Chapter Twelve

 

So long. It had been so long since Noah had lost himself in the arms of a woman. He’d been a boy, an innocent, no more than a child, the last time.

Grace Richardson yielded to the soft pressure of his lips as if she and he had been made for each other at the beginning of time, separated by accident, and had only just found each other again. She was perfect. She fit exactly. She filled his senses and his arms, and he knew he could lose himself in her and forget all the bad things in his life with her, if she’d only let him.

His tongue met hers in a slow, delicate dance of pure pleasure. She clung to him, her fingers digging into his shoulders as if she, too, felt the rightness of their kiss. He felt her woman’s body under his hands, limber, sweet, and he knew that if he allowed her to, she could help cure him. Already he felt her sweetness penetrating his dark places and shining healing light on them, illuminating his dank caverns, bringing soothing rays of sunshine into his blighted life.

She felt like his sanctuary, his refuge, his deliverance. He knew a moment of hope for a life which, until now, he’d believed was irredeemable. The most he’d hoped for in years was perhaps, one day, to salvage a tiny space for himself in the world where he could hide away and protect his raw wounds from further damage. He’d never dared hope that he might find real peace. But he felt peaceful now, with Grace in his arms.

Grace. Was she his grace? His salvation? She felt like it. Carnal desire blossomed like a spring bud in her sunshine alongside a blessed peace of mind he’d never hoped to experience again. By God, he felt like a man. For the first time in years, he felt like a man.

“Mommy? Mommy, why are you kissing Mr. Noah?”

Noah’s brain felt muzzy, and he uttered a soft cry of distress when Grace wrenched herself away from him, turned, and pressed her hands to her burning cheeks. It took him a moment to orient himself; his head was addled, full of Grace and passion and hunger. He stared at her, blinking, wondering why she wasn’t in his arms any longer. He needed her there.

Then Maddie’s voice came again, sleepy, confused. “Mommy?”

“My God, what did I do?”

Grace’s voice was a mere whisper, filled with consternation. It jolted Noah out of his trance. He felt as if an iron bond between them had just been hacked apart. The split left him bleeding inside.

Damn, what an idiot he was.

He turned and forced himself to grin at Maddie. “Did you have a nice nap, Miss Maddie?” His voice was gravelly, hoarse with shattered hopes.

The little girl nodded. She sat on her blanket, rubbing her eyes and looking troubled. He gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile. Little kids didn’t know anything; they weren’t responsible for the state of the world—the state of Noah Partridge. Maddie was guiltless. It wasn’t her fault she’d interrupted the most significant experience of his life. The most significant pleasant experience, rather.

Turning to Grace, he mumbled, “You all right, ma’am?” He needed to say more, but couldn’t make himself apologize. Not yet. Maybe later, when he could coerce a lie out of his mouth, he’d say he was sorry. At the moment, the only thing he was sorry about was that their kiss had been lopped off in its youth. He wanted her back in his arms so bad, he ached with yearning.

“Yes. Yes, I’m all right.” She turned and began walking toward her daughter. “Did you have a nice nap, Maddie?” Her good cheer sounded forced.

The little girl nodded and watched her mother somberly. “Why were you kissing Mr. Noah, Mommy?”

Great. Kids never let things just slip by, did they? Noah felt guilty for putting Grace in an uncomfortable position with her daughter, even if he’d never regret that kiss.

“Um—” Grace shot him a look over her shoulder. Thank God it wasn’t accusatory. She actually looked kind of helpless, as if her imagination wasn’t good enough to tackle this one, and she hoped he’d help her.

Noah grinned, feeling marginally less like he’d been abandoned on a desert island. “I was thanking your mommy for a nice day and a delicious lunch, Maddie. That’s all.” That’s all! What a blasphemy.

Grace appreciated it, though, and that’s what mattered. She shot him a grateful glance and scooped Maddie up from the blanket. “Yes. Sometimes grown-ups kiss each other for thank-you’s, dear.”

