Carrie Weaver - Secrets In Texas

“Yes, we did. Is there anything I can do to help with breakfast?”

“Not now. An extra pair of hands would have been welcome an hour ago, though. Perhaps tomorrow you can get up earlier and help prepare.”

Angel bit back a retort at the implied criticism. Calling Eleanor a sanctimonious bitch wouldn’t help matters. It would make Angel feel much better, though. Sighing, she exercised self-control and let her annoyance go. “Perhaps. If my husband doesn’t have other plans for me.”

“I’m sure he could spare you for an hour.”

“I’ll talk to Matthew. He should be here in just a minute.” Angel had fled the bedroom, flustered by the intimacy of sharing the small space with him. Or maybe it had been the intimacy of his stories the night before and how easily she’d fallen asleep. She felt safe with Matt, and that fact in itself terrified her.

Afraid to feel safe. How messed up was that?

“Ruth, help me with the food,” Eleanor said, nodding toward the young girl, who had slipped into the room.

“Yes, Sister.” Ruth scurried to help, her voice breathy when she asked, “Where is Brother Matthew?”

Angel ignored the quick stab of possessiveness. She was merely feeling territorial because of her tenuous position here at the ranch. She was an outsider and she doubted Eleanor would let her forget it.

“He, um, wanted to have time alone for Bible study.”

Eleanor nodded. “We’ll wait breakfast for him.”

“Thank you.”

“What lovely lace.” Angel fingered the crocheted runner gracing the center of the table.

“I made it myself.”

“Wow. This is really fine work.”

“It’ll do.” Eleanor’s words were spare, but her cheeks were pink. Angel wondered if she’d received much praise in her life.

“Aunt Eleanor is a whiz with any kind of needlework.” Matthew entered the room.

“Thank you.” The older woman pulled out a chair at the foot of the table. “You may sit here, Matthew.”

Angel assumed the seat at the head of the table was reserved for Jonathon.

As if reading her mind, Eleanor said, “Jonathon won’t be joining us for breakfast. He called to say he’d like to see you in his study at eight-thirty.”

Angel’s pulse quickened. Jonathon’s study. Probably where he kept important documents. Maybe even something to implicate him in his landlord’s drug and weapons running? Or possibly records confirming young girls were being married off to old goats?

“His study’s here at the house?” she asked.

“Yes. And he has an office in the main administration building.”

Angel filed away that tidbit of knowledge.

Matthew leaned forward. “I’m looking forward to getting reacquainted with my brothers and sisters.”

His statement confused Angel for a moment. Hadn’t he said he only had one sister left? But then she realized he probably had dozens of half sisters and brothers.

Eleanor passed a basket of biscuits. “I’m sure they’re eager to see you, too.”

“Will Uncle Jonathon arrange some kind of get-together?”

“You will have to ask him.”

Angel noted the older women didn’t deny or confirm knowledge of Jonathon’s plans. Interesting.

“If you’d like to take a walk later, I could show you around the settlement.” Ruth’s voice was sweet and shy, but there was a predatory gleam in her eyes. Or was Angel merely jumping to conclusions? She didn’t like the girl. Didn’t trust her. And she’d learned a long time ago to listen to her gut instinct.

“What a lovely offer, Ruth.” Angel forced a smile. “Matthew and I would enjoy having you show us around.”

Angel thought she saw an amused smile twitch at Matthew’s lips, but it was gone so quickly she couldn’t be sure.

“Yes, Angel and I would appreciate that, Ruth. I’ll have to see what my uncle has planned first, though.”

“Of course.”

Matthew commented, “Our accommodation’s quite comfortable. Thank you for giving us a corner room—as newlyweds, we appreciate the privacy. Is anyone in the room next to us?”

“No. It’s used for storage right now.”

Good. That meant they could talk in low voices in their bedroom and not worry about being overheard.

Matthew ate heartily, Angel noted. Eggs, sausage, hash browns, pancakes. Apparently Eleanor had never heard of a Pop-Tart.

“The meal was delicious, Aunt Eleanor.” Matthew wiped his mouth with his napkin.

“Thank you. I always make a hearty breakfast. A man can’t work on an empty stomach.”

Ruth nodded in agreement. Though the girl kept her eyes mostly downcast, Angel still intercepted a few adoring glances sent in Matthew’s direction. She got the distinct impression Ruth would love to cook for Matthew. And attend to a few other wifely duties, too.

Matthew, for his part, seemed oblivious. Glancing at his watch, he said, “Looks like I’ve got a few minutes till the meeting.” He rose, picking up his plate and utensils.

“Ruth will clear,” Aunt Eleanor informed him.

“I can take these to the sink. It’s no trouble.”

“Nonsense. Ruth, take his plate, please.”

The girl complied.

Matthew gave a slight shrug, his expression bland. Apparently, he’d forgotten men in the group were treated like royalty.

He said, “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go get a little fresh air before our meeting with Uncle Jonathon.”

“I’ll come with you.” Angel picked up her plate, figuring nobody would rush to take it from her. She was right.

“Angel, dear, you can stay here and help clean up. You ought to be nice and rested since you slept so late.”

Angel winced inwardly. The woman had essentially called her lazy and done it in such a way that Angel would seem like a paranoid bitch if she called her on it.

“Of course, Aunt Eleanor.” Although she’d meant to sound conciliatory, Angel feared a touch of insincerity had reached her voice.

Eleanor’s mouth thinned. Yes, she’d heard the false note, too. Well, good. Put the old battle-ax on notice that Angel wasn’t a mindless twit to be ordered about.

Matthew grasped her chin with his hand, kissing her tenderly on the lips. At least it probably looked tender. The firmness of his grasp telegraphed a warning: Be good. Don’t cause any trouble.

Funny, she’d received the same warning as a child. Until her parents had realized admonishing her did no good. Angel did what she thought best, and to heck with the consequences.

That was one of the reasons her parents hadn’t investigated when she’d essentially dropped out of their lives. They’d accepted Kent’s excuses when they’d called. And on the few occasions she’d been in the room when Kent told his lies, she’d been too afraid to protest. Too afraid to demand contact with her parents. Because she’d known it would all become twisted into a huge act of disloyalty sure to send Kent into a rage.

“Be good,” Kent murmured. Only it wasn’t Kent. It was Matthew.

Habit and residual survival instinct prodded Angel to nod, her motion jerky. And then she hated herself for reverting to the easily manipulated girl she’d once been.

The urge to tell Matthew off was almost overwhelming. He’d put her in a position of subservience she’d sworn never to allow again. Anything less than being a full partner was dangerous.

She clenched her fists, her fingernails biting into her palm. This was a job, an assignment. It was merely playacting and had nothing to do with her past.

“Yes, Matthew.” She’d tried to achieve an adoring coo but fell short. Grudging acquiescence seemed to be the best she could do.

It seemed to be enough, because Matthew nodded. He grabbed his Windbreaker and went out the front door.