Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

L ightning flashed behind the window, illuminating the interior of the bunkhouse for a split second. Jake opened his eyes and silently counted the seconds before thunder rumbled in the distance, something Father O'Malley had taught him many, many years ago to judge how far away a storm was. At that point in time, he'd been very young and afraid of the fury of a storm, most especially the crashing boom of thunder. As he grew older, he came to love it—the thunder, and the lightning, the smell of the earth after a good soaking, the electricity in the air. It made him feel alive.

He lay still in his bunk, listening to the sounds around him, feeling the weight of Flower the calico, who nestled against his leg. Cesar, one of his bunkmates, snored like a broken concertina, high pitched and wheezy. And the new man, Oscar, talked in his sleep, though for the most part, the words were mumbled and undistinguishable, except for the occasional shout. His night-time talking competed with Grub's. Sometimes, listening to the both of them made his head hurt, but for the most part, he could ignore it. There were other noises, too. Grunts and groans and other, less savory bodily functions, the rustle of bedcovers as the men shifted position, the occasional sigh—the sounds one heard when several people shared close quarters.

Thunder rumbled, becoming louder as the storm moved closer. He didn't hear rain patter on the roof, but that was only a matter of time. He settled himself deeper into the mattress and just listened, mentally counting the seconds between flashes of lightning and the deep rumble of thunder. He closed his eyes, letting the sounds ease him into sleep.

His eyes flew open. The horses! He might love the sound of a storm, but he would bet the horses did not. He sprang up in his bed, dislodging Flower from her sleeping position. The cat blinked her wide eyes, which seemed to glow with an unnatural light.

He grabbed his trousers from the top of the lock box at the end of his bunk and slipped them on, careful not to make noise, though he doubted anything he did would wake his bunkmates—they slept like the dead—then grabbed his shirt and his boots. The cat stretched, then leapt to the floor, following him as he walked quietly across the room, avoiding the floorboard that squeaked, and let himself out of the bunkhouse, closing the door carefully behind him. The wind buffeted him immediately, bringing with it the smell of impending rain and making the limbs of the trees around him bend and groan. Lightning flashed, illuminating the barnyard. He glanced at the house and saw the glow of a lantern behind one of the windows on the second floor, though he didn't know whose room that window belonged to. Had the storm awakened someone else?

He sat on the edge of the stump where he chopped wood and slipped on his shirt, not bothering to button it up, then pulled on the boots Antonio had given him. He started walking toward the barn, the cat right behind him, and noticed weak beams of light leaking from beneath the edge of the doors. Was someone in the barn? Thieves intent on stealing the horses under the sound of the storm?

He retraced his steps and picked up the axe from the stump. If there were horse thieves, he'd have a weapon. He'd always depended upon his fighting skills in the past. A well-placed punch was all he'd ever needed against those that would do him harm, but this was different. He wasn't in San Francisco anymore.

He sidled up to the big double doors and listened, but couldn't hear much against the whooshing of the wind. He opened one of the doors, just a little, and slipped into the building.

Two lanterns were lit against the darkness inside, the source of the light he'd seen. He heard the noises he expected to hear—hooves against straw as the horses moved about, their chuffs and nickers and snorts. There was no noise from the milk cow in her stall. She lay on a matt of fresh straw, asleep.

He strolled down the central aisle, checking each horse as he passed. And then he heard something he shouldn't have, not at this hour of the morning. A voice— her voice—soft and soothing. A moment later, he saw her. Evie. She was in the last stall, calmly brushing her horse and singing to her like she'd sing to a frightened child. He recognized the melody of an old lullaby, though she sang it in Spanish. It had the desired effect. The horse stood still except for occasionally turning her head to look at Evie.

He should leave before she noticed him, but he couldn't. He was held, enthralled, her voice touching a part of his soul, soothing him just as it soothed her horse, despite the fact he didn't understand the words. "Well, don't just stand there. Come and help me." She said it in the same singsong way she sang, and turned to face him.

Startled, he dropped the axe, nearly hitting the cat, who had stopped right beside him. The dull thud seemed overly loud in the stillness of the barn, as did the startled yowl from Flower, who took off for a quiet, safe corner.

She laughed then sang, "You won't be needing that."

He picked it up and just looked at it then smiled as he hefted it in his hands, feeling a little foolish.