Maddie seemed to accept the feeble explanation from these two adults in her life, although it took her a minute. Noah wasn’t sure he’d survive her speculative scrutiny.

# # #

With his mind’s eye, Mac observed the picnickers and shook his head. He was both glad and sad about Grace and Noah finding passion and relief in each other’s arms. Not that they didn’t need it. If they’d only let themselves, they could be happy as a couple of nesting doves with each other, but Mac suspected they both needed a little more time.

Every now and then, Mac wished human beings weren’t such a stubborn, foolish lot. Maybe his kin were right about ‘em. But no. Mac liked these two, Grace and Noah. They were good people, both of them, and there was certainly no denying they needed each other, for their own sakes and for the sake of wee Maddie.

Aye, but they were an obstinate lot, the two of them.

Grace, for instance, continued to labor under the misapprehension that Frank Richardson had been the be-all and end-all of the human male. And there was no denying that Frank had been a nice enough fellow. He’d loved his wife and daughter, which proved to Mac he’d had more than common sense.

But Frank was dead.

Besides, no matter what Grace thought, Frank wasn’t the only good man in the world. If Grace would only allow herself to recognize Noah Partridge’s fine qualities through the wall the memory of her sainted Frank had erected, she’d find another good man who’d love her and Maddie as much as Frank ever could. And, although Mac would never say so to Grace, Noah Partridge was more attuned to her basic nature than Frank ever had been or ever could have been.

She and Noah were alike in so many ways, if they could only work past their personal anguish to see it.

Then there was Noah. Mac puffed on his pipe, sympathy for Noah Partridge making his eyes sting. The poor man. A poet and a musician, truly, if ever a man had been born one. And then he’d had his life and all of his good intentions torn apart in that terrible, unforgiving war.

Mac heaved a big sigh. Noah wasn’t the only one who’d suffered; not by a long shot. But there was a cure here, if Noah could make himself accept it. Mac intended to see that he did.

With a grin, he decided to recruit Susan Blackworth to help him. Susan was as hard as nails, but she knew what was what. A smart woman, Susan. Mac liked her.

# # #

Grace was alternately ashamed of herself and defiant when she and Noah packed up their picnic things, Noah saddled the horses and strapped everything in place, and they set out for home. Because she wasn’t sure how to make conversation with the man who’d shattered her composure, and with that astonishing kiss fresh in her memory, she fussed over Maddie until her daughter objected.

“I can ride Old Blue, Mommy! I rode him all the way to the lakes.” Indignation brightened her eyes and made her cheeks burn pink.

Grace sighed. “I’m sorry, Maddie. I know you can ride Old Blue. You did a very good job riding out to the lakes.”

Maddie sniffed and continued glaring at her mother.

“You’re a good little rider, Miss Maddie.”

Grace glanced at Noah. He smiled at her, and she got the impression he felt as rueful and uncomfortable as she. That was something anyway. Suddenly she had what she considered a brilliant idea.

“Would you like to stop by the Blackworth place, Mr. Partridge? We can pay our respects to Susan, and you can see if your piano repair work has held up.”

Was that less than diplomatic? Well, no matter. It was out in the atmosphere now and couldn’t be recalled.

He shrugged. “All right by me.”

Good. She could chat with Susan Blackworth, and maybe the memory of her indiscretion would fade by the time she, Noah, and Maddie started back to the wagon yard. Grace wasn’t sure how she was going to face Noah Partridge in the days to come with that kiss between them. What an idiot she was. And what an unfaithful, unnatural wife to Frank she’d proved herself to be. The knowledge sat like vinegar in her stomach.

Oh, Frank, I didn’t mean it.

She had meant it. When it happened, she’d meant it, anyway. Grace hadn’t known herself to harbor such weakness of the flesh until that episode with Noah Partridge. She’d mildly enjoyed carnal relations with Frank, although she’d always craved the intimacy of the act more than the act itself. She had seldom felt real lust.

