Page 73 of The Texan Duke
“I hope you do, my dear child. The future of the family is at stake. You are probably the only one who could alter that for the better.”
Elsbeth didn’t know what to say to that. She opted for a nod and made her way from the parlor.
Chapter 23
“It’s about time you woke up.”
Connor struggled to push up from the sea of sleep, but it was tempting to float back down into the abyss.
Sam, however, was having none of it.
He clamped his hand on Connor’s good shoulder and shook him a little.
“That hurts, dammit.”
“Now you sound like one of your sisters,” Sam said.
Connor slit open one eye and looked at the older man.
Sam looked a little the worse for wear, which was surprising, because he always prided himself on being the Beau Brummell of the Texas set. He purchased his clothes from a tailor in Dallas, ordered bay rum aftershave from a store in Houston. He might wear boots, but they were the finest money could buy.
Right now, however, his jacket looked as if Sam had rolled around in a bunch of leaves. He even had pieces of leaves in his white eyebrows. His cheeks were bright red and Connor wondered if it was from embarrassment or cold.
“Where have you been?” he asked.
“Looking for who shot you, you fool.”
After they’d excavated in his shoulder, the physician had given him something to drink. He suspected it had laudanum in it. He felt exactly like he had when he’d gone to the barber and had a molar extracted. More than a little woozy.
Of course in the war, there hadn’t been any pain medication. They’d been damn grateful for a few sips of bourbon to take the edge off.
“Did you find anything?”
“Not a damn thing,” Sam said. “But I did get to be around that cousin-in-law of yours. Is that what he is? A cousin-in-law?”
“Hell if I know.”
Connor used his left arm to prop himself up, wishing his shoulder wasn’t throbbing. Wishing, too, that it wasn’t such a familiar feeling. He would just have to get used to the idea that he was going to heal again, just like he had once. With any luck he wouldn’t be shot again. Or not in that one spot.
“Whatever he is, the man is as irritating as a horsefly. When he wasn’t lecturing me on what was normal in Scottish society, he was telling me that you couldn’t possibly sell Bealadair.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything else from Felix,” Connor said.
“He’s a little too interested in your shooting ability. Wanted to know if you have a favorite weapon, what kind of shot you use, that sort of thing.”
Connor raised one eyebrow. “Maybe he just wants to know about his competition.”
Sam shook his head. “That’s another thing. He still wants to shoot targets with you. That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Why?”
“You’ve got a hole in you, Connor, or haven’t you noticed?”
Sam’s bushy white eyebrows were drawn together. The patches of color on his cheeks deepened in hue. His answer, then: it wasn’t embarrassment or cold, but anger. And it was directed at him, for being so stupid as to get himself shot.
“At least I’m not being sent back into battle after this wound,” Connor said. “I don’t mind meeting Felix in a contest,” he added. “You can tell him that for me.”
“Why would you want to do a fool thing like that?”