"What are you doing out here, Mr. Hannigan, with that?" She nodded toward the axe in his hands.

"I came to check on the horses. Make sure the storm wasn't disturbing them, and then when I saw the light from under the door, well, I—" The explanation deserted him, and his face warmed with embarrassment.

"Did you think someone was trying to steal my horses?" she asked, as she continued brushing Spitfire.

"The thought had crossed my mind." He leaned the axe against one of the posts that separated the stalls.

"Thank you, Mr. Hannigan. I appreciate your concern."

She was still calling him Mr. Hannigan though he had asked her several times already to call him Jake. Perhaps, she just needed reminding one more time. "Jake, please."

She nodded in his direction. "As you can see, Jake, they're all fine. All except Spitfire here. She doesn't like thunder." She continued brushing, her movements slow and methodical, and once again, all he could do was watch her. She was dressed in one of the suede split skirts she favored and a simple blouse. Her light-brown hair fell over her shoulders like she'd just rolled from bed, which she probably had. The lantern cast its warm glow over her, and she was, in that moment, so beautiful, it made his heart beat a little harder. "And no one would dare to steal my horses. That simply doesn't happen on Monta?a del Trueno." She gestured toward the tack room behind her. "Grab a brush."

He quickly did as she asked, then joined her in the stall. Spitfire shuffled slightly, her skin twitching as he began to stroke the brush over her coat.

"What does it mean?" he asked after several moments of silence.

"What does what mean?"

"Monta?a del Trueno."

"Thunder Mountain." She smiled and his heart thumped harder still. "When it storms, like now, thunder echoes against the mountains and it feels like the sound goes on forever. It's quite magnificent. At least in my opinion." She continued brushing but looked at him over the horse's back. "This ranch has been here for three generations. Regina's children, my niece and nephews, are the fourth. They'll carry it forward for generations to come." Her smile widened, her pride evident. "Already, Toughie—excuse me, young Tomas, Esteban's son—is learning to sit a horse, when we can get him to be still for more than a minute, despite the fact he's only thirteen months old, and Miguel is quite accomplished already, though he's only four. Savannah rides like the wind. It's never too early to teach children. And they're so smart, eating up every bit of wisdom from everyone, learning every day."

"You love this place."

"I do. I can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be." She gave a small sigh and the sound, for a moment, seemed louder than the thunder rumbling outside. "What about you, Jake?"

He never told people about his past. It was just not something he did. No one, aside from Father O'Malley and the good Sisters at the home, knew about his life, but this wasn't San Francisco. And she wasn't just anyone. She was different. Special. And the words seemed to tumble out of his mouth without censure. "Father O'Malley and the good Sisters at St. Anselm's Home for Boys raised me until I was sixteen. After that, I was on my own."

It was the first time he'd mentioned where he'd come from to anyone and the admission seemed to sadden her. She stopped brushing Spitfire and looked at him over the horse's back, her eyes full of sympathy. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He shrugged. "It wasn't a bad life. I had a roof over my head, three meals a day, and an education anyone would be proud to have, thanks to Sister Agnes. She was a taskmaster when it came to learning, whether we wanted to learn or not." He grinned as he continued brushing Spitfire, surprising himself that he'd told her so much. Perhaps it was the expression of interest on her face and the curiosity dancing in her eyes. Whatever the reason for his lack of verbal control, he found himself wanting to tell her more.

"From Sister Theresa, I learned to appreciate good food. She was an excellent cook. It was simple fare, but filling and tasty. Helping her in the kitchen was one of my chores."

"So you can cook."

He nodded. "And then there was Father O'Malley. He was a good man. Still is. He still runs the home, iron-fisted, yet kind. He did his best for us, and we knew it. For a long time, I thought I would become a priest like him."

"Apparently, you didn't." She stopped brushing Spitfire, and stared at him, one eyebrow rising. "Or did you?"

He laughed. "No, I didn't. Too many restrictions. Father O'Malley always called me a maverick because I didn't like following the rules. I still don't."

She smiled, as if she could see that about him. "Where is St. Anselm's?"

"San Francisco."

"I've never heard of it, and I was raised in San Francisco. Spent my first twenty years in a house on the Hill."

She didn't seem like someone who would come from Nob Hill. He'd met many across a poker table, those who were fortunate to be born to wealth and didn't mind losing it, but she didn't act like that. There were no airs, as if she were better than anyone else. Indeed, as far as he could see, she worked just as hard as the men she employed. And if there was wealth behind her, she didn't flaunt it.

