Not in Texas. Not where she would always be that damned Yankee woman.
“You’re making a real nuisance of yourself, but you sure can cook,” Monty said, digging into his breakfast with such enthusiasm that George had to remind him of his manners.
“Then she shouldn’t cook so good,” Monty answered, his mouth full. “I never knew eating could be this much fun.”
“You eat like that every day, and your horse will soon refuse to carry you,” Jeff said.
“Hell, I’d walk all the way to the Rio Grande for food like this.”
“How about you, Hen?”
“It’s good, but I wouldn’t walk that far. I’d have blisters the size of possum eggs.”
“You know there ain’t no such thing as possum eggs,” Zac said.
“Of course I do, but maybe Rose doesn’t. I was planning to ask her for a possum egg omelet tomorrow, and now you ruined it.”
Zac laughed happily. “Even a town girl knows possums don’t lay eggs. Don’t you, Rose?”
“It’s Miss Thornton to you, young man,” George corrected.
“It will be easier if everyone calls me Rose,” Rose said. “And yes, I do know possums don’t lay eggs. Did you know a bear’s favorite food is pork?”
“You’re pulling my leg?”
“Am not,” Rose assured him. “You eat up your breakfast. If I have to throw it out, there’ll be bears here before supper-time.”
“I ain’t seen no bears.”
“You don’t want to see one that loves pork. They like to snack on little boys.”
“You are pulling my leg,” Zac complained.
“Just a little. But I’ll make a deal with you. You tell me when Hen’s about to pull my leg, and I won’t tell you any more tales.”
“Hen wouldn’t do that, but Monty would.”
“Then we’ll band together against Monty.”
“You keep on cooking like this, and you can do anything you like,” Monty said, popping the last bit of biscuit in his mouth and gulping down the last swallow of milk. He started to rise. “I’ll be back at seven hungry as a bear.”
“You forgot to ask to be excused,” Zac piped up.
“Cow dung,” Monty mumbled under his breath at his little brother as he sat back down. “May I be excused, ma’am?”
“Yes, and ‘Rose’ will do.”
“Guess I’d better go, too,” Hen said, getting to his feet. “I can’t let Monty have all those rustlers to himself.”
“I imagine the McClendons are too busy trying to feed their families to try stealing our cows,” Jeff said.
“Do you have any special requests for dinner?” Rose asked hurriedly when she saw both twins turn toward Jeff, murder in their eyes.
“Turkey,” said Monty. “I know where a whole flock of them roosts in some live oak trees down by the river.”
“You bring them home tonight and I promise you roast turkey tomorrow.”
“Hot damn, you might not be so bad after all.”
“See, we’re not so hard to get along with,” Hen said.
“Just as long as I keep you full of food.”
“You might want to start making a list of the supplies you’ll need,” George said to Rose. “Monty can’t be bringing home turkeys every night. I’ll send somebody into town next week. Jeff, I need to talk to you.” George turned back to Rose. “Zac and Tyler can stay and help with the washing.”
“I’m not toting water like a baby,” Tyler exploded. “I can do as much work as you can.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jeff said. “You’ve been doing the housework for years. What do you know about range riding?”
“More than you ever learned locked up in some Yankee prison,” Tyler shot back.
Jeff went dead white.
Monty and Hen quietly slipped out.
“I only need one person to help me,” Rose said. “Zac will be just fine.”
“Why is it always me?” Zac whined.
“Because we have to plan what trick we’re going to play on Hen for the possum eggs,” Rose said, “and we can’t do it with you gone all day. Besides, I don’t know anything about living in the country. There’s all kinds of things I’ve got to learn. I might even try to milk the bull.”
Zac treated that remark with the scorn it deserved.
“I won’t have to stay home every day, will I?” he asked George.
“Not every day.”
“All right. But I still don’t like it.”
“Tyler, you and Jeff get saddled up. I’ll be along as soon as I have a few words with Miss Thornton.”