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She tried to protest, but all that came out was a strangled, “Asa.”
The man at the next table seemed to lean their way. She’d be mortified if she thought he’d heard what Asa had said.
Her husband was blithely unconcerned. “On this, you’ll have to take my word.”
“I’ll take your word, not because I agree, but because this conversation is highly improper.”
The glint in his eyes was devilish. “Guess that means I’ll have to prove my point in private.”
If he did, she’d probably strangle on the embarrassment.
“What happened when Millicent stepped in?” he asked as he made the last of her potato disappear.
She didn’t know whether to be offended or relieved that he’d eaten her dinner, so she answered his question instead. “She interrupted my father and told him she’d get me to eat the meal before the morning was out.”
“Did she?”
“Many times over.”
His right eyebrow kicked up. “She wasn’t satisfied with once?”
“I kept getting sick.”
“And she kept making you eat?” That was the first time she’d heard a man growl.
Elizabeth remembered the day vividly. The pain from the beating her father had given her almost crippling her when combined with the nausea inspired by the smell of meatloaf. Millicent’s desperate pleadings. Her father’s angry discovery that she’d gotten sick. His fury. Millicent’s intervention. “She didn’t have any choice.”
“Appears to me she had a hell of a lot of choices.” He slammed the napkin on the table.
She caught his hand with hers before he could slip away. “You weren’t there. I’m very grateful to her.”
He stared at her, first, like she was nuts, then in confusion and, finally understanding dawned. Of what, she didn’t want to know. Just as long as he didn’t go after Millicent with that look in his eye, she was happy.
“I love Millicent very much.”
“I can see that.” The look he shot her was a warning. “Someday, you’re going to tell me the whole of it.”
“Thank you.”
“Uh-huh.” He went back to his chicken and dumplings. “You’re racking up quite a debt for someday.”
She wasn’t worried. Someday was a long way off. A clever person could postpone someday forever. “I’m a procrastinator.”
“A what?”
“I like to put things off.”
“I guess I’ll learn to live with it.”
“I’ll try to keep it to a minimum.”
“I’d appreciate it.” He looked to the right. “Here comes Millicent. If you want her to think you ate that potato, you’d best wipe your mouth with that napkin and pretend you enjoyed it.”
As she did as he instructed, the truth hit her like a steam train, running over her defenses with blinding speed. He’d eaten the potato so Millicent wouldn’t lecture her. Just like he’d deflected her criticism. Just like he’d thrown his body over hers when the bullets had started flying. Just like he’d put Aaron on notice when his thoughtless comment had hurt.
I take care of my own.
She’d heard him say it many times. But she’d dismissed his comment as dog-in-the-manger male bragging, but—
She pulled the napkin away from her mouth. It seemed to actually matter to him that she was happy. And he was doing his best to discover what those things were and that she didn’t run into any discord. Hot on the heels of understanding came dismay. She didn’t know what to do with someone like him.
“You ate,” Millicent observed happily as she came abreast of the table.
“You added just the right amount of cinnamon,” Elizabeth commented, not willing to lie outright.
“You remember now, it’s just a pinch.”
“I’ll remember.”
“Something wrong with your meal?” Millicent turned and asked Asa. “For a man who was talking seconds, you sure are picking.”
“Nope.” He took a hearty bite. “I just got sidetracked talking to my wife.”
“You really like her that much?” She said it as if it amazed her that anything could distract a man from her chicken and dumplings.
She was a fool but Elizabeth found herself holding her breath for the answer.
“Yes. I really like her.”
Millicent snorted. “Newlyweds! Not a lick of sense. Think they can live on love alone.” She motioned to a table by the window. “Just like those two over there.”
Asa obligingly looked. “You mean the table with the big man in buckskins and that lady all dressed in pink?”
“That’s the one.”
“That’s Cougar McKinnely, isn’t it?” Elizabeth asked.
“Yeah.”
“I don’t recognize the young lady.”
“That prissy bit of nonsense is Emily Carmichael. Ever since she found out Cougar’s got more money than God’s got little green apples, she’s been set on hooking him.”
“He doesn’t seem unhappy with the arrangement,” Asa added.
Millicent snorted in disgust. “He’s too straightforward a man to see he’s being taken for a ride.” Her scowl deepened as her thumb jerked over her shoulder in Emily’s direction. “She bats her eyes and coos, and he mistakes it for real interest.”
“You don’t think she’s serious?” Elizabeth bit her lip. She didn’t know Cougar very well. He was a half-breed, and her father hadn’t had anything good to say about him, but Cougar was the adopted son of Doc. Whenever she’d had to go to Doc for care of her wounds, Cougar had always been kind. He’d brought her soup once when her mouth had been too sore from a calf’s kick to chew. He’d stood in the pouring rain and said he knew how it felt and handed her the crock. He’d stayed. Talked. She’d been too astonished by his kindness to take precautions. Her father had come upon them, accused her of leading McKinnely on. Cougar had stood up for her. Her father had taken his fists to him despite the fact he’d been not much more than a boy.