"Well, that's why you never heard of it. Most folks, especially those who lived on the Hill, wouldn't know of St. Anselm's. It's a far cry from those that live in the big houses. The orphanage was small and located on the outskirts of the city."

"How did you end up at St. Anselm's?"

He shrugged, though his heart still hurt from the loss, even after all these years. "My mother died."

"What about your father?" Once again, sympathy flashed in her eyes, turning them more gray than blue. "Could he not have raised you?"

"I never knew him. He wasn't part of my life."

"I am sorry, Jake."

"As I said, there's no need to be sorry. I had a decent life."

She couldn't imagine not having a family. Even though her father had disowned her for leaving home to raise Regina's children and run Monta?a del Trueno, she still had the memories of her mother's love. Victoria Miller had been a wonderful mother, full of wisdom and fun, though her life ended much too soon trying to give her husband the son he wanted. Neither she nor the baby boy survived childbirth.

"Are you all right?"

Evie blinked, startled, and forced her attention back to Jake. "Yes, I'm fine."

"For a minute there, you looked like you were far away."

There was concern in his voice and in his expression, and she smiled a little. "I was. Lost in memories, I suppose."

"Good ones, I hope."

"Some."

He went back to brushing Spitfire, his slow movements mimicking hers.

His shirt was unbuttoned, allowing her to see the dark hair glistening on his chest. She stared at it, until she caught herself. What is wrong with me? I go from thinking about my mother to staring at his chest. She struggled to get control of her thoughts. "What did you do after you left St. Anselm's? How did you support yourself?"

"Oh, a number of odd jobs. For a little while, I worked on a steamer, delivering supplies up and down the coast. The captain was a good man, but I'm not a sailor, that much was clear. I never got used to the constant movement of the ship. Or rather, I should say, my stomach never did."

"I worked for a tailor for a number of years." He glanced down at his shirt and his face took on a reddish hue, as if just now noticing that his shirt was open, the edges gaping wide. He quickly buttoned a few, enough to cover up his chest. "That's where I developed an appreciation for fine clothes." He started brushing Spitfire again, his movements causing the buttons to strain against the fabric, and it was all she could do to try to ignore the sight. In that moment, she wanted to smooth her fingers through that mat of fine hair still exposed at the collar of his shirt. Never before had such a thought come to her, not with a man who was still a stranger in so many ways, but the urge persisted. She blamed it on Marisol, who put the idea in her head to take this man as her lover.

In her life before Mr. Jake Hannigan's appearance on her ranch, it never would have occurred to her to invite someone to her bed, not without being in love, like she had been with Tom. Now? The notion occurred to her too often for her own comfort.

"I cooked, bused tables and washed dishes in some of the finest restaurants in San Francisco, too. And for a time, I managed a small hotel." He smiled, showing a dimple in his cheek. "I also joined the Army, but it wasn't a good fit for me. Father O'Malley was right. I was too much of a maverick. I spent more time being reprimanded for not following orders than anything else."

Evie forced her attention away from hair peeking through the collar of his shirt so she could listen to his words. She could just picture him, a much younger version of the man he was now, eking a living out of odd jobs, probably making just enough to cover his rent. She doubted he owned a home. Perhaps, he didn't need to own one. Growing up as he had, perhaps that hadn't been a priority. He didn't seem to regret any of it.

"You never worked on a ranch?"

He shook his head. "Horses, if you want to know the truth, always made me a bit nervous. They're powerful beasts. We had one at St. Anselm's, but he wasn't very friendly. The only one Redeemer seemed to like was Father O'Malley."

"And yet, you're so good with them." And he was, which surprised, yet pleased her. Like Teddy, he seemed to be a natural when it came to the horses. "They seem to like you."

"I've learned, in my short time here, so many things, but mostly that horses are fine, majestic creatures, deserving of our attention and gratitude. They no longer make me nervous. Spitfire here, despite her name, is very gentle, as is Clementine. Even Horatio is gentle, though I will admit to bribing him a bit with apples. In truth, I've grown quite fond of all of them, even the cowboys' horses. Respect and gentleness go a long way when it comes to them." He stopped speaking and glanced upward toward the ceiling, listening to the gentle patter of raindrops falling on the roof. "Ah, it's raining. I love it when it rains."

