Gingham Mountain Read Free Page B

stab him to death on the spot.
    The whistle blasted and the train began inching out of the station.
    Grant turned away from the nag, feeling like a spinning top going round and round from Martha to Hannah to the children. Speaking louder to be heard over the chugging engine, he said, “Hurry up, Martha. You’re going to miss your train.”
    “Grant, I don’t want to leave this woman with the impression that—”
    Grant caught Martha’s arm and firmly guided her to the platform,leaving the children and the irritating meddler behind. “If you miss your train there won’t be another one along for days. You’ve no doubt got appointments scheduled for the return trip and you’ll have to cancel them. We’ll be fine. I’ll handle that little pest back there.”
    Martha smiled at him through the soot on her face. “Now Grant, be nice.”
    “Nice?” Grant yelled as the train started moving faster. “I’ll be nicer’n she deserves.”
    Martha quit protesting and hurried toward the nearest car. She jumped on board like the seasoned traveler she was and turned to yell over her shoulder. “I’ll send the paperwork for the adoptions through the mail just like always.”
    Grant waved good-bye and turned to see Miss Cartwright fuming. He wondered how mad she had to be before she’d melt all that snow off her bonnet. Her temper didn’t bother him much. What upset him was Libby’s fear as she clung to Charlie.
    Grant strode over to the children and, ignoring the cranky little woman who stood there looking at him like he was 180 pounds of stinking polecat, he hunkered down again. With a gentle chuck under Libby’s chin, he said, “Don’t worry about what she said about slaves. She is shaping up to be a very silly woman who doesn’t know what she’s talking about. My home is a nice place.”
    “Mr. Grant”—Hannah’s hand closed on his shoulder so tight he wished for his coat back for protection from her fingernails—“how dare you call me names?”
    Grant stood up, stretching to his full six feet as he turned, making it a point to look down on her. “You call me a slave owner.”
    Trying to keep his voice down so the children couldn’t hear every word, he narrowed his eyes at her and spoke through his clenched teeth. “You frighten these innocent children who are already going through such a tough time.”
    He leaned closer. “You insult me with every word that comes outof your mouth.” Their noses almost touched. “And then you have the nerve to take offense when I call you silly ?”
    With a snort he didn’t even try to make sound friendly, he said, “I’d think, tossing out insults the way you do, you’d have grown a hide as thick as a buffalo by now.” He leaned even closer. “I’d think you’d’ve been called silly a thousand times in your life and be used to it.”
    He spoke through gritted teeth. “I’d think the only single, solitary chance you have of getting through a day without someone calling you silly is if the world plumb goes and turns flat and the rest of us fall off the edge.”
    Grant glared at her for a long moment. She glared right back. He had one tiny flash of admiration for her guts. She might insult the stuffing out of him, but she didn’t back down when she thought she was right. Too bad she was wrong.
    Sick of the staring match, he turned back to the children. “You’ll have some chores to do, but there’ll be a lot of time for fun.”
    Libby stared at him. The only sound she made was her teeth chattering.
    Grant saw the hurt in the little girl. He knew having a mother was the dearest dream of every orphaned child’s heart. A father came in a poor second. But a poor second still beat having nothing, which was what Libby had now. He rested a hand on her too-thin arm and answered the question he knew she wanted to ask. “No, little one, there’s no ma. But I’ve got a couple of nearly grown daughters who will love you like you were their very own. I think