murmured, eyeing the animal’s legs and
haunches. “Mighty fine.”
“I raised him myself, from a colt.”
“You don’t say? Thinkin’ ’bout breedin’ him? Stud fees could
bring you a pretty penny.”
“We’ll see,” Ben said with a sly smile.
“All right then, Ben Eagle-Smith. Your secret’s safe with
me. For the time bein’,” Tom said with a wink, slapping him on the back. “Pay’s
five dollars a week plus room and board, for you and the horse. That sound to
your likin’?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, come on, and I’ll show you ’round.”
Ben tethered Mighty Wind to the hitching post and followed
Tom toward the bunkhouse. “Supper’s at six sharp. And you don’t wanna be late.
The missus has some kinda temper when her people’re late. ’Course you probably
remember.”
“I think I’ll be able to handle her.”
“Careful,” Tom warned with
a hard look Ben’s way. “She may be tough, but underneath it all, she’s as
delicate as a flower, and I won’t have any of my men crushin’ her with a
rebellious attitude. And that goes for you, too. You got that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.” After a
moment, Tom’s expression softened to a smirk that worked its way across his
face. “There’s gonna be some kinda fireworks when she sets eyes on you,
that’s for sure. Some kinda,” he said, shaking his head. “Oh, and she goes by
Angelina now, but you better call her Miss Raeford. ’Course that’s ’bout to
change. Gonna be Mrs. Millhouse soon.”
“Millhouse—” Ben stopped in his tracks as a surge of heat
coursed its way up to his throat. “As in Edward Millhouse?”
“Yep. One and the same.”
Angelina reached the barn and dismounted Eagle’s Wing. She
removed the saddle and eased the bridle from the horse’s mouth, speaking softly.
“Go on, boy. It’s such a beautiful evening. Go run free for a while. We’ll give
you a good brush down after supper.” With a slap to the backside, the gelding
trotted away into the open field, tossing its glossy mane.
She returned the saddle and bridle to the tack room and made
her way to the house, eager to wash up before sinking her teeth into a piece of
Ella’s fried chicken. Her mind was already buttering a flakey, piping hot
biscuit, when a creak from one of the porch rockers startled her as a tall,
elegantly attired gentleman rose to his feet. “Angelina, darling.”
“Edward!” she exclaimed, fighting the repulsion rising up
from the pit of her stomach. “Why, you’re early.”
“Never too early to see my angel,” he said in that slippery
tone of his that made her cringe. He smiled, revealing a set of white, even
teeth that seemed to disappear under his bushy moustache. Even though he looked
strikingly handsome in his three-piece suit and shiny black boots, he reminded Angelina
of the local undertaker preparing for a burial. That and his slicked-back
sandy, brown hair made her forget all about Ella’s tasty fried chicken and
biscuits.
“I told you not to call me that name. I’m not a child
anymore.”
“Don’t I know,” he said, slipping an arm around her waist
and breathing into her ear. “How was your ride?” He pulled her close, pressing
his lean muscles against her side.
“Edward,” she protested, trying to wiggle free.
“What’s this? No proper greeting for your future husband?”
He cupped her cheek in his palm and turned her face toward his. Angelina didn’t
want to look at his sculpted features and smooth, tanned skin, but before she
knew it, she was locked into the dead stare of his dark, brown eyes. His gaze
flickered for a moment as a look of disapproval clouded his expression. “Darling—have
you been crying?”
“Of course not, it’s just the dust and flowers in the air.”
“There you are,” Jessie scolded, opening the porch door in
time for Angelina to nudge away from his grasp. “You should’ve told us you were
gonna be gone so long,” she said, cutting a look
haunches. “Mighty fine.”
“I raised him myself, from a colt.”
“You don’t say? Thinkin’ ’bout breedin’ him? Stud fees could
bring you a pretty penny.”
“We’ll see,” Ben said with a sly smile.
“All right then, Ben Eagle-Smith. Your secret’s safe with
me. For the time bein’,” Tom said with a wink, slapping him on the back. “Pay’s
five dollars a week plus room and board, for you and the horse. That sound to
your likin’?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, come on, and I’ll show you ’round.”
Ben tethered Mighty Wind to the hitching post and followed
Tom toward the bunkhouse. “Supper’s at six sharp. And you don’t wanna be late.
The missus has some kinda temper when her people’re late. ’Course you probably
remember.”
“I think I’ll be able to handle her.”
“Careful,” Tom warned with
a hard look Ben’s way. “She may be tough, but underneath it all, she’s as
delicate as a flower, and I won’t have any of my men crushin’ her with a
rebellious attitude. And that goes for you, too. You got that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.” After a
moment, Tom’s expression softened to a smirk that worked its way across his
face. “There’s gonna be some kinda fireworks when she sets eyes on you,
that’s for sure. Some kinda,” he said, shaking his head. “Oh, and she goes by
Angelina now, but you better call her Miss Raeford. ’Course that’s ’bout to
change. Gonna be Mrs. Millhouse soon.”
“Millhouse—” Ben stopped in his tracks as a surge of heat
coursed its way up to his throat. “As in Edward Millhouse?”
“Yep. One and the same.”
Angelina reached the barn and dismounted Eagle’s Wing. She
removed the saddle and eased the bridle from the horse’s mouth, speaking softly.
“Go on, boy. It’s such a beautiful evening. Go run free for a while. We’ll give
you a good brush down after supper.” With a slap to the backside, the gelding
trotted away into the open field, tossing its glossy mane.
She returned the saddle and bridle to the tack room and made
her way to the house, eager to wash up before sinking her teeth into a piece of
Ella’s fried chicken. Her mind was already buttering a flakey, piping hot
biscuit, when a creak from one of the porch rockers startled her as a tall,
elegantly attired gentleman rose to his feet. “Angelina, darling.”
“Edward!” she exclaimed, fighting the repulsion rising up
from the pit of her stomach. “Why, you’re early.”
“Never too early to see my angel,” he said in that slippery
tone of his that made her cringe. He smiled, revealing a set of white, even
teeth that seemed to disappear under his bushy moustache. Even though he looked
strikingly handsome in his three-piece suit and shiny black boots, he reminded Angelina
of the local undertaker preparing for a burial. That and his slicked-back
sandy, brown hair made her forget all about Ella’s tasty fried chicken and
biscuits.
“I told you not to call me that name. I’m not a child
anymore.”
“Don’t I know,” he said, slipping an arm around her waist
and breathing into her ear. “How was your ride?” He pulled her close, pressing
his lean muscles against her side.
“Edward,” she protested, trying to wiggle free.
“What’s this? No proper greeting for your future husband?”
He cupped her cheek in his palm and turned her face toward his. Angelina didn’t
want to look at his sculpted features and smooth, tanned skin, but before she
knew it, she was locked into the dead stare of his dark, brown eyes. His gaze
flickered for a moment as a look of disapproval clouded his expression. “Darling—have
you been crying?”
“Of course not, it’s just the dust and flowers in the air.”
“There you are,” Jessie scolded, opening the porch door in
time for Angelina to nudge away from his grasp. “You should’ve told us you were
gonna be gone so long,” she said, cutting a look