CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

A GUEST IN THE HOUSE

"My father says to move you to one of the upstairs guest rooms," Joe said curtly as he set the last of the pink-trimmed china plates in place at the dining table. Having spent the morning and afternoon on a quest for friendly conversation, Joe's usual, polite manners were wearing thin.

"That's fine," Amanda said snappily. She slid one of the plates Joe had just put down an inch or so to the left and struggled to keep from laughing when she heard Joe sigh. "When Adam returns with my things, I'm sure he'll help me with them, being the gentleman that he is."

Joe stared at the adjusted plate. "You know, my father won't be pleased to know that you've insisted on helping me with dinner." Joe slid a fifth chair into place around the table. "As I told you several times, he doesn't much like it when a guest in the house, especially one who's . . ."

"Who's what, Joe?" Amanda snapped as she pressed against the chair with her thigh, sliding it an inch of so further toward the table.

Joe slammed the cloth napkins against the table. Amanda turned her head and snickered at his frustration.

"I was going to say especially a guest who's had long journey to get here, not to mention a fainting spell upon her arrival!"

Amanda ignored Joe's comment, sauntered past him, and marched into the kitchen. He followed behind her like a determined child.

"Did you hear what I said?" he asked as the basket of silverware she thrust at him landed against his stomach.

"Yes, Joe," she replied, "I heard you. And I heard you bright and early this morning when you said I had no business being in Hop Sing's kitchen." Amanda added salt and pepper shakers to the basket Joe held at arm's length. "And I heard you, mid morning, when you said I should have asked you to get me a glass of water instead of helping myself." Amanda lifted the delicate sugar bowl lid and, satisfied with the amount of sweetener inside, clanked the lid back onto the bowl and placed it next to the shakers. "And," she said, "I heard you after lunch when you ordered me to my room to take a nap!"

"Uh, Joe, what's going on in here?" Candy asked, startling both Joe and Amanda before closing the side kitchen door. "I was coming in to wash up and see if I could help with dinner and I could hear Amanda's voice clean out in the middle of the yard! You know she's supposed to be taking it easy! Your father said . . ."

"Oh, Candy Canaday, don't you start, too!" Amanda yelled, her face quickly showing the heat she was feeling. "If one more person in this house tells me I am a guest and therefore should sit like a helpless, frightened church mouse and not help with cooking meals or setting a table or even getting myself a glass of water, I will scream!"

"I'd say you're about there now," Candy whispered.

Amanda's blue eyes flashed anger as she glared at Candy and he took one long stride, backing away from the angry woman.

"And just because I fainted yesterday," Amanda continued as she marched into the dining room carrying the coffee carafe with Joe and Candy on her heels, "does not mean I'm a weak, dainty woman who can't contribute, whether she's a guest or not, to help a houseful of men who, by the way, still aren't completely convinced that I'm not an untoward con woman with some money-stealing scheme as her purpose, by preparing a few simple meals!"

"She's got a point, Joe," Candy murmured, nodding his head. "None of us can actually cook."

This time it was Joe who glowered at Candy as he slammed the basket atop the table.

Amanda turned an angry face to Candy and Joe. "And if I have to hear, just one more time, how when you're a guest in this house, Ben Cartwright . . ."

"PA!" Joe cried as Ben, his left arm slung tightly around Adam's waist and his right arm hanging limply at his side, appeared next to the credenza by the front door.