Had she felt lust with Noah? Grace didn’t know, although she had a sinking feeling she had, and that she still did. If Maddie hadn’t stopped them, Grace had a shrewd notion she wouldn’t have stopped them, either. She was so upset and confused by her own behavior that she couldn’t even bear to think about it now. Maybe tonight, in her bed, she could contemplate her shortcomings, figure out why she’d weakened, castigate herself, and formulate a plan to make sure it never happened again.

“I don’t want to go to Mrs. Backwort’s.”

Surprised but glad for the diversion, Grace asked, “Why not, Maddie?”

The little girl’s mouth set into an uncharacteristic pout. “I don’t like her.”

Maddie’s stout declaration cut across Grace’s mental recriminations like a splash of acid. The girl must still be sleepy, or she’d never have made such a bald statement.

“My goodness, Maddie, that’s not a very nice thing to say.”

Her daughter’s little chin lifted defiantly. “Well, I don’t. She’s all black and wrinkled, and she smells funny.”

“Maddie! That’s a very harsh judgment, and quite disrespectful.” Grace frowned. “What do you mean, she smells funny?”

“She does.”

Unsure how to combat this unusual, sullen rebellion on her daughter’s part, Grace wasn’t encouraged when she saw Noah grin.

“I think that smell’s from camphor, Miss Maddie,” he said. “Folks use camphor balls to keep the moths from eating their clothes.”

“Mommy’s clothes don’t smell like camper,” Maddie said, as if that in itself was sufficient indictment against Mrs. Blackworth and her funny smell.

“I don’t like to wear woolen things unless the weather’s very cold, because wool makes my skin itch, Maddie. It’s wool that the camphor protects. The moths don’t like the smell either. People don’t have to use camphor to protect calico and cotton, because the moths don’t eat those fabrics.”

“Oh.” Maddie scowled. The expression looked so out of place on her pert face that even Grace smiled at the incongruity of it. “Well, I still don’t like her. She never smiles.”

“Do you like folks who smile, Miss Maddie?”

“Yes. Smiles make people look nice.”

“I don’t smile much, Miss Maddie. Do you not like me?”

Noah’s question surprised Grace, who hadn’t realized he knew how grim he appeared.

Maddie shrugged. “You’re just out of practice and sad. Mac told me so. You’ll get better one of these days.”

“He did, did he?” Noah eyed Maddie slantways. His hat shaded his face, but Grace saw his tight grin. He looked awfully handsome, and she wished she hadn’t noticed.

“Yes. Mac knows all about stuff like that.”

“I see.”

Uncomfortable with the conversation, Grace said, “Mac’s a pretty wise old fellow, all right, but little girls still mustn’t say unkind things about their elders, Maddie. Mrs. Blackworth is an old lady, and she deserves your respect.”

Maddie’s sigh was so huge, it nearly lifted her out of her saddle. Grace knew exactly what she was thinking, because she remembered thinking pretty much the same thing when she herself had been a little girl and had been made to be polite to people she didn’t like. She forced herself not to smile. Noah, she noticed, didn’t try anywhere near as hard as she did. His grin softened his grim face like magic. She wished she hadn’t noticed that, too.

Conversation lagged until Maddie tilted her head to one side and said, “Why do moths eat wool. Doesn’t it taste all dry and icky?”

Maddie looked resentful when both Grace and Noah laughed, but Grace appreciated her daughter’s lightening of the atmosphere more than she could say.

# # #

Taking in the full glory of Susan Blackworth, who looked like she was all set to attend a funeral in her unrelieved black garb, whose face was wrinkled into a permanent scowl, and who clutched her black cane in gnarled fingers as if she intended to lift it and smack someone with it, Noah guessed he could understand why Maddie found the woman intimidating. He kind of did, too. And she did smell of camphor. Kids. They were so honest.

Like his being out of practice in smiling, for instance. Every now and again, honesty could be a mighty uncomfortable commodity to hang around with.

He banished the thought and tipped his hat to Mrs. Blackworth, who had hobbled outside to greet them. “Afternoon, ma’am.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Partridge.” She eyed Grace and Maddie. “And what are you doing with the Richardsons, if I might ask?”