"I do, too. There's something so cleansing about rain. Like a fresh start, a new beginning."

"Exactly." He stopped brushing and stared at her, his warm amber eyes intense. "You said you grew up in San Francisco. How did you come to be here at Monta?a del Trueno?"

"Regina."

"Your sister, correct?"

"Yes." She willed the lump in her throat to go away. Even after all these years, it was still difficult to talk about. The pain and circumstances of Gina's passing still had the power to hurt her heart. She missed her every day. "She was ten years older than me and as kind and loving as you can imagine. I adored her."

"What happened to her?"

"She…was killed." She inhaled sharply, the pain in her heart ever present, but more so when she remembered the senseless loss. "She and Javier, her husband, both. They were in town one afternoon, picking up supplies, and simply walking by the Silver Spur Saloon, when shots rang out. Apparently, a gambler, upset that he lost, decided to start shooting." Her throat tightened to the point she could hear the difference in her own voice. She cleared her throat, trying to dislodge the lump, but it remained, almost choking her.

"From what I was told, the man who won defended himself and chased the other out of the saloon, but they continued shooting at each other right there in the middle of the street, neither one caring where their bullets landed. Six people died that day, not only one of the gamblers—the other got away—but innocent people like Regina and Javier…just because someone lost a card game. It was all…so pointless and devastating." She blinked to clear her eyes of the tears that blurred her vision.

"Uncle Charley was contacted by the Silva family lawyer. I was named guardian for the children. I think Serafina, the children's grandmother, was relieved. She wasn't a well woman, never had been. Raising four children and running Monta?a del Trueno would have been a hardship for her."

"I'm sorry about your sister and her husband." His voice was soft and full of empathy. "I'm sorry for you, too. You were so young to suddenly find yourself in those circumstances."

"I was." She stopped brushing Spitfire while she gathered her composure. "I was only twenty. And I knew nothing about raising children. Or running a ranch, but I wasn't about to let Gina down. She trusted me to raise her children, although she probably realized that our father would disown me like he had her."

"And did he?"

"Yes. I wasn't surprised. My father is not a loving man." She started brushing Spitfire again, the simple act soothing while her memories were anything but. "We argued, as I expected we would. He wasn't happy with the choice Gina had made when she married Javier against his wishes, wasn't happy with the decision I was making. He said the most horrible things about us, called us names no father should ever call his daughters." Her face heated, still indignant after all these years that a father should treat his flesh and blood like he had.

"And the children! The things he'd said about his own grandchildren! At that moment, I was ashamed of him. And embarrassed. I almost pitied him." She looked at him over Spitfire's back, searching his face, wondering what he thought. There was nothing but sympathy in his expression. "Defying my father was the hardest, yet easiest thing I've ever done. When I walked out of the house on the Hill that day—Hilde beside me— it was for the last time. I never looked back, though I've written him letters, letting him know how his grandchildren had fared over the years. He never responded and yes, that hurts a little, but after all this time, I realize it was probably better that he wasn't part of our lives."

"Were you scared?"

She gave a quick nod. "Terrified, but determined not to lose what Regina and Javier had entrusted to me. More importantly, I wanted the children to know how much they were loved, not only by their parents, but by me."

She laughed, remembering the first time she'd walked into the house, though at the time, it wasn't such a happy experience. "Hilde and I arrived here in the middle of a thunderstorm, much worse than this one tonight. We were soaked to the bone, tired, and still reeling from the news that Regina was gone. The children were crying as was Serafina. She'd lost her only son and was as inconsolable as the boys. The house was in turmoil, and there was Antonio, trying to help. He took one look at me—he didn't even ask my name, though I suppose he knew who I was—and shoved Lucy into my arms. I don't know who was more startled, her or me." She remembered holding the squirming bundle that was her niece, the both of them in tears.

"I was lucky though. I had a tremendous amount of help. Antonio taught me what I needed to know about ranching. Serafina taught me to cook, as did Grub. Hilde bakes like a dream and makes a fine cup of coffee, but she can't make anything other than toast without burning it."

"The love part. That was easy, I'm sure."

There was something in his voice that drew her attention, a certain sadness in his tone. Was he envious he hadn't had that? Growing up as he had, without a mother or father or siblings, surely he felt he'd missed out, though he did seem to hold Father O'Malley and the Sisters at the boys' home in high esteem. That wasn't the same as love, though.

