue gaze, the woman must have been a beautiful belle in her younger years. Only the few strands of gray streaking her hair and the wrinkles lining her mouth told the secret of her age.

When he compared the four faces staring over the sweet potatoes and collard greens, he marveled at the resemblance. In all of Coleman County there weren’t any prettier ladies. He’d heard it rumored that the Misses Alice and Jennie Caperton claimed the titles of most lovely in the county. Yet, he begged to differ. Perhaps others might attribute their allure to a shortage of the opposite sex since they were the only two ladies in the town of Coleman City. Surely, they couldn’t hold a candle to this household.

“My Patience tells me you’re a lawman.”

Damn! The lie.

Under Mrs. Day’s matronly stare, he had a devil of a time swallowing. The woolen pants gouged like hundreds of sharp prickly pears in places he’d rather not think about. Squirming certainly didn’t help. Of all things for the woman to bring up. He had no desire to discuss that topic. Most of all why he was no longer with the Texas Rangers.

A swig of fresh milk helped Luke down the big bite he’d just taken.

“A simple misunderstanding, ma’am.” The falsehood clogged his throat worse than week-old corn bread. He quickly gulped the rest of the milk.

“My compliments, Miss Hope, on these biscuits,” he said, hoping to change the subject. “Can’t tell you how long it’s been since my mouth’s had such pleasure.”

A pink blush rose to tint Hope’s cheeks. The girl would make someone a happy man if her biscuits gave any indication.

“So, you was after Mad Dog Perkins too, Mr. Luke?”

“He’s Mr. McClain, Patience, dear.” Ruth Day dabbed delicately at the corners of her mouth. “We must have our manners if we have little else. And, it’s ‘were,’ not ‘was.’”

“It’s quite all right, ma’am. My fault.”

“If you insist.” The woman’s tightly drawn lips voiced clear disapproval. “Though I object to overfamiliarity toward strangers.” She halved her biscuit and buttered both sides slowly. “I’ve tried to teach my girls proper decorum.”

No doubt. Still, no mother would have her oldest daughter carrying such a load. Couldn’t she see the years it tacked on to Glory’s life? Not that he didn’t admire the golden-haired beauty for accepting the responsibility. Her spunk amazed him. Going after Mad Dog Perkins took a sight more than courage.

“And a wonderful job you’ve done, ma’am.”

The woman glowed under his compliment. From where he sat, the fragile woman was incapable of managing their daily affairs. She should thank her lucky stars for her three strong daughters.

Patience rested her arm on the table and shot him a grin. “Have you ever killed anyone, Mr. Luke? I mean when you were tryin’ to capture them, that is.”

He’d never considered wool breaking a man out in a sweat like this. Silence would’ve been a blessing.

The smattering of freckles that marched across the smaller girl’s nose and cheeks reminded him of his nephew, George. But the endless questions exactly matched Luke’s sister, Victoria.

“A time or two, Punkin.” Luke didn’t know why the word slipped out. Except it fit. He cast a sidelong glance for her mother’s disapproval. None came, so he reckoned she’d not toss him out on his ear just yet. Maybe she allowed for all the blood on him.

“Where are you from, Mr. McClain? Do you have any family?”

This time, the quiet, angelic Hope entered the conversation. He wondered what thoughts went through Glory’s mind. She’d not said four or five words thus far.

“My folks hail from Tranquillity, down on the Colorado. You might’ve heard tell of it?” He lobbed the inquiry toward Glory. Yet, he shouldn’t have bothered. She focused solely on the meager bit of food on her plate, oblivious of the conversation. He wondered if she mulled over her afternoon’s failures. Or what she’d overheard.

He cursed himself for the slight fib he’d told Patience about being a lawman.

“I’ve heard it mentioned,” Mrs. Day said, wiping her mouth daintily again. A faraway stare appeared in her eyes. “My Jack is in Austin. He’s on a business trip, you know.”

Luke caught Glory’s quick, darting glance that showed she feared what her mother would say. He wanted to tell her he already knew about her father’s imprisonment. Despite apologizing for getting in the way and spoiling her plans, he wished he could do something, anything, to make it up.

“Do you think they worry about you, McClain? If it’s been a while without word…what with your dangerous profession and all.” Glory’s studied gaze bored a hole into his soul. He wondered what she saw there to cause her eyebrows to knit.

“Profession? Just what would that be, Miss Glory? I’m no lawman.”

“I know what I heard.” Glory met his gaze. “You’re still denying it?”

“Yes.” Double damn! If only he’d held his tongue.

“Would you like to tell us what you are and why you would chase a wanted criminal? Are you a bounty hunter then?”

“I’m just a plain. ordinary man who wanted Perkins for the same reason you did.”

“Fair enough.” She lowered her stare at last. “Then I suppose your family, should you truly have one, misses you.”

“Reckon they do for a fact. It’s been way too long since I laid eyes on them.” He had heard about the Spanish Inquisition but had never been subjected to one. Before now.

