Morning Song Read Free

I've never seen him before in my life."
    "I believe his name is Edwards. Stuart Edwards. He came aboard in St. Louis." The ship's officer stood up. "Mr. McClintock, I hate to bring it up at a time like this, but there's the matter of your pistol____"
    The man, either foolishly brave or stupid, held out his hand, palm up. Clive looked at him for a disbelieving moment, then with a shake of his head handed the pistol over without uttering a word.
    "Thank you. I'm sure there won't be any legal repercussions for you over this. . . . "
    "Legal repercussions?" Clive laughed, the sound unpleasant. His right hand, still dripping blood, dangled at his side, throbbing and aching like the devil himself had pierced it with his pitchfork, but that was the least of Clive's concerns. He wanted his money! "Legal repercussions? I just had forty-five thousand dollars stolen from me, and you think I'm worried about legal repercussions for shooting the son of a bitch who did it? I'm worried about recovering my money!"
    "Yes, well . . ."
    12

    Someone had evidently summoned the captain from his cabin, because he strode toward them along the deck, buttoning his shirt as he approached.
    "Mr. Smithers! Mr. Smithers, what in the name of heaven is going on?"
    Mr. Smithers, clearly the ship's officer, looked relieved to see his superior. He broke off whatever he'd been about to say and hurried over to confer with the captain in whispers. Luce moved to stand beside Clive, patting his bare arm comfortingly as he scowled down at the body of the man he had killed.
    "You owe me, Stuart Edwards," he muttered at the corpse.
    "You owe me, you thieving bastard, and I bloody well mean to collect."

    I

    Hewas going to be trouble. Jessie knew it from the instant she laid eyes on him.
    Disheveled and more than a little sweaty from her morning ride, she had just come up through the house from the stables and collapsed in a rocking chair on the second-story gallery, which, thankfully, was shady and situated to catch the faintest breeze. Her thick, curly auburn hair, having escaped from its careless bun long since, tumbled anyhow around her face and down her back. One particularly irritating strand had found its way inside her collar and tickled her neck. Grimacing, she scratched at the irritation, neither noticing nor caring about the smear of mud on her knuckles that her action dully transferred to her right cheek. 13

    Indeed, the dirty streak was not the abomination it might have been, so well did it blend with the general unkemptness of her appearance.
    The riding dress she wore had been made for her when she was thirteen, five years before. It had once beendeep bottle green, but it was so faded by years of hard use that in some spots it was the color of dust-dulled spring grass. To make matters worse, she had been considerably less well developed five years ago. The buttons up the front of the bodice strained to hold it together, mashing her generous bosom nearly flat in the process, and this despite the fact that only the previous year Tudi had added wide insets of fabric to the garment's side seams. The skirt was much darned and some three inches too short, allowing far more of her worn black boots to show than propriety permitted. Not that propriety even entered Jessie's head as she lifted her feet, crossed them at the ankles, and rested her lower heel on the railing that ran around the gallery, putting a scandalous amount of white cotton stocking and thrice-turned petticoat on view.
    "Here, now, you cain't do that! You put your laigs down and sit like a lady!" Tudi protested, scandalized. She was seated in another of the half-dozen rockers that lined the wide porch, her gnarled black hands buried deep in a bowl of string beans she was snapping for supper. Jessie gave an ill-used sigh but obeyed, letting her feet drop loudly. With a satisfied grunt Tudi returned her attention to the beans.
    Beside the porch, a ruby-throated hummingbird flitted in and out of