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with vinegar.  “Did a bear come near the
house?” she asked.
    Grayson
reached across the table and helped himself to his mother’s tea.  “Worse,” he
said, emptying her cup in one swallow.  “Reece Mullins showed up.” 
    For once,
Laura wished she had something stronger than tea in her cupboards.  She glanced
at Grayson to see if he had found a stray bottle.  He had learned to guard his
emotions when confronted with Reece.  At least, the heaviness of his gaze
indicated the drawn lines and glassy eyes were from fatigue and not alcohol. 
    “Reece was
here?” she asked.  “In the dead of night?  What did he want?” 
    Laura leaned
in and pressed her arms against the table edge.  Grayson’s ability with a
weapon was well known throughout the county.  Over the years, he had provided
meat for more than one family who lacked food on their table.  But those
gestures were received before Reece had convinced the community that his skills
had been used for something other than compassionate purposes. 
    “Grayson
Gregory,” Laura snapped, her voice pert.  “Did you shoot Reece Mullins?”    
    A wicked light
flickered behind the gray cloud in his eyes.  “Shoot him, no.  Fire at him,
yes.  It was just powder.  I left the ball out of the shot.  I didn’t want to
chance a lack of judgment on my part, or increased stupidity on his.”
    Laura blew out
her breath, lifting a strand of hair from away from her brow.  At least she
could be thankful that her son showed some restraint.  The last time the two
men faced each other, Reece had survived only because of Grayson’s lack of
weapon.  Even unarmed, her son had nearly finished the man’s life. 
    A fist fight
had catapulted both men into the front yard.  Pounding each other senseless,
Laura had not interfered.  This bare-knuckled brawl seemed to be the only
justice Grayson would receive.  Although Reece had lain bloody and
unresponsive, Grayson should have known better than to turn his back on him. 
Never one to play fair, Reece had pulled a derringer from his breast pocket and
fired.  A short-fill and bad sights had saved Grayson’s life, but grazed his
skull, and temporarily blinded him.  Six months had left him homebound and
miserable.  During his recovery, Grayson had installed a rifle and an ample
supply of shot and powder in every room of the house.  He would not be caught
unarmed the next time Reece came onto his property. 
    A soft cry
sounded from the second floor.  Laura raised her gaze toward the ceiling and
then dropped her attention to Grayson.  The muscles around his eyes clenched
and he rubbed his fingers across his forehead.  There was no way of denying he
had heard the noise, too.  Now seemed to be as good a time as any to ask why a
strange woman occupied his room. 
    “Did we
recently acquire a cat?” Laura asked.  She walked to the stove and swirled the
teapot.  Steam funneled upward through the spout.  Holding the kettle to her
cup, she transferred the remaining liquid.
    “In a way,”
Grayson said over his shoulder.  He moved to the sideboard and pulled open the
top drawer.  Rummaging through the content, he rearranged the linens, leaving
them lumped together in one cohesive pile.  He slid the drawer closed and
yanked the second one open.  Silver rattled at its sudden exposure. 
    Laura tilted
her head to the side and tried to determine what he searched for.  Was his
guest a member of royalty, who demanded her breakfast be served on only the
finest tableware?  If that were true, she would be sadly disappointed.  Other
than a few place settings of everyday china and stemware, the ornate pieces had
been stored for a special occasion.  From the evidence of her last five years,
the Gregory family may never see the return of a formal table setting. 
    She sipped her
tea and returned her cup to the chipped saucer she held.  Since Grayson seemed
lost in his search, she might as well wrestle the proverbial