He paused in midstride and fisted his hands behind his back. “It would be better if we never met again.”
“Better for her, or for you?” She tried to sit up, but the pain was too intense. Damn the inconvenience of being so… so helpless, even if it was only for a little while. “I do not believe that you think less of her because of her affliction. I know you don’t care for townies. You two are very different in many ways. But that isn’t why you want her to stay in Denver.” She took a deep breath. “You want to protect her from yourself. You don’t think you’re good enough for her, and it has nothing to do with money or position or any of those things. What happened to you that made you so sure she’s better off without you?”
She had pushed too far and too fast. He swung to face her, head lowered and teeth bared.
“Enough,” he said. “Do not speak of this again, Firefly.”
“I’m not afraid of you, Morgan. I know you too well. You bluster and bully, but you wouldn’t hurt me. Or her.”
Never had a man looked more like an affronted and very hungry beast. But Morgan closed his mouth and backed toward the door, prepared to retreat where he could not win.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I have no right to judge you. But whatever you did in your past—whoever you were before you came to us—I know you are a good man. You’ve proved that to all of us. And as for Athena—”
A tall shadow loomed against the outer tent wall. Niall Munroe ducked his head into the tent and nearly bumped into Morgan. He scowled, caught sight of Caitlin, and quickly smoothed his expression.
“Miss Hughes” he said. “I beg your pardon. I would like to have a word with Mr. Holt.”
Morgan bristled. “You’d better leave, Munroe.”
“Not until you hear what I have to say. Privately.”
Without a word, Morgan shoved past Niall and left the tent. Niall followed.
If her leg had hurt only a little less, Caitlin would have hobbled her way to the door and listened for all she was worth. As it was, she heard only the rumble of deep voices, rising in pitch and hostility as the minutes ticked by. Niall did most of the talking—or ordering, for Caitlin had a very good idea what he said. Morgan’s replies were brief and edged like a knife thrower’s blades. When it was over, only one man returned to the tent.
Niall Munroe paused momentarily at the entrance and then came inside, bending his long body awkwardly.
“Where is Morgan?” Caitlin demanded. “What did you say to him?”
Perhaps he had expected a kinder welcome. He straightened and removed his hat. His brown hair was mussed underneath, though the recent duel had been made with words and not fists.
“That need be no concern of yours, Miss Hughes,” he said stiffly.
“Morgan is my friend,” she said. “What concerns my friends also concerns me.”
“Very well.” He set his hat down on a stool beside the cot and folded his hands behind his back. “I asked him to stay away from my sister.”
Gritting her teeth against the discomfort, she rose up on her elbows. “Did you, then? Why, pray tell?”
He held her gaze without apology. “It has been brought to my attention that he is showing a certain… interest in her, and that she has not been entirely indifferent.”
Brought to his attention. Then it was not he who had observed the attraction, but someone else. And Caitlin had a very good notion of who that someone might be—the officious, pinch-faced, and resentful Cecily Hockensmith.
“I can assure you that nothing improper has gone on between Morgan and Athena,” Caitlin said. “Harry wouldn’t allow it, and neither would I.”
“What you consider proper—” He thought better of what he’d been about to say and began again. “I was not mistaken, then, in believing that my sister is keeping company with Holt.”
How much to admit, when his mind was already so set against Morgan? “They like each other,” she said. “Why is that so terrible?”