used when she was speaking for her own benefit. Then she turned and started trudging toward the cabin.
Rook stared after her, realizing that she’d forgotten him completely. She was so wrapped up in her little world—her frightened little world—that she thought of nothing else but surviving in it. He followed her, feeling pity for her and wishing he could lighten her load. She was rattling pans when he stepped inside. Busy, busy, busy. Always busy.
“What was your pa like?” he asked, leaning his good shoulder against the front-door frame. He was feeling weaker, but he couldn’t stand the thought of that bed again.
“He was a good man.” She hauled out the iron skillet and let it drop onto one of the burners. “Didn’t deserve what he got.”
“Did you know your mother?”
“I don’t recall much about her. They say she was sickly.”
Rook rested one hand against the pile of bandages on his shoulder. His gaze moved from her hair down to the gentle swell of her hips. She had a good shape. Damn good. Ifshe’d wear something besides those voluminous skirts and blouses, she might not look half bad.
“She was a handsome woman,” Cassie went on. “Pa said that Ma looked like a swan. Long necked and graceful. She had light-colored hair and blue eyes. She was taller than Pa.”
“You must look like her.”
“Naw.” She swept the bonnet from her head and hung it on a peg. Her hair was gathered into a thick braid that hung down her back. “Ma was pretty. Ladylike, I was told.”
“You’re not a lady?”
She looked over her shoulder at him. “Not like her. My life’s been harder. Can’t be a real lady and last long out here.” Her eyes narrowed a fraction. “But I ain’t like Jewel neither. I know where to draw the line.”
He averted his gaze and stared at the toes of his boots, unhappy with her assessment of his mother. “You don’t think much of Jewel, is that it?”
“I think a lot of Jewel. She’s a fine woman, but she’s no lady. I owe Jewel. She’s my onliest friend now that Shorty’s gone.”
“I’d be your friend, if you’d let me,” he ventured, then wished he hadn’t when she looked at him with renewed suspicion. He heaved a sigh and straightened up from the door frame. “Forget it. Being your friend is too much trouble. What’s for supper?”
“Beans and bacon. You can set the table and light the lamps. I can’t see my hand in front of my face, it’s getting so dark in here.”
“Beans, beans, beans,” he grumbled, reaching for the tin plates and utensils. “I’m sick of beans.”
“When the garden comes in and the chicks are growed we can—”
“ ‘Grown,’ ” he interrupted. “Not ‘growed.’ ‘Grown.’ ”
Her gaze darted to him and away, and her skin turned a deeper shade. “Just like Jewel. I can’t talk good enough to suit nobody these days.”
“ ‘To suit anybody.’ ”
Something snapped inside Cassie and she clamped her lips together and faced him, hands on hips, chin trembling. Nothing she did pleased anyone anymore, and she was tired, so tired, of trying to keep things together and face one day after another. She was alone and penniless, and this varmint was correcting her speech! It was too much … much too much!
In her hand she held a spoon she’d used to stir the beans: in a blink of the eye, she sent it across the table and straight into his face.
“There! Fix it yourself,” she said between clenched teeth. To her surprise, she felt much better for having struck out at him and all the rest of the bad luck in her world. “I’m not cooking and cleaning and fussing over you for nothing but one insult after another! Why don’t you go back to your family? I bet you don’t have to tell them how to talk!”
He wiped bean juice from his cheek and chin. His brown eyes looked ominous, but his tone was surprisingly calm. “You ought to keep a tighter rein on that temper of yours. One day you’ll throw something at the wrong
Rook stared after her, realizing that she’d forgotten him completely. She was so wrapped up in her little world—her frightened little world—that she thought of nothing else but surviving in it. He followed her, feeling pity for her and wishing he could lighten her load. She was rattling pans when he stepped inside. Busy, busy, busy. Always busy.
“What was your pa like?” he asked, leaning his good shoulder against the front-door frame. He was feeling weaker, but he couldn’t stand the thought of that bed again.
“He was a good man.” She hauled out the iron skillet and let it drop onto one of the burners. “Didn’t deserve what he got.”
“Did you know your mother?”
“I don’t recall much about her. They say she was sickly.”
Rook rested one hand against the pile of bandages on his shoulder. His gaze moved from her hair down to the gentle swell of her hips. She had a good shape. Damn good. Ifshe’d wear something besides those voluminous skirts and blouses, she might not look half bad.
“She was a handsome woman,” Cassie went on. “Pa said that Ma looked like a swan. Long necked and graceful. She had light-colored hair and blue eyes. She was taller than Pa.”
“You must look like her.”
“Naw.” She swept the bonnet from her head and hung it on a peg. Her hair was gathered into a thick braid that hung down her back. “Ma was pretty. Ladylike, I was told.”
“You’re not a lady?”
She looked over her shoulder at him. “Not like her. My life’s been harder. Can’t be a real lady and last long out here.” Her eyes narrowed a fraction. “But I ain’t like Jewel neither. I know where to draw the line.”
He averted his gaze and stared at the toes of his boots, unhappy with her assessment of his mother. “You don’t think much of Jewel, is that it?”
“I think a lot of Jewel. She’s a fine woman, but she’s no lady. I owe Jewel. She’s my onliest friend now that Shorty’s gone.”
“I’d be your friend, if you’d let me,” he ventured, then wished he hadn’t when she looked at him with renewed suspicion. He heaved a sigh and straightened up from the door frame. “Forget it. Being your friend is too much trouble. What’s for supper?”
“Beans and bacon. You can set the table and light the lamps. I can’t see my hand in front of my face, it’s getting so dark in here.”
“Beans, beans, beans,” he grumbled, reaching for the tin plates and utensils. “I’m sick of beans.”
“When the garden comes in and the chicks are growed we can—”
“ ‘Grown,’ ” he interrupted. “Not ‘growed.’ ‘Grown.’ ”
Her gaze darted to him and away, and her skin turned a deeper shade. “Just like Jewel. I can’t talk good enough to suit nobody these days.”
“ ‘To suit anybody.’ ”
Something snapped inside Cassie and she clamped her lips together and faced him, hands on hips, chin trembling. Nothing she did pleased anyone anymore, and she was tired, so tired, of trying to keep things together and face one day after another. She was alone and penniless, and this varmint was correcting her speech! It was too much … much too much!
In her hand she held a spoon she’d used to stir the beans: in a blink of the eye, she sent it across the table and straight into his face.
“There! Fix it yourself,” she said between clenched teeth. To her surprise, she felt much better for having struck out at him and all the rest of the bad luck in her world. “I’m not cooking and cleaning and fussing over you for nothing but one insult after another! Why don’t you go back to your family? I bet you don’t have to tell them how to talk!”
He wiped bean juice from his cheek and chin. His brown eyes looked ominous, but his tone was surprisingly calm. “You ought to keep a tighter rein on that temper of yours. One day you’ll throw something at the wrong
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