Read Online The Grass Widow by Nanci Little - Free Book Online Page B

certainly have Miss Bodett teach me to shoot,” she said tightly. “It becomes ever more obvious that a woman need be capable of defending herself against the various evils that may descend upon her doorstep when least she expects them.”
    An unpleasant smile twitched at his mustache as he eyed her; she let her own smile suggest a sudden and offensive odor. “It would be my pleasure to provide that instruction,” he said at last.
    “It’s unquestionably a skill you should have and hone.”
    “How many eggs, an’ how d’you want ’em?” Joss thrust the words between the Captain and her cousin. “I know how to do
    ‘em fried.” Or scrambled, poached, boiled hard or soft, shirred or made into an omelet, but you, Slade, get them how I make them or you can go hungry. And you— She shot a look at Aidan. You don’t know the rules of this game, nor the stakes, so fold your hand, girl.
    “Four fried would be excellent, if you’d flip them once in the fat of the bacon—and mind your biscuits. They smell hot.”
    Joss potholdered those out of the oven, skittering the tin onto the table. “I ain’t so sure Miz Blackstone’s feelin’ up to lessons today,” she said coldly. “Long train ride left her a mite puny.”
    She had suggested Aidan learn to shoot, applying gentle pressure
     
    until Aidan reluctantly conceded the wisdom that women in such harsh country should have certain skills, and Joss had looked forward to the lessons. “I’ll give her some teachin’.”
    “I’m sure you’re most capable of providing excellent tutelage at your leisure, but I suspect leisure is such a precious commodity for you of late.” The mockery of sympathy in his tone made Aidan think of Effie Richland. “And given your precarious circumstances, you may appreciate the Army buying the bullets.”
    Deliberately, he tilted his chair onto its hind legs. “Miss Bodett, surely you’re not thinking of wintering here alone? If you are for lack of options, I’ve an offer that may leave you room for consideration.”
    Aidan saw the slim, throbbing cord of anger in her cousin’s neck; she wondered if Slade had ever considered how it might feel to catch a ten-pound cast iron skillet full of sizzling grease with his face. He was apparently unaware of, or unimpressed by, Joss Bodett’s hair-triggered temper. “She isn’t alone,” she said flatly. “And her options, given the resources of the Blackstones, are wondrously varied; ergo, there’s naught to consider. But you may teach me to shoot, Captain. I’m sure I should find it most amusing.”
    Slade regarded the rigid, angry back of Joss; he slid his look back to Aidan, letting it linger at her breasts. “If you’re wintering here, it’s past my pleasure.” He didn’t bother to try to hide the smirk. “It’s my duty.”
    Joss delivered his plate: four flipped, a rasher of precious bacon, a gob of grits. “Go well fed to your duty, then. Have a biscuit.”
    He had five, with a quarter-pound of butter. His table manners were casually and maddeningly impeccable.
    Harmon Bodett had been a drinker, and their dump was liberally scattered with bottles. Slade lined up twelve on the fence and unholstered his Colt. “Mightn’t it serve better if I learned to shoot the one I may be required to?” Aidan asked; the captain raised a faintly approving eyebrow and strolled back to the house for Joss’s revolver, the rowels of his spurs clanking musically.
     
    Wearily, Aidan rubbed the nose of the big bay gelding who had come to the fence to visit with her. “I may have won small battles of words, but I lost the war, Charley, and now I’m stuck with this. What might he do if I vomit on the toes of his boots?”
    In the house, Joss handed over her Colt. “Mind it’s got a hair trigger.”
    Slade’s look suggested he hardly believed she might know a hair trigger from a hair brush.
    She shrugged. “Just thought I’d mention it.” She leaned against a post on the porch, the