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even with a man as genteel as my brother, much less with life on a ranch the size of this one."
    He seemed to think nothing of piling insults on her head. She could hardly believe what she was hearing.
    "Mr. Culhane, your brother and I are friends," she emphasized. "I assure you that he no more wants to marry me than I want to marry him. As to the other, my father has said nothing of this to either of us, I assure you!"
    He was watching her with that steady unblinking stare that made her fidget nervously. "And if he had, what would you have told him?"
    She went very still and averted her face.
    He saw the faint movement of her body. "Why are you afraid of your father?" he asked curtly.
    The question rattled her. "You are mistaken," she faltered.
    "Am I?" He lifted the cigar to his firm mouth, still holding her gaze. "My mother tells me that she has invited you to the Valverde fiesta Friday evening."
    "Unless you object… ?"
    "It would be dangerous to leave a young woman here unattended. Of course you will accompany us." His eyes narrowed speculatively. "Perhaps we can find a suitable young man to escort you."
    She stood up very calmly. "I do not require an escort, but thank you, Mr. Culhane, for your consideration." Let him chew on that for a while, she thought with faint triumph.
    He leaned back in the chair again, watching her. He always seemed to be watching her, she thought.
    "Quinn said that you never kept company with a man," he remarked abruptly.
    "There was no time for such frivolous behavior," she replied as she moved to the door. "I had younger brothers to take care of, until they died, and the house to keep."
    "Your mother did very little."
    "My mother was an invalid," she said with a faint sharpness to her tone. "She was unable to care for the house."
    He was silent. The cigar sat smoking in his lean hand. Her carriage was very proud, he noted. She had an innate dignity about her that sat oddly beside her cowardice.
    "You are twenty. It is time you married."
    "So long as my choice falls short of Alan," she agreed.
    He glowered, looking for sarcasm in her lovely face, but it was calm and quite composed.
    "I have plans for Alan."
    "So he tells me," she replied. "You and my father are two of a kind, Mr. Culhane."
    "An insult, Miss Howard?" he asked.
    She turned to the door. "You must apply your own interpretation."
    She left him without waiting to be dismissed, closing the door quickly behind her. Her heart was hammering as she went to rejoin Mrs. Culhane in the kitchen. The odd little exchange left her breathless and exhilarated. No man of her acquaintance had ever had the effect on her that King Culhane did.
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    The week passed slowly. Amelia and King's mother sewed, worked in the kitchen garden, and did the routine chores, like washing clothes. Wash day was a long and drawn-out chore that took almost a full day every week. It involved some heavy lifting, so assistance from two of King's men had to be requisitioned. They had to fill the huge wash tubs with water for washing and rinsing, and the big black kettle on the fire had to be replenished with water and bleach for boiling the white things to get them clean.
    At least twice a week, chickens were killed and cleaned and cooked, not only by Enid but also by the small, wizened man who cooked for the cowboys in the bunkhouse. A calf was often butchered for the men, with some for the household kitchen as well. Other meats, from hogs butchered the past fall and made into sausage and hams, and steers, hung in the smokehouse until they were needed. Breads and canned vegetables from last summer's harvest constituted the major part of meals. That would be true until the garden that had been planted earlier in the month was yielding fresh vegetables.
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    King spent long hours in the saddle and away from the house, to Amelia's eternal gratitude. She was very relaxed when she didn't have to worry about the sharp side of King's tongue.
    In fact, without her