“The weather was so lovely after all that snow and cold that Mr. Partridge was kind enough to take Maddie and me out to the lakes for a picnic, Susan.”

“A picnic, eh?” Mrs. Blackworth gave Grace a brief hug and held out her arms to Maddie. Maddie didn’t look very happy as she walked into the old woman’s embrace. It appeared to Noah as if she were holding her breath. “Sounds like a damned fool thing to do in the middle of winter.”

The shocked expression on Maddie’s face—Noah guessed she didn’t approve of a lady swearing—was comical, and Grace laughed cheerfully. Noah admired her for being able to do so in the face of the older woman’s black frown. Shoot, Susan Blackworth gave him the willies, and he was a man grown.

“It’s a beautiful day, Susan. Just because it’s getting on towards Christmas doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy the fine weather while it lasts.”

“It won’t last much longer.”

Mrs. Blackworth snorted after her pronouncement, but Noah realized her black-olive eyes twinkled appreciatively. Evidently Grace wasn’t merely tolerant of the older woman’s eccentricities, but had noticed something worthwhile in her. Maybe Mrs. Blackworth wasn’t really such an old crone. He decided to withhold judgment. When he’d worked on her piano, she hadn’t had three kind words to say to him in as many days. She seemed to like Grace Richardson, though, and that showed she possessed some sense.

They entered the house and went to the parlor. Because he knew where to look, the first thing his gaze landed on was that gorgeous old reed organ standing neglected in the corner. His fingers curled in anticipation, and he straightened them deliberately. That organ was nothing to him. He’d told the old bat what to order and how to fix it, and she could do it or not as she chose. He had nothing to do with it, and wouldn’t have unless she asked.

“I don’t suppose you’ve come to give me back my money, have you, Mr. Partridge?”

Mrs. Blackworth’s voice sounded like old papers rustling together. Her words brought him up short. “Bring your money back?” He stared at her, open-eyed with astonishment. “Doesn’t the piano still work?” Hell, he’d done his best. He knew he’d repaired it properly. Tuned it, replaced worn-out felt pads. Cleaned it of years’ worth of caked-on grime.

“Oh, it works, all right. I’ve even been amusing myself by picking out a few tunes when my hands don’t hurt too badly.”

The sly old witch squinted at him as if she knew something he didn’t. Which she undoubtedly did. Her attitude annoyed him. “Well then, why should I give your money back?” His tone was curt.

She chuckled like a bin full of rusty nails. “My bargain still stands, Mr. Partridge. That old reed organ your granddaddy built for the repair of my piano. But you’d have to give me back the money I paid you for fixing it.”

Noah let out a breath. Oh, yeah. He’d mercifully forgotten her bargain; he didn’t appreciate her bringing it up again. “What the hell do I need with a reed organ?” If he recalled correctly, he’d asked her that the first time she’d made the offer.

Her bony shoulders lifted with her shrug and her teeth glittered in her weathered face. The damned old bat seemed amused about something. “I wouldn’t know.”

He felt a tug on his hand and glanced down to see Maddie’s bright face smiling up at him. “You can give it to Mommy for Christmas, Mr. Noah!”

“Oh, yeah?” He could, could he? His gaze shifted to Grace, who looked mortified.

“Maddie! Mr. Partridge doesn’t want to give me an organ for Christmas.”

“How come?”

Yeah, Noah thought. How come? What the hell else did he have to do with his money besides buy expensive Christmas presents for Grace Richardson?

He had land to buy, is what he had to do with it.

“Maybe another time, Miss Maddie.”

Susan Blackworth let out with another rusty-hinged laugh. “I think you’re missing out on a golden opportunity, Mr. Partridge. Where else can you get one of your own grandfather’s best—and first—instruments for so low a price? They don’t make ‘em like that anymore, you know.”

He eyed her and wondered if she was trying to be funny again. “Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

Grace gave a small, indulgent mew, as if she sympathized with his losses. Whole lot of good that did him.

