Something Borrowed

Chapter 25

"You were ten minutes late, Joshua," he said, his fork gripped in his right hand, left hand fisted on the tabletop.

"I'm sorry about that, sir," her husband said. "It won't happen again."

Amelia had seen Josh bark orders at his men. She'd watched him stand off with Mr. Mulligan at the dance. She'd listened to him banter with Melissa and witnessed the way he held sway over every animal on the ranch. Meek was not a word she'd use to describe him. Not usually.

"Do you care to explain yourself?"

"There's no excuse, sir. I slept in. Amelia was waiting for me so we could come down together."

Now that was just an outright lie! And what did he mean there was no excuse? He didn't need an excuse. He had every reasonable, valid right to lay abed all day, dammit!

"That there's no excuse goes without saying, Joshua," Mr. Tucker barked, taking a sip of coffee, watery eyes glaring at her husband over the rim. "You know how important meal time was to your mother. You do her memory a disservice."

She could feel Josh deflate beside her. His posture didn't change, but she had a sudden overpowering urge to hug him. Unable to do so, she shifted her hand from her lap onto his leg and squeezed gently.

"You're right, sir. Like I said, it won't happen again."

Mr. Tucker glared. Josh met his eye, expression neutral. Melissa watched the exchange with her fork gripped in a white-knuckled fist, eyes flicking back and forth between her brother and her father. Amelia sipped her tea and tightened her fingers on her husband's thigh. I'm here.

"Right," the old man said, once again clearing his throat. "Tell me about the ranch. How many do you suppose we'll lose to the storm?"

"Three for sure, sir," he answered quickly. Beneath the table, his hand came to rest over the top of hers. "There's another half dozen or so I was worried about before the weather closed in who might not survive the chill, but by and large the losses are negligible."

"No loss is negligible. Do you need to be reminded that I'm running a business?"

Amelia wanted to scream through her clenched teeth. She still hadn't spoken to her husband what had happened the day before, but she was damn near certain he'd come home in the wee hours, drenched to the bone and half frozen because he'd been working on behalf of his father's so-called business.

"I just meant--"

"I don't care what you meant. What happened to the three we lost?"

For the first time, Josh lowered his gaze to his plate. His hand left hers and he reached for his coffee, taking a long pull before meeting her father's eye once more. "One of the fences broke on the north paddock," he said. "Yesterday, before the storm. About two-hundred head got loose. We were able to round up all but three before the weather closed in and I had to pull the men back."

Again, silence. Amelia didn't much care for the way this family communicated. Her parents had died when she was so young, she barely remembered them, but she remembered her home being small, warm, and loud with music and laughter. After that, she'd lived in various orphanages, all of which were chaotic as a matter of course. Then she'd moved out on her own, finding quarter in boarding houses and working in hectic kitchens, laundromats, workrooms...

No, she didn't care for silence.

"Two-hundred head of cattle," Mr. Tucker said, drawing the words out.

"We recovered all but three," Josh said, and Amelia wondered how his father was so blind to reality. She'd overindulged in alcohol before, but it hadn't blinded her. Even stumbling drunk, she'd have been able to see how weary her husband looked and had the good sense not to pester him, even with a legitimate grievance. And Mr. Tucker's complaints were not, she was absolutely certain, legitimate.