Oh, good Lord, what he was implying was beyond mortifying. And provoking. Did he want her to yell at him? To give him an excuse to abandon her there on that dusty road?
She didn’t yell, but there was no way she couldn’t sound as insulted as she felt. “I was looking for you before I even met Mr. Sullivan because I am exactly who I said I am and I have a legitimate claim to my father’s mine and its proceeds. But to answer your question, no reason had occurred to me why you wouldn’t be my guide.”
“No? I can give you a bunch, but none suitable for a lady’s ears—if you really are one.” Her blush just got much hotter. “I heard there was a fancy harridan screaming in the streets last week. Was that you?”
She sucked in her breath. “Certainly not.”
“Can’t imagine there’s more than one fancy harridan in town,” Morgan countered, apparently not believing her about this either.
“I assure you that was not me. I would never yell in public. It would be beyond the pale.”
“Beyond what?”
“The bounds of acceptable behavior.”
“Then why didn’t you just say that?”
She gritted her teeth. The man was intolerable and his disbelief even worse. “Why are you so sure I’m not Charles Mitchell’s daughter?”
“He never mentioned a daughter, just sons.”
It hurt that her father had forgotten about her. She shouldn’t be surprised—out of sight, out of mind—but it still hurt.
“Are you going to cry?”
She blinked, then snapped her brows together. “Absolutely not. I’ve had two weeks to shed my tears. And grieving is done in private or with relatives, certainly not with strangers like you.”
“Were you fed your lines by Sullivan, or are you just making them up as needed?”
“You don’t think I would be grieving for a father I dearly loved?”
“Lady, I told you I don’t believe you’re a Mitchell,” he replied. “You don’t even talk right. Can’t believe Shawn couldn’t afford a better actress.”
“I am no such thing, and I talk perfectly fine for someone who grew up in England these last—”
He cut in sharply, “If you persist in the pretense, then we’re done talking.”
Good. Talking to him was far too infuriating. He obviously wasn’t going to tell her anything that she wanted to know and certainly nothing about his mine and its location, so what was the point?
Then he said, “We can pick up the pace now.”
Music to her ears, until he mounted again and the entire string of mules began trotting to keep up with his horse. She nearly screamed, she was so sure she was about to fall off. This wasn’t anything like urging one’s mount to trot while sitting on a comfortable saddle. This sort of bouncing on the hard back of a mule was more than just jarring, it was becoming painful.
And the bustle of her jacket and the blanket under it that she was sitting on had afforded her some cushioning at the slower pace, but not now. It had already been uncomfortable sitting this way without the anchor of a pommel. Her back was already aching from it. Now her arse would be aching, too.
There was no help for it now. She abandoned propriety and swung one leg over the mule’s head to sit astride. She felt warm air on her bare legs just above her boots. She didn’t dare lean over to push the sides of her skirt down to cover her legs, if the hem would even stretch that far. Good Lord, she could just imagine what Aunt Elizabeth would say if she could see her now.
“How are you holding up now?” she suddenly heard.
“I’ll—manage!” she snarled.
He didn’t look back to see if she would. The despicable man was probably laughing and didn’t want her to see it.
Chapter Eight
“I’M HUNGRY!” VIOLET SHOUTED.
She’d had no breakfast, thanks to Morgan Callahan’s despicable abduction, and lunchtime felt as if it had come and gone. But he didn’t appear to want to stop for anything, not even to eat. She assumed there was food among his supplies. Or was he looking for an animal to kill? Did he expect to reach his mine before he ate?
They were still traveling on the road, heading mostly east. They’d passed that lovely mountain range she’d been able to see when they’d left Butte. She’d thought that might be where they were headed, but obviously not. They passed over creek after creek, many of which had dried up, followed a river for a while, got out of the way of the stagecoach he’d predicted would come along. North of the road the land was still verdant with green grass and trees, but to the south there was only dirt, dried grass, and scrub brush as far as the eye could see. She couldn’t stop thinking about that beautiful mountain range that had looked so inviting. She’d bet it was cooler up there!
“Did you hear me?!”
“You screech like a harridan, so how could I not?” he answered without looking back.
“So it’s your intent to starve me?”
He didn’t answer, of course not, because that was his intent! Violet had never been this sore in her life. Even that bout she’d had with flu her first year in England when her whole body had ached hadn’t been this bad. Morgan had kept up a bouncing pace for a good hour before he’d slowed the animals to a walk for the next few hours. That allowed her to actually lean back a little against the large bundle of hay at her back. Gently. She’d be mortified if she pushed it off of Carla’s rump and the bale rolled away.
She was silently crying in pain by then, though the heat dried the tears so fast, they probably didn’t leave streaks on her dusty cheeks. A few times, she thought she might faint. More than a few times, she wished she would, anything to end this misery, however briefly. Oh, how she wished she were back in England traveling in her aunt and uncle’s comfortable, elegantly appointed coach. There would be a basket of rolls and pastries on the mere chance that they would get hungry. She was hungry!
“If you don’t tell me when we will eat, I’m dismounting right here,” she threatened.
She wanted to, but she hesitated long enough to realize that he wouldn’t care, would probably be glad that she’d made the choice to leave herself there in the middle of nowhere. To die. She growled to herself, refusing to give him the satisfaction of having his problem solved so easily. She’d never disliked anyone this much in her life. She disliked him so much, it felt more like hate.
And then he turned directly north into a hilly area. A few minutes later, she screamed when he fired his gun. She hadn’t expected him to do that, and the sound was so loud and close to her. He dismounted and picked up a long, fat snake near his feet. It had orange, white, and black stripes. And he took out a knife and cut off its head.
She winced, disgusted, and heard him say, “It was going to slither past my gals. They would have started bucking to kill it, and you would have landed on your ass. They don’t like snakes.”
So he’d saved her from falling? Ha! More likely he enjoyed the fright he’d just given her. But instead of tossing the dead reptile aside, he moved to stuff it into one of his baskets. Taking the trophy home? She grimaced at the thought.
Passing Carla again, he handed Violet a strip of dried jerky. She didn’t thank him. He could have done that hours ago! And it certainly wouldn’t satisfy her hunger for very long, but the first bite she ripped off the strip did take the edge off. And then they continued on.
It was much greener as they rode north, long grass, a few pine trees, more wildflowers, but the day was still sweltering. She had no idea what time it was, late in the afternoon? The last time she’d glanced at the sun to gauge the time, she’d been blinded for the longest time, so she didn’t do that again. But her sore body might be making it seem like they’d ridden longer than they had. Where the devil was his mine? And then they were trotting again! But not for long this time.
“We’ll rest the animals for a while,” Morgan said, stopping beneath the shade of a large tree.