She studied his expression, but there was nothing except genuine interest in his tawny, nearly golden, eyes so she continued. "I loved the children long before I met them. Regina and I had exchanged letters for many years, though it was forbidden by my father. Uncle Charley was our go-between, passing our letters back and forth. She'd told me so much about them, I felt I knew them. Still, it didn't prepare me for what was to come. Teddy was so angry. At everything. I understood. I was angry, too."

She glanced up at the ceiling, listening to the rain hitting the roof, trying to keep her emotions in check. Those early days of coming to the ranch and the circumstances of why still made her eyes burn with unshed tears. "Esteban didn't speak to me for months. He still doesn't speak much. And Heath, though he was only four at the time, became my helper. Perhaps he was too young to truly understand, but he had a sense that everything would be all right. Has that sense to this day. Heath seems to handle problems with a smile and a shrug and a ‘get down to business of fixing that problem' attitude."

"I've noticed that about him." He chuckled as he drew the brush through Spitfire's mane. "He's got quite an odd sense of humor."

"That he does. And Lucy! She doesn't remember her mother or father at all. She was just over a year old when Regina and Javier were killed. I didn't even know how to change a diaper! I learned rather quickly! I really had no choice, but those first attempts…they were laughable."

"But you persevered." His mouth curved with admiration. "And look what you've accomplished. I don't know anything about ranching, but even I can see Monta?a del Trueno is prosperous and well-run."

She acknowledged the compliment with a slight nod. "It was, and still is, a labor of love. Like I said, I was determined not to lose what Regina and Javier had entrusted to me, and I wanted—no, needed—to make the ranch better than how I found it." She glanced at him and smiled. "I've been told I can be a little stubborn. Tell me I can't do something, and I'll have to do it, just to prove you wrong."

He laughed, not just a chuckle, but a full-bodied burst that came from deep in his chest. Humor danced in his warm amber eyes as they swept over her. "Yes, I can see that about you."

"Don't laugh. Being stubborn has helped in ways you can't even begin to imagine."

"I suppose it would, given certain circumstances." He looked up at the ceiling. "Listen, it's not raining anymore."

"The thunder has stopped, too."

The barn door flew open, not driven by the wind, which had died down, but by Teddy, who stood on the threshold, holding a lantern. Evie jumped. So did Jake as Teddy stomped up the aisle, his stride long and angry, his hair furrowed, as if he ran his fingers through it repeatedly. He probably had. Teddy had always been her worrier, which made him quick to anger.

"What is going on in here?" he demanded, suspicion making his dark eyes snap.

Evie laughed, seeing the expression on his face. He looked like he could take on the world with one hand tied behind his back. "We were just keeping Spitfire calm. You know she doesn't like thunder."

He came to a standstill on the other side of the stall, the expression on his face one of distrust and censure—and yes, even anger—as his eyes darted back and forth between them. "Well, it's stopped thundering. I don't think?—"

"I'd like a word, Teddy. Outside, please." Evie laid the brush on top of the railing and left the stall. She headed down the central aisle at a quick pace, fully expecting her nephew to follow. She left the barn, closing the door which Teddy had left wide open. He slipped through a moment later.

She started to ask him why he was so upset, but he didn't give her the chance.

"What are you doing, Tia Evie? Out here in the barn, just the two of you! It's three o'clock in the morning!"

"Now, Teddy, it was all perfectly innocent."

"Perfectly innocent!" he scoffed. "He's standing there with half his shirt open. It's indecent. And you know nothing about him!"

"That's not true, Teddy. I know plenty about him. He seems to be a genuinely nice person."

"I don't trust him. There's something…not right."

Evie laughed. "Marisol is right. You are an old woman." She sobered immediately. "I'm an adult, Teddy. I can take care of myself."

That didn't appease him at all. She knew Teddy was determined to protect her, perhaps because he was the oldest and felt responsible for her. Right now, he was worked up, thinking the worst seeing them together, thinking she needed protection from Jake.

"You need to stay away from Hannigan. Especially at three in the morning alone in a barn."

"I don't need you to look after me. I'm a grown woman."

"But what do you know about men like him, Tia? You have no experience with men. You?—"

She cut him off. "Excuse me? When did you become my keeper? When were you put in charge of making decisions for me?"

