and apple pie for sending Lucy home and find the sonovabitch who knew she was in Buffalo Creek, hurt and alone. Lucy and I will sort the rest out someday.”
Hamilton gave him a crooked grin. “Figured that. I wish you well but Lucy and me under the same roof again is one Quince too many. I’m moving back to my cabin. I’ll be in for meals so I hope Luce doesn’t remember she can’t cook.” He pulled on his hat and left.
Alone with only his thoughts, Ambrose stared into the night, trying to get a handle on the events of the day. He’d watched the sun rise this morning knowing it would be his last Texas dawn. Now he stood alive, his wife upstairs in their bedroom, with a promise of life together stretching out before him. “Do you doubt that I’m Lucy McKenna Quince?” Doubt it was Lucy? Hell no.
Her Boston accent was softened, almost gone, and her words were pure Texas, learned, he supposed, from the folks in Buffalo Creek. But the way she held her head, turned up her nose, stared at him defiantly—?
Rubbing the burn on his neck, he remembered how she’d cut the rope with one bullet, saved his life and then looked at him as if he was a stranger. He murmured, “But she took my name when she couldn’t remember her own.”
* * * * *
Lucy made herself at home in the next weeks and no one questioned her when she took charge of the washing, cleaning and cooking in the house. Brody became a source of joy and information. The child loved to talk and filled the hours of each day chattering. The Quince males were not as easily managed. Alex remained aloofly suspicious and Hamilton barely civil.
But Ambrose Quince set Lucy’s heart racing whenever he was close. From the moment on the first night when he’d hugged her and said “Welcome home, Lucy,” he’d acted as though he expected them to resume a relationship. Although Lucy tried to avoid him, his maneuvering made that impossible.
He was currently parked in her kitchen making a nuisance of himself and her chest felt ready to explode. His eyes were half-closed as he sipped his coffee, studying her as he did every time he was near her.
“I would like you to stop looking at me.” Lucy kept her back turned but could feel his gaze just the same. “Better yet, don’t you have something else you need to be doing?”
“Nope,” he said.
Because he was never quite respectful, just being near him made her furious. She’d catch him staring at her, a strange smile playing around his mouth. It was a look that made her shudder and want to hide. She didn’t like the man and when they were alone she refused to pretend.
“Does the touch of my eyes bother you?”
Somehow just that word touch said in his gravelly voice was enough to make her stomach cramp with unease.
She tried to ignore him, while at the same time silently numbering the reasons she needed to be here. I have responsibilities toward my children. I am hunting my would-be killer. This is the place from which my journey into hell began.
Balancing that against the need for self-preservation, Lucy still wanted to pack her gear and ride back to Buffalo Creek. Or she wanted to yell, “Yes, you bother me. Stop looking at me!” But in their silent war for control, it would have pleased him to elicit that response, so she remained mute.
It irritated her to step around him as he cluttered up her workspace, but Brody was delighted her pa was suddenly visiting the house every afternoon and made sure they had a treat waiting for him each day. Cinnamon rolls left from breakfast, apple pie made for supper, johnnycake and beans when he came in roaring hungry and needed a tide-me-over.
To ingratiate herself with her daughter, Lucy accepted his presence, controlling her desire to chase him from the kitchen with a broom. And he knew it.
With Brody chattering nonstop, it was easy to avoid talking to him, but today Alex had lured his sister to the barn to help with an orphaned calf, and Lucy had her husband’s
Hamilton gave him a crooked grin. “Figured that. I wish you well but Lucy and me under the same roof again is one Quince too many. I’m moving back to my cabin. I’ll be in for meals so I hope Luce doesn’t remember she can’t cook.” He pulled on his hat and left.
Alone with only his thoughts, Ambrose stared into the night, trying to get a handle on the events of the day. He’d watched the sun rise this morning knowing it would be his last Texas dawn. Now he stood alive, his wife upstairs in their bedroom, with a promise of life together stretching out before him. “Do you doubt that I’m Lucy McKenna Quince?” Doubt it was Lucy? Hell no.
Her Boston accent was softened, almost gone, and her words were pure Texas, learned, he supposed, from the folks in Buffalo Creek. But the way she held her head, turned up her nose, stared at him defiantly—?
Rubbing the burn on his neck, he remembered how she’d cut the rope with one bullet, saved his life and then looked at him as if he was a stranger. He murmured, “But she took my name when she couldn’t remember her own.”
* * * * *
Lucy made herself at home in the next weeks and no one questioned her when she took charge of the washing, cleaning and cooking in the house. Brody became a source of joy and information. The child loved to talk and filled the hours of each day chattering. The Quince males were not as easily managed. Alex remained aloofly suspicious and Hamilton barely civil.
But Ambrose Quince set Lucy’s heart racing whenever he was close. From the moment on the first night when he’d hugged her and said “Welcome home, Lucy,” he’d acted as though he expected them to resume a relationship. Although Lucy tried to avoid him, his maneuvering made that impossible.
He was currently parked in her kitchen making a nuisance of himself and her chest felt ready to explode. His eyes were half-closed as he sipped his coffee, studying her as he did every time he was near her.
“I would like you to stop looking at me.” Lucy kept her back turned but could feel his gaze just the same. “Better yet, don’t you have something else you need to be doing?”
“Nope,” he said.
Because he was never quite respectful, just being near him made her furious. She’d catch him staring at her, a strange smile playing around his mouth. It was a look that made her shudder and want to hide. She didn’t like the man and when they were alone she refused to pretend.
“Does the touch of my eyes bother you?”
Somehow just that word touch said in his gravelly voice was enough to make her stomach cramp with unease.
She tried to ignore him, while at the same time silently numbering the reasons she needed to be here. I have responsibilities toward my children. I am hunting my would-be killer. This is the place from which my journey into hell began.
Balancing that against the need for self-preservation, Lucy still wanted to pack her gear and ride back to Buffalo Creek. Or she wanted to yell, “Yes, you bother me. Stop looking at me!” But in their silent war for control, it would have pleased him to elicit that response, so she remained mute.
It irritated her to step around him as he cluttered up her workspace, but Brody was delighted her pa was suddenly visiting the house every afternoon and made sure they had a treat waiting for him each day. Cinnamon rolls left from breakfast, apple pie made for supper, johnnycake and beans when he came in roaring hungry and needed a tide-me-over.
To ingratiate herself with her daughter, Lucy accepted his presence, controlling her desire to chase him from the kitchen with a broom. And he knew it.
With Brody chattering nonstop, it was easy to avoid talking to him, but today Alex had lured his sister to the barn to help with an orphaned calf, and Lucy had her husband’s
Similar Books
