Page 75 of The Texan Duke
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m not bedridden,” he said, and made his way—staggering a little—to the bathing chamber. When he returned, having splashed some water on his face, Sam was opening the sitting room door.
“That was fast,” he said.
“I ordered you shepherd’s pie. Good for invalids and oldsters.”
He shot Sam a look but the older man wasn’t paying him any attention.
To his surprise, Sam sat at the table and began to eat.
“Are you eating my dinner?”
“I took the precaution of ordering two servings.”
“You’re not an invalid. So you’re calling yourself an oldster?”
That didn’t sound like Sam. He prided himself on the fact that he could keep up with the youngest ranch hand as far as stamina throughout the day. He was damn good at keeping up with them at night, too. Sam had a collection of women in Austin, Dallas, and Houston, and from the stories he heard, they were all happy to entertain him at a moment’s notice.
No, Sam wouldn’t call himself an oldster even if he was. He’d have to be dragged, kicking and screaming, to his grave. Sam was having too damn much fun living.
“I’m a friend to an invalid and therefore will eat what he eats,” Sam said.
“I’m not an invalid.”
“Tonight you are,” he said, waving his fork in the direction of Connor’s nightshirt.
He shook his head, but decided not to argue with the man.
Sam was also one of the most stubborn cusses he’d ever met. His father had thought the same. As much as he liked Sam, Graham could be heard shouting at him often enough. Connor felt like doing a little of that himself, but not here at Bealadair, where there were maids around every corner and footmen just standing there with nothing to do but listen.
“So you didn’t find anything?” he asked. He took a bite of his dinner, nodded, and concentrated on his meal for a while.
“It was dark by the time we got there, but we had some torches. We didn’t see anything but footprints. Damn hard to track anything when it’s snowing.”
He didn’t know where Sam had gotten his skill at tracking, but he was good. If he hadn’t found anything, there was nothing to be found.
“No trace of a horse?”
“Nope, but they could have come through the trees. We wouldn’t have been able to see anything in the dark. I’ll go back in the daytime.”
Sam poured himself a glass of wine. Connor noticed that there wasn’t a second glass.
“Don’t I get any wine? Or whiskey?”
“It doesn’t mix,” Sam said. “Not with the medicine you had. Doctor’s orders, Connor.”
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you.” He sat back in his chair.
“You getting shot? Hell, no. You in a nightgown? Hell, yes. I even enjoyed how you acted around Miss Carew. You were like one big puppy dog.”
He didn’t know what part of that he should counter first. He opted to eat his vegetables.
“If you’re determined to meet Felix, can you at least wait a few weeks?”
“It’s not a duel, Sam. It’s just a shooting contest.”
“I don’t cotton to the man,” Sam said.
