The Rascal by Lisa Plumley Page B

a protest, a strike, a long parade of picketing? Staring down at her determined, upturned face, he knew exactly how out of their depths those lawmen must have felt.
    Those men, however, didn’t possess Jack’s famous charm.
    He tried a smile. “Come on now, darlin’.”
    Her eyebrow rose at his use of the endearment, but Jack pressed on anyway. It wasn’t like him to be deterred easily. Grace must have learned that by now. “Won’t you be more comfortable outside with a nice sarsaparilla?”
    “It’s snowy outside. I don’t want a sarsaparilla.”
    Jack gestured to Harry, who’d come out at the first sign of commotion. Daniel McCabe watched interestedly, too.
    “Harry, bring Miss Crabtree a nice hot cup of tea. No sugar. I reckon she’s sweet enough already.”
    Her snort could be heard all the way to the faro tables.
    Jack smiled more widely, appallingly conscious of his audience. If he’d been able to be himself—with all his talents for handling women—he’d have dispatched Grace long ago. But with a goodly portion of Morrow Creek watching, he couldn’t risk it. The last thing he wanted was to be discovered for his past.
    “Harry?” he nudged. “Is the kettle on?”
    “I heard ya’ the first time.” Complaining, Harry headed for the back room, clearly reluctant to miss the spectacle.
    “No, thank you,” Grace called after him, hands on her hips. She gave Jack a pointed stare, ignoring McCabe’s presence as easily as she did the rest of the customers. “I won’t be needing anything from Mr. Murphy except his acquiescence.”
    “Hmmph.” Daniel sounded as though he were stifling a guffaw, the damned knucklehead. “I’m not sure he’s got any.”
    Grace didn’t so much as glance at her brother-in-law. “Kindly stay out of this, Daniel.”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    He didn’t sound contrite in the least. Quite possibly, that was why Grace swiveled her gaze to center fully on him.
    “Shouldn’t you be at the blacksmith’s shop?” She spied his mostly empty plate of beans and bacon, and her eyes narrowedstill further. “I happen to know Sarah makes you a wonderful homemade lunch every day. What are you doing eating here?”
    “Sarah’s lunch has vegetables in it.” He grimaced. “Carro—”
    Grace’s barbed look stopped him flat.
    “That’s it.” Daniel grabbed his hat. He breezed past Jack with his hand raised in farewell. “You’re on your own, Murphy.”
    With a sinking feeling, Jack watched his friend amble outside in jovial defeat, his long winter coat trailing. Chairs scraped and empty glasses hit tables, then several other men followed. A few made their displeasure known with over-the-shoulder glares.
    Clearly too irate to notice, Grace turned her attention to Jack again. She may have been two heads shorter and a whole lot skinnier, but she possessed uncommon pluck. Or gall. Or just plain doggedness. Jack wasn’t quite sure what to label it. He only knew he wanted her gone.
    He crossed his arms. “You’re ruining my business.”
    “You’re ruining my peaceful existence.” Grace jabbed him in the chest. “Stop sending husbands my way.”
    Ah. So his plan was working. Jack sucked in a deep breath to keep from smiling outright. “Tempted by a few of them, are you? Well, I might have known. Truth be told, you always looked like the marrying kind to me.”
    “Perhaps,” Grace observed, “you need spectacles.”
    “Listen.” Jack cocked his head, cupping one palm to his ear. “I can almost hear those wedding bells chiming already.”
    Grace rolled her eyes. “Or an extra-large ear trumpet.”
    “Oh, I don’t know about that.” Jack caught himself admiring the slender curve of her hips, proof positive that what he really needed was a dose of common sense. She’dobviously driven him daft at last. He dragged his gaze from the dowdy lengths of her practical skirts to meet her eyes. “I’ve never known a woman who didn’t want to be married, all my sisters