"When I find you alone in the barn with a stranger. Someone has to protect you."

Facing Teddy's anger with her own had never been the way to deal with him. She knew that, had known it from when he was younger. Teddy needed calmness and logic, not emotional outbursts, but still, it infuriated her that he should issue such an order. "Go back to bed, Teddy. We'll discuss this in the morning."

He didn't move, not one inch. In the glow of the lantern, his expression left no room for doubt, his dark eyes shined with determination, his mouth set in a grim line. "I'm not going back in the house without you. I'm not leaving you out here…with him…alone."

"Go back to bed," she repeated, forcing her voice to stay calm when she felt anything but.

He still didn't move, holding his ground in front of the barn door, almost blocking her from going back inside.

She hadn't lied when she told Jake she was stubborn. Regina had been stubborn, too. It ran in the family. Teddy seemed to have received a double dose, and at this moment, it was quite clear he would not be leaving her alone with Jake.

Which left her three options. She could simply ignore him, go around him and back into the barn, though she had no doubt he would follow her and act as her chaperone. She could stand here and argue with him, at three in the morning, which would only succeed in angering them both further, something she didn't want to do. Or she could go in the house.

When the sun rose on a brand-new day, there would be time to sit down and have a serious discussion. Just the two of them. She could gently explain, when he wasn't so angry, her point of view. Perhaps, he would actually hear her words then because he definitely wasn't hearing them now.

But she couldn't bring herself to do it. This was one time she wasn't about to back down. She folded her arms across her chest and just glared at him.

He shifted his weight from one leg to the other, clearly uncomfortable, yet unwilling to give an inch.

"As I said, we will discuss this in the morning. For right now, I'm going back into the barn and continue my conversation with Jake. You can stay or you can go. The choice is yours."

He seemed startled, his expression now one of puzzlement. "What? You are going back in there with him?"

"I think I made myself perfectly clear but I'll say it again. I am a grown woman. I am more than capable of making my own decisions, which I've been doing for a lot longer than you. I am not stupid. I'm not some starry-eyed young girl sneaking off to see the boy her parents have forbidden her to see, Teddy. And I will not be told what I can or can't do."

He said nothing. Had she shocked him? Perhaps so.

For a moment, it didn't seem like he would move out of her way, but then he did with an exaggerated bow. He opened the door for her, leaving it wide open once more. Jake was still in the stall with Spitfire, but he wasn't brushing the horse. He leaned against the railing, his gaze on her as she strode down the central aisle. His eyes flicked to Teddy, who remained by the door, then back to her. There was no smile on his face now, just deep concern as she drew closer.

"I'm sorry. Did I get you in trouble with your nephew?"

She shook her head and smiled. "Don't worry about Teddy. He's just being…well, himself. I guess, over the years, he's gotten it into his head that it's his job to protect me. I just needed to remind him that I can take care of myself." She took a step closer and looked into his warm amber eyes and the desire to melt into his arms rushed through her, but now was not the time or the place. "I just wanted to say goodnight and thank you."

"Thank me? For what?"

"For caring so much about the horses...and for the conversation. I'm going to head in now. The storm has passed." She glanced toward Teddy still standing in the doorway, although now he was inside the building and not outside. In another moment or two, she was certain he'd be striding up the aisle toward them, find a convenient bale of hay and sit there, making his unhappiness known. She looked back to Jake. "At least one of the storms has."

They exchanged smiles.

"Good night, Jake."

He gave a slight bow. "Good night, Miss Evie."

She should turn away but for a moment, she couldn't move. Didn't want to. Damn! She was a grown woman. If she wanted to stay in the barn all night, getting to know Jake, she could. And if she wanted to melt into his arms and kiss him, she could do that, too.

Teddy cleared his throat, rather loudly. With a slight nod toward Jake, she finally turned and headed toward Teddy, who had come a few more feet into the barn. He opened his mouth, but she held her hand up, stopping him from saying anything. "As I said, we will discuss this more in the morning. Good night."

She strode past him and across the barnyard at a quick pace, gaining the house in short order. She wanted to slam the kitchen door but didn't. It wouldn't do to wake the entire household. She thought about sitting at the kitchen table and waiting for him, but decided against that, too. Morning would be soon enough to let Teddy know exactly what she thought.