"I can help! I can do lots of things! Give me a chance! Please?"
"For the last time - no!"
"But Elliott! The wagons are gone. You'd have to take me to the ranch yourself. And you said it's dangerous to do it on horseback."
"He's right, darling. Whether we like it or not, he's got to stay."
Elliott Marston slammed his hands down on the table and curled them into fists as he leaned forward. It was an intimidating pose, one perfected over years of business negotiations to strike fear into his audience. It certainly had his current audience, at the very least, nervous. Sam eyed him warily and slid her arm around her brother's shoulders. Niall blinked rapidly and sat up straighter, his hands clasped tightly in front of him.
However, a pose by itself doesn't go very far; it really needs a pithy comment to accompany it. And Marston was ruefully aware that he didn't have one.
He flexed his fingers and relaxed his posture. Then he dropped his chin on his hand. "Niall, what on earth possessed you to leave the wagons and come back?" He was painfully aware that the question was an acknowledgement of defeat.
Niall grinned. "You needed me here. I had to come back." He reached into his shirt and pulled out a paper. "And I thought you should see this letter. It looks important."
"What is it?" Marston reached across the table. "It looks like Cal's handwriting." He tore open the envelope.
"Barney was taking the mail back to the ranch but I thought you should see it." Niall nodded importantly.
Marston frowned as he unfolded the paper. "Have you given any thought to what happened when Barney and Ted found out you were gone?"
Niall grinned. "I left them a note. They'll understand."
"Mmm." Marston scanned the letter.
"Who's Cal?" Sam asked.
"He's the son of my foster parents. The people who took me in after my parents were killed." He didn't look up.
"So he's your foster brother?"
"No!" Marston glanced up quickly, then looked down again. "No, he's not."
Sam raised her brows but said nothing. Nothing broke the silence until the crackling of paper as Marston folded the letter and tucked it into his vest. For a long moment he stared down at his hands lying on the tablecloth. Sam and Niall said nothing, unwilling to interrupt his thoughts.
After what seemed an interminable time, he took a deep breath, then sighed. When he finally turned to them, the expression on his face was distant and forbidding.
"Niall, I have to talk to Sam in private. Why don't you go downstairs and get something to eat?"
"I'm not hungry. I'd rather stay - OUCH!" Niall glared at his sister as he rubbed his arm.
"Yes, you are." Sam gave him a gentle push toward the door. "Go downstairs. Right now." She ignored his sullen look as he marched out. Her eyes remained on her husband.
Marston said nothing for a long moment. How could he begin to explain? He was vividly aware of the letter secured in his vest and what it meant to their family life together. Their family; wonderful words to roll over the tongue and hear out loud. How much longer would he have the right to say them?
"Elliott? Is everything all right?" Sam was looking at him with concern.
He pulled himself together. "Not really. We need to have a talk. One we should have had some months ago." The right words did not come easily.
"Heavens, sounds very serious." Gentle mockery suffused her voice.
"It is. But I don't really know where to start." He rose to his feet and walked to the window. Perhaps if he didn't have to look at her. "Maybe I should begin by asking you a question."
"Go ahead." She was concentrating on his every word.
He turned from the window and walked to the table. Hands on hips, he looked down at her. "If I asked you to, how many people would you be willing to kill for me?"
"For the last time - no!"
"But Elliott! The wagons are gone. You'd have to take me to the ranch yourself. And you said it's dangerous to do it on horseback."
"He's right, darling. Whether we like it or not, he's got to stay."
Elliott Marston slammed his hands down on the table and curled them into fists as he leaned forward. It was an intimidating pose, one perfected over years of business negotiations to strike fear into his audience. It certainly had his current audience, at the very least, nervous. Sam eyed him warily and slid her arm around her brother's shoulders. Niall blinked rapidly and sat up straighter, his hands clasped tightly in front of him.
However, a pose by itself doesn't go very far; it really needs a pithy comment to accompany it. And Marston was ruefully aware that he didn't have one.
He flexed his fingers and relaxed his posture. Then he dropped his chin on his hand. "Niall, what on earth possessed you to leave the wagons and come back?" He was painfully aware that the question was an acknowledgement of defeat.
Niall grinned. "You needed me here. I had to come back." He reached into his shirt and pulled out a paper. "And I thought you should see this letter. It looks important."
"What is it?" Marston reached across the table. "It looks like Cal's handwriting." He tore open the envelope.
"Barney was taking the mail back to the ranch but I thought you should see it." Niall nodded importantly.
Marston frowned as he unfolded the paper. "Have you given any thought to what happened when Barney and Ted found out you were gone?"
Niall grinned. "I left them a note. They'll understand."
"Mmm." Marston scanned the letter.
"Who's Cal?" Sam asked.
"He's the son of my foster parents. The people who took me in after my parents were killed." He didn't look up.
"So he's your foster brother?"
"No!" Marston glanced up quickly, then looked down again. "No, he's not."
Sam raised her brows but said nothing. Nothing broke the silence until the crackling of paper as Marston folded the letter and tucked it into his vest. For a long moment he stared down at his hands lying on the tablecloth. Sam and Niall said nothing, unwilling to interrupt his thoughts.
After what seemed an interminable time, he took a deep breath, then sighed. When he finally turned to them, the expression on his face was distant and forbidding.
"Niall, I have to talk to Sam in private. Why don't you go downstairs and get something to eat?"
"I'm not hungry. I'd rather stay - OUCH!" Niall glared at his sister as he rubbed his arm.
"Yes, you are." Sam gave him a gentle push toward the door. "Go downstairs. Right now." She ignored his sullen look as he marched out. Her eyes remained on her husband.
Marston said nothing for a long moment. How could he begin to explain? He was vividly aware of the letter secured in his vest and what it meant to their family life together. Their family; wonderful words to roll over the tongue and hear out loud. How much longer would he have the right to say them?
"Elliott? Is everything all right?" Sam was looking at him with concern.
He pulled himself together. "Not really. We need to have a talk. One we should have had some months ago." The right words did not come easily.
"Heavens, sounds very serious." Gentle mockery suffused her voice.
"It is. But I don't really know where to start." He rose to his feet and walked to the window. Perhaps if he didn't have to look at her. "Maybe I should begin by asking you a question."
"Go ahead." She was concentrating on his every word.
He turned from the window and walked to the table. Hands on hips, he looked down at her. "If I asked you to, how many people would you be willing to kill for me?"