Free Jane Bonander by Warrior Heart Page B

him.”
    Mahalia snorted. “I ain’t runnin’ this place like a grand hotel. I got my schedule to keep. Besides,” she added with a sly grin, “he’s usually up and gone by this time.”
    Libby raised her eyebrows. “You can tell his daily routine after only a week?”
    “He didn’t seem like a slugabed to me.” Mahalia continued to pound the quilt with her paddle. “I think we’re gonna have to take these feathers out or they won’t dry till spring.” She stopped working and adjusted her bosom beneath her loose-fitting frock, the motion causing her breasts to look like puppies squirming in a sack.
    “We’ll put another quilt on his bed. I have an extra one in my room,” Libby answered. “Meanwhile, you go in there and see that he gets breakfast, and I’ll—”
    “Oh, no, you don’t. I’ve taken care of the beddin’ since the day I arrived, and we ain’t changin’ the rules now. You get in there and see that he’s fed.”
    Libby gave her a jaded look. “I guess it’s too late to remind you who’s the boss here.”
    “I only do what’s best for you, Libby honey.”
    “And in this case that would be…” Libby stopped, waiting for her to explain.
    Mahalia laughed again, her shoulders shaking. “I think it’s best that you face that man. How long do you think you can avoid him after what you seen this mornin’?”
    “Maybe I didn’t see anything.”
    Mahalia’s eyes were filled with amusement. “If that’s true, why is that hollow in your throat jumpin’ like there’s a frog trapped behind it?”
    Libby didn’t have to feel her neck to know that was true. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I discovered Mr. Wolfe in the parlor last night, drunk on brandy. If I’m having any reaction at all, it’s that I hope his embarrassment is overshadowed only by his hangover.”
    Mahalia continued to enjoy herself. “Yes, indeed. I don’t doubt that there’s wild horses gallopin’ through his head about now, droppin’ their turds on his tongue.”
    Libby shook her head. “Very crudely put, Mahalia.”
    “Hangovers ain’t a pretty sight, Libby, especially to those havin’ them. I had a few of my own in my time.”
    Libby hadn’t had much experience with drunks. Her father, as thoughtless and insensitive as he’d been, had many failings, but drinking wasn’t one of them. Sean had taken one drink a week. Jackson Wolfe could have learned something from him, she thought, with a shake of her head.
    She turned and marched to the kitchen, only to discover there was no hotcake batter left over from breakfast. Evidently Bert and Burl had packed away more than the usual number. She was trying to decide what to fix when Jackson stepped into the room.
    Their gazes met.
    The pulse at her throat continued its attempt to escape.
    She forced herself not to react to the sheer size of him, concentrating instead on his squinty bloodshot eyes and the thick stubble of beard that covered his face and neck. Libby swore she could see a pulse throbbing at his temple, and she could only hope his head felt close to exploding.
    She slammed a frying pan onto the stove and heard his groan. It gave her a satisfying sense of power.
    “What are you hungry for this morning, Mr. Wolfe?”
    “Coffee will do.” His voice was like gravel tumbling into a well, all cavernous and harsh.
    She affected her most sympathetic look. “Oh, but I think you should eat breakfast, don’t you? Liquor is likely to eat a hole in your stomach. If you don’t coat it with something good, you’ll probably belch up that awful bitter green stuff.”
    At her words, he turned a bright shade of green himself. She hid a smile.
    “Coffee.” He slumped into a chair, propped his elbows on the table, and put his face in his hands.
    Libby’s lips curled into an evil smile. “I know just the thing.” She removed two eggs from the basket on the counter, cracked them into a dish, and brought it to the table.
    The yolks, yellow and