Secrets In Texas. Carrie Weaver
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.
Angel released her breath. Some of the tenseness eased from her shoulders. Funny, Matthew was on her side but seemed like the enemy. She felt much more comfortable with Eleanor and Ruth, who she suspected would like nothing better than to get rid of her.
Angel separated utensils and stacked the plates, her motions automatic.
“At least you’re not afraid of a dirty dish,” Eleanor commented.
“I bussed tables at a Mexican restaurant in high school. Then waitressed my way through college.” She lifted the heavy stack of plates and carried them to the kitchen.
“Ruth, you can go get the children’s lessons ready while Angel and I do the dishes.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The older woman bustled past Angel, taking the stack of plates from her and placing them in the sink. She ran water, added dish soap and retrieved clean, dry towels from the kitchen drawer. She handed a towel to Angel. “Here, you dry.”
Angel resisted the urge to salute. She was beginning to understand why Matthew insisted Eleanor might have nearly as much power as his uncle.
They worked in silence for several minutes.
“Jonathon indicates your marriage to Matthew is a love match. Your parents didn’t arrange the marriage? Or church elders?”
“No. We met in Phoenix. My family lives in Houston. I’m not Mormon, but I’ve promised Matthew I will abide by the teachings of the brethren.”
“Many young women find our ways too…strict.”
Angel met Eleanor’s gaze. “I was looking for a change.”
“Hmm. How did you know Matthew was suitable if