“Can you play us something on the piano, Mr. Noah?”

He glanced at Maddie again and fought a frown. He didn’t want to play that instrument. Playing pianos brought back too many memories; memories that made his heart and head ache and were liable to bring his demons back. He realized with something of a shock that he hadn’t had a bad attack of nerves for several days.

Oh, hell, maybe this would be a test to see if he was getting better. He could play a little tune on that blasted piano, and if he had to run screaming from the house, he’d know for sure he wasn’t cured. Mrs. Richardson already knew he was crazy, and he didn’t give a rap about Susan Blackworth. If he scared poor little Maddie, so be it. Her mother would just have to deal with her.

“Reckon I could play a song, Miss Maddie, if it’s all right with Mrs. Blackworth.”

“I think that would be lovely, Mr. Partridge.”

Noah jerked his head around. Damned if the old witch hadn’t sounded almost courteous.

“Let me get Mrs. Valdez to fetch us some tea and gingerbread.”

Maddie clapped her hands. “Oooh, a tea party! Can I have a cup of tea, Mommy?”

“I suppose so, dear.”

“With sugar and milk?”

“Of course, with sugar and milk, Maddie. I know how you like it.”

Grace’s face held an expression of such affection that Noah could hardly stand to watch it. And Maddie . . . Hell, the kid sounded like tea and gingerbread was some sort of special treat. Cripes, he guessed it was. He shook his head. What a life this territory was for women and children. Noah thought Frank Richardson had been a blasted numskull to bring his wife out here.

Although, he must admit, she didn’t seem to resent old Frank for it. Rather, she loved him as much today as she ever had if Noah was any judge—which he wasn’t. What did he know about women and love? Or faithfulness? He’d never experienced them.

There he went, letting his spite get him down. Frank Richardson had clearly been a paragon; he’d surely deserved Grace’s love and loyalty. Unlike Noah Partridge, who deserved shit and got it. Aw, hell.

He forced himself to smile. “What do you want me to play first, Miss Maddie?”

“Play some Christmas songs! It’s going to be Christmas pretty soon.” Maddie turned to her mother. “Isn’t it, Mommy?”

“Yes, it is, sweetheart.”

Hell. Christmas. The season Noah hated most in a year full of hateful seasons. The season he’d lost his family, his livelihood, the woman he’d loved. Even if she had already deserted him and married someone else, he’d loved her. Julia had died giving birth to her husband’s child on Christmas Eve. If he recalled correctly, that was the last time he’d cried. He wished he hadn’t remembered.

“Sure. Why not?” He walked over to the piano, prepared to meet his fate.

Juanita Valdez brought a plate of gingerbread and a pot of steaming tea into the parlor after he sat down and played the first notes of an old Christmas tune. As gingery fragrances kisses his nostrils, Noah Partridge played “We Three Kings.”

Maddie sang along, in between bites of gingerbread and sips of tea, as if she hadn’t a care in the world. For Maddie, Noah remained seated on that piano bench. For Maddie, his fingers kept moving over the keys. For Maddie, he didn’t scream, and he didn’t run away.

He considered it a minor triumph.

# # #

“Um, may I talk to you for a minute, ma’am?”

Grace looked up from the tub of sudsy water in which she’d been washing the supper dishes. Supper had been an easy meal tonight, consisting of bread and butter and cheese and apples, since she and Maddie were both tired from their adventurous day.

Mr. Partridge looked nervous as he stood there twirling his hat in his fingers. Grace hoped he wasn’t going to apologize for kissing her. Thanks to Mac’s cheerful questions and humorous supper-table conversation, she’d managed to forget that torrid kiss as they ate. Now the memory of it came crashing back into her mind like a herd of Chisum’s long-horned steers.

She decided not to borrow trouble. “Of course, Mr. Partridge. Let me dump this water outside.”

He lurched forward, consigning his hat to the table. “Here. Let me do that, ma’am. That tub looks heavy.”

She bit back the retort that she was fully capable of doing her own chores. He was trying to be nice. At least she guessed he was.