“Not that it matters. I only asked in case there was anyone we might need to notify—should you meet with an untimely end.” Glory’s quiet tone tickled the hairs on the back of his neck. “A wife or children perhaps?”

He’d had no inkling what pond the girl had dropped her hook in. Now it dawned. The fishing expedition brought a twinge of joy. Though why, he couldn’t quite say. His heart didn’t have room for two women, and Jessie currently occupied it.

“Just a father, brother, and sister is the sum of it.” And Jessie and a little girl named Marley Rose. But Glory didn’t have to know about them.

She stopped the beginning of a smile. But not before he saw the flash of relief. The wrinkle in her forehead smoothed.

Glory turned her attention to the others. “Mama, would you like another spoonful of squash? It’s your favorite. Hope made it especially for you.”

“I don’t think so, dear.” For the first time that night, he saw a sparkle in the matron’s eyes. “I’m saving room for some of that hot molasses gingerbread.”

All of a sudden, a solution hit him. He’d track Perkins to the end of the earth if necessary. And after he beat the information he needed out of his mangy hide, he’d hand the reward over to Glory. That’d go a long way to making amends. He only prayed it didn’t take too long. Punkin spilling the beans about their father’s health made haste crucial.

A teasing smile graced Hope’s face as she rose. “How did you know I made gingerbread, Mama? I wanted to surprise you.”

“My darling girl, no fooling your mother. The smell is unmistakable. I can eat my weight of that cake.”

So could he, Luke decided. He hurried to finish his second helping of everything, even the collards he wasn’t fond of, so he could partake with the rest. He’d just finished shoveling in the last bite when Hope delivered the warm cake to the table.

The remainder of the meal passed without further sweating. Then, each girl carried her plate to the wash bucket. Patience eagerly added his to her stack. The worship in her eyes made him fidget.

“I’d be obliged if you’d join my daughters and me in the parlor.”

Mother Day’s request appeared to put the invitation more in the ordering category. Should he have such an inclination, which he didn’t, he couldn’t refuse. Being a guest and all.

Spending too much time alone made a man crave stimulation. He grinned. This promised to go above and beyond that.

Despite the throbbing pain that persisted in his leg, he moved as fast as he could to help Mrs. Day out of her chair. Quite a feat considering he dared not release his grip on the pants, for they’d surely fall around his ankles.

“Please,” Patience begged with puppy dog eyes.

“Shush, dear, it may be too much for him. Losing blood weakens a man. We don’t want him overdoing it.”

He tried to read Glory’s mind, whether she voted yea or nay. And though her brief glance made the homespuns itch twice as bad, her thoughts on the matter remained shrouded in mystery. Mischievous fancies he couldn’t deny took root.

“Glory reads to us from Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women when Mama has one of her headaches.” Patience grinned. “It’s the best time of the whole day. Do you like that book?”

The oldest Day sister looked ready to throttle Patience.

“Punkin, I’ve never been one for reading. Occasion for it don’t come often.” He looped an arm around the girl’s shoulders and turned to the lady of the house. “Thank you, ma’am. Wouldn’t mind staying up for a spell. Haven’t had the company of so many charming ladies at once that I can remember.”

Patience took his hand and led him to the biggest chair in the parlor. “This is my papa’s. I don’t think he’d mind you keeping it warm.”

“It’ll be our secret.” Ah, he could finally turn loose of the pants as he settled into the haven. His wounded leg burned with the heat of a smithy’s forge. Some choice cuss words crossed his mind while he endeavored to find a comfortable spot.

Then he watched what he suspected formed a nightly ritual. Mother Day took the seat opposite him while Glory lifted a book from the mantel over the hearth. Patience dropped cross-legged to the floor at her mother’s knee and Hope slipped into a high-backed rocker.

“Mama, I’m too tired. Would you mind reading tonight?” At her mother’s nod, Glory put the open book into her hands before she took the other vacant chair.

“Let’s see, where were we? Do you remember, Patience?”

“Jo had just sold her hair to get money for Marmee to travel to see their sick papa.”

“Oh yes.” Mother Day began to read with lyrical refinement.

Luke closed his lids for a moment to soak up the sounds and images that sprang to life from the pages of the book. Strange that the story bore such similarity to the current household.

When he opened his eyes, Glory had lifted an article of clothing to her lap and begun to sew. His trousers! She was repairing the ruined pants in front of the whole clan.

Heat spread and not from the woolens. But soon a pleasant tranquility replaced his discomfort. The intimate sight brought a glow inside. One that rivaled the brightness of a lighthouse on the darkest, most stormy night. He rested his head against the high back. A king couldn’t have found better lodging.

She caught him staring. For a split second, he spied honest desire in her features. Then it left. Must have been simply a mirage in the flickering light of the oil lamp.

She had let him know in no uncertain terms what he could do with such speculation.

Still…when did he back down from a challenge?