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“When I was about eight, he caught her with a neighbor. The situation was compromising enough he felt it necessary to kill her.”
“He couldn’t have just sent her away?”
“Apparently not. She had a habit, I’ve been told, of less than ideal behavior.”
He ate a bit more cake. “That’s what Aaron meant when he said there was some of your mother in you?”
“Yes. People don’t forget easily.”
That he understood. There was always someone in every town the folk made fun of. The system worked for the majority of the folk, unless you were the one on the receiving end of all that scorn. Then it was hard to take. “Yeah. Folk’s memories are a bit long when it comes to something like that.” He dipped his finger into the frosting clinging to the edge of the plate. “Your father ever go to trial?”
“No. There was some dispute of the actual events. Some said it was really the other man who shot her. In the end, her death was declared accidental.”
Jesus! “You stayed here with your Pa after?”
“Yes. I was lucky that he didn’t feel I was doomed to the same path.”
He guessed people had different views on lucky. As much as he’d hated his mother, he’d have taken a gun to whoever had killed her if she’d gone that way. “Well, if it’ll set your mind to rest, I’m not one for holding the past against a person.”
After an initial start of surprise, her expression relaxed a hair. “No. I guess you wouldn’t. Not with how it must have been for you.”
The woman blew hot and cold for sure, but he was beginning to figure her out. The more proper her demeanor, the more unsure she felt.
He got up and fetched another fork from the wash pile. He sat, pushed the plate across the table until it rested between them. He held the fork out to her. “Dig in.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Why not? I’m sharing.”
She looked surprised, and then embarrassed. “I don’t really know.”
“I’ve always figured, if you can’t say why you can’t do something, then maybe there isn’t a reason to hold back.” He placed the fork in her hand. “I’ll meet you in the middle.”
She stared at the plate for awhile. He had the impression she was thinking on something. Finally, she tapped the plate with her fork. “You’ve got all the frosting.”
“You got a problem with that?”
There was a brief hesitation. He was beginning to expect them. Seems the woman wasn’t too well acquainted with good-natured teasing. She eventually reached a decision. “Yes.”
He smiled at her hesitancy. Very un-Elizabeth-like.
He heaved a huge sigh. “You drive a hard bargain, woman.” He turned the plate until the frosting crossed an imaginary dividing line. “Happy now?”
Her smile was tentative, but there. Her “I’m working on it” was a fair imitation of his own speech. His chuckle jerked up short when she beat him to the first bite, securing for herself the glob of icing he’d marked for his own. He wasn’t going to be beaten by anyone half his size. Especially when it came to chocolate cake!
The next choice bit ended up in his mouth. The third was a dead tie.
His “remove your fork, woman” was all play growl.
Immediately, she separated her tines from his. “Of course.” There wasn’t even a click of displeasure as she placed her fork correctly on the edge of the plate with great precision.
“Hell.”
“I’ll thank you not to swear in my presence.” A neat folding of her hands on the table punctuated the proper reprimand.
Obviously, handling wives was a tricky business. Especially one as jumpy as Elizabeth. Staying on the good side of a man suspected of killing your mother had to make for a bumpy ride. She’d described her upbringing as lucky, but he thought he’d hold back his opinion on that subject. A lot of the woman didn’t ring true. She couldn’t take a joke, panicked at the least hint of offense, defended herself with the ferocity of a badger against a man twice her size, and burned like fire in his arms. How the hell was he supposed to figure her out if she kept breaking all the rules?
He pushed the cake until the disputed piece crossed to her side. “I was only joking.”
“You clearly ordered me to release the cake.”
“We were playing.”
There was no doubting her seriousness as she said, “What has that got to do with anything?”
He sat back in his chair and studied her closely. Nope, she was serious. “About everything, I’d say.”
“Mr. MacIntyre, I gave you my promise to be obedient. It would help tremendously if you’d just say what you mean.”
“You can’t tell the difference between when I’m serious and when I’m fooling around?”
“No.” One word, yet it summed up everything.
He reached for his coffee, took a sip, and pondered the moment. As the rich flavor merged with the taste of chocolate, he came to an understanding. “You don’t trust me.”