With a grunt, he lifted the wash tub and carried it out back. She heard the water slop out onto her garden, and was pleased he’d thought to empty it there even if she hadn’t told him to. Out here, one didn’t waste water, even left-over soapy dishwater.

He wasn’t going to ask her to marry her out of some misguided sense of southern chivalry, was he? Heavenly days, that’s all Grace needed. She tried to cast out the notion that she’d be awfully flattered if he did. But that was foolish thinking, and Grace wasn’t foolish. Besides, she didn’t want to marry anyone. Most particularly, she didn’t want to marry a hard-edged, broody man who made her nervous, even if he did play the piano and have a lovely voice and seemed nice under his burden of problems.

It was the problems that worried Grace the most. Andersonville, for heaven’s sake. Even if she managed to forget about how much she loved and missed Frank, she didn’t feel up to coping with Noah Partridge’s blue devils and her own both. The combination was more than any woman should have to cope with

Of course, if he got better—but, no. Grace was ashamed of herself when she realized the direction her thoughts were taking. It was wicked of her even to think about marrying again. Disloyal. And marriage to Noah Partridge? Why, he wasn’t anything like Frank. And Frank was the only man she’d ever loved and ever would love. Ever could love.

Troubled, she took the tub from Noah’s outstretched hands. “Thank you.” She tried to sound grateful.

With care, because he made her nervy, Grace hung the tub on its proper hook on the wall, scooped out a fingerful of Mac’s special lanolin cream, and rubbed it thoroughly into her hands. Only then did she feel settled enough inside to allow herself to look up and smile at Noah.

“Now, Mr. Partridge, you wanted to talk to me. Would you care for a cup of coffee?”

“No, thank you, ma’am.”

“Well, I do believe I’ll have one. Coffee never keeps me up at night, because I’m so worn out it doesn’t have a chance.” She managed a little laugh, and was proud of herself.

“Reckon that’s true, ma’am.”

His voice sounded harsh, and Grace glanced over her shoulder at him from the stove, where a pot of coffee always stood. He didn’t look any different than he ever did—which wasn’t friendly and certainly wasn’t easy. There didn’t seem to be one single easy thing about Noah Partridge.

At the moment Mac was reading Maddie a bed-time story. Grace didn’t expect it to last long, since Maddie was so worn out from her happy day that she’d probably be sound asleep before Mac finished the second page. She supposed she should thank Mr. Partridge for the day. Leaving out the kiss, of course.

“Maddie had a very good time today, Mr. Partridge. Thank you for taking us—her—on that picnic.”

He brushed aside her thanks. “You’re the one who did everything, Mrs. Richardson. If only tagged along.”

Hmph. Grace sat and motioned him to take a chair on the other side of the kitchen table. He complied, and began fiddling with his hat again. She sipped her coffee and wondered what to say now. With luck, he’d take it from here.

He did. “Um, have you given any more thought to selling me your land, Mrs. Richardson? I mean, have you reconsidered? Thought it over, I mean?”

For a second, Grace felt like he’d punched her in the stomach. It took a mighty effort for her to set her coffee mug down on the table and not splash its contents into Noah Partridge’s face.

Was that why he’d kissed her? Had he believed she’d succumb to his fleshly lures and weaken in her resolve not to sell him Frank’s dream? Her eyes squinted up, her heart hurt, and she felt as she might if he’d shoved her from a high precipice. Her nerves jangled, and her throat tried to close up on her. Her eyes burned.

Pinching her lips tightly together, she managed to keep from yelling at him to get out of her kitchen. It wasn’t her kitchen. It was Mac’s kitchen, and Mac had invited this man in. Grace only worked in it, and in Mac’s mercantile. She had nothing in the entire world to call her own.

Except that one plot of land out there beside the Pecos River, where Frank himself had planted two willows and three cottonwoods. Where he’d aimed to build them a house one day, and run some cattle, and have some pigs and chickens and sheep. Perhaps they’d have had more children and reared them there, on that plot of ground that Noah Partridge wanted to take away from her. That land belonged to Grace, and it would one day be Maddie’s. It was all either of them had left of Frank.

