Carolyn Davidson by Runaway Page B

that hovered on the tip of his tongue, thinking better of it. He shook his head. How any mother could leave her little girl and traipse off across the country with a no-good husband was beyond him.
    “Will?” Cassie caught his attention, easing a thick china mug of coffee next to his bowl. “I’ve got to talk to you,” she whispered in his ear, her breath warm against his skin.
    He turned his head, and his mouth came perilously close to hers. Hers was not smiling, he noted. In fact, Cassie looked as if she were mightily upset about something or another. “Gonna sit by me?” he asked, nudging the chair beside his from the table.
    “Cassie said she’d sit by me,” Maggie sang out from across the table.
    “Guess I didn’t ask quick enough,” Will grumbled, winking at the child to soften his words as he took up his spoon.
    “You hafta wait till we pray before you eat, UncleWill,” Maggie said primly, folding her hands precisely at the edge of the table.
    It had been more years than he wanted to count since Will had observed that ritual and he nodded, replacing his spoon.
    Many Fingers stood by the door and Will’s mother eyed him grudgingly, her mouth pursed as if she must perform a distasteful deed. Will spoke up, taking the task from her willingly, lifting a hand to signal the Indian. “Why don’t you sit at the end of the table?” he asked.
    Many Fingers hesitated, his gaze following the older woman as she carried two more bowls of stew from the stove. “You might as well, I guess,” she said. “If you’re going to be working here like Will says, you’ll have to eat your meals in the house. I don’t serve supper in the barn.”
    As a welcome it left something to be desired, but her attempt at jocularity was a good sign, Will decided. She’d apparently accepted the man’s presence, and that was all he could expect for now.
    The food was blessed and was consumed quickly. “I’d expected that stew to last for a couple of days,” Will’s mother said. “It’s a good thing I cooked up plenty this afternoon.” She paused, hands full of crockery, eyeing her son. “I put clean sheets on your bed. You can take your things up and show Cassie where to put her clothes.”
    “Cassie?” His mind a blank, Will looked across the room to where Cassie was cutting a pie in wedges. He’d had it in his head that Cassie would sleep in Josie’s room, and even the appearance of Josie’s child had not nudged that thought from his mind. Now he faced the facts. This is what Cassie wanted to talk about.
    If Clara Tolliver thought he and Cassie were truly married, she’d certainly expect them to sleep in the same room. In the same bed, as a matter of fact. And how that wouldgo over with Cassie was another thing he’d have to consider.
    “I found a bunk in the tack room,” Many Fingers offered. “Already put my bedroll on it.”
    Cassie turned, her hands filled with plates of pie. Her face was flushed, and she refused to meet Will’s eye. Carrying four pieces of pie at once took her concentration and she placed them on the table quickly, sliding into her place once more.
    “Aren’t you having any, Cassie?” Will asked. She looked at him and shook her head. The blush staining her cheeks had not eased, and he attempted a reassuring smile.
    “Why’s your face all red?” Maggie asked brightly, grinning at Cassie. A forkful of pie went into her mouth and she chewed industriously as she watched the young woman.
    “I guess I got a little too much sun today,” Cassie managed tightly. A look of pure desperation shot from her blue eyes to where Will watched her misery in silence.
    He pushed his chair back from the table. “I reckon I’d better get things settled before it gets to be full dark,” he said, motioning at Cassie. “Come on, Cass. We’ll carry this stuff upstairs.”
    “There’s candles in the bedroom, Will,” his mother called after them. “It’ll be dark before you know it.”
    Their