“No, Mr. Partridge. That is, yes, I have thought about it. And no, I won’t sell you the land.” Her voice was amazingly level, considering the state of her nerves, which were tangled up in knots and jumping around like spring lambs.

His brows lowered over his hazel eyes. Grace glared into them, refusing to look away. He didn’t speak immediately. Grace wondered if he was surprised by her continued refusal or merely peeved. If he was, he certainly didn’t know her very well. According to Grace’s mother, Grace Richardson was the most stubborn female ever born. And perhaps her mother was right. Why else would she have agreed to brave the territory with Frank—or, even more to the point, without Frank.

“Quite honestly, I’m surprised you’re still interested in it,” she went on. She could hear the anger seeping into her voice and didn’t care. “There’s a whole lot of land available for purchase or claim out here in this part of the territory. Why do you insist upon that particular parcel?” Maybe he was one of those competitive men who always wanted what other people owned, like Hugh Blackworth.

He was furious; Grace could tell. There was nothing he could do to her, though, no matter how mad he got. She owned that land. It was hers to do with as she chose, and she chose to keep it.

“Damn it, ma’am—beg pardon. Didn’t mean to swear.”

Grace huffed softly.

“But, if you’ll pardon me for saying so, I think you’re being pigheaded about this whole thing. There’s no way you’ll ever be able to work that spread yourself, Mrs. Richardson. Why do you want to hold onto something you can’t use?”

She was so angry, her teeth didn’t want to unclench and allow her to respond. With some difficulty, she pried them far enough apart to say, “My plans are no concern of yours, Mr. Partridge.”

Noah averted his eyes. She could see fury radiating from him in almost palpable waves. Too bad.

“To tell you the truth,” she continued, “I resent your continuing to pester me about it. I won’t sell that land. If something happens and I lose it, it won’t be because I haven’t done everything in my power to retain it.” She sucked in a deep breath and wished she hadn’t said that. “You can ask me from now until kingdom come, and my answer will remain the same. That land was bought by my husband, it was left to me, it will belong to our daughter someday, and no amount of asking or arguing on your part will change my mind.”

Her heart pounded like an artillery barrage. She wished she weren’t too well-bred to tell him to go to hell.

“Dammit, you’re being foolishly obstinate! There’s no way you can use that land, Mrs. Richardson!”

She stood, pressed her hands on the table, and leaned over until she was within an inch of his face. “That’s neither here nor there! That land is mine, and I won’t sell it. Not to you, and not to anyone else!”

Noah stood too, so precipitately that his chair tilted and almost fell over backwards. He caught it awkwardly. She saw his cheeks flush—with rage, she was sure.

“That piece of property is perfect for what I want, dammit, Mrs. Richardson.”

“It’s perfect for what I want too, Mr. Partridge. That’s exactly why I won’t sell it!”

“But what are you going to do with it?”

“That’s none of your business!”

“But you can’t use it!”

“So what?” Grace snatched her cup from the table, whirled around, and marched to the sink. She almost cracked the mug when she set it down. “I don’t care to talk about it anymore.”

“Damnation!”

She turned again and almost shouted at him, “And I would appreciate it if you would stop swearing!”

A soft chuckle from the door brought them both up short. Grace felt her own face flame when she saw Mac, his eyes gleaming like sapphires, grinning around the pipe clenched in his teeth. He removed the pipe, blew out a smoke ring that danced in the kitchen air, and shook his head.

“Tut, tut, you two. What a row ye’re havin’. I’m surprised wee Maddie can sleep through it.”

Grace pressed a hand to her cheek. “Oh, dear, did we wake her up?”

“Nay, lass. ‘T’would take an army to wake the bairn up tonight. The two o’ ye showed her a fine time today.”

Noah grunted. Grace swirled around. “Too bad it didn’t last.” And with that, she flounced from the room.