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“No, not at all. My papa likes his whiskey and my mama has been known to have a sherry now and then. Go right ahead.” She turned and headed to the kitchen. “I’ll get you a glass.”
“Make that two,” Mitch called as she left the room.
“She’s one fine-looking woman, Mitch.” His uncle settled back in the chair, his ankle resting on his bent knee. “Why is she not your woman?”
“You know I’m not looking for another wife. Haven’t been since Polly. I’m happy with just me and Ian.”
“No, you’re not. But we won’t continue this now.” He smiled as Priscilla returned carrying two glasses. Mitch picked up the small bottle of whiskey from his coat pocket and poured two drinks. “Do you want some, Priscilla?”
“Heavens, no. Even though I’m this far away, Papa would somehow find out and blister my ears.” She shifted on her seat so Mitch could sit alongside her.
“Tell me about your family.” Two Moons sipped from his glass and studied her over the edge, once more making her a bit jittery. Added to that was her closeness to Mitch. His nearness had her much too aware of his scent and warmth, causing little butterflies to dance in her stomach. Perhaps she should have had a sip of the whiskey after all.
“I was born and raised in Guthrie, Oklahoma. My mama made the Land Run back in ’89 with four teenagers in tow. They’re my cousins. She met Papa there and they fell in love and got married. I have four brothers, and all my cousins and their spouses and children live within blocks of us and each other.”
“Ah,” Two Moons said. “And you wanted to get away from all that closeness.”
She raised her chin. “Yes.”
He lifted his glass in a toast. “Good for you. I think you’re a remarkable young woman who comes from a strong family.”
“Her father is a United States senator.” Mitch placed his empty glass on the table.
“No kidding?” Two Moons snapped his fingers. “Cochran. Yes, that’s right, Jesse Cochran out of Oklahoma. Good man.”
“The best.” She spoke softly, a hitch in her voice. Mitch covered her hand with his and gave it a little squeeze. Something Two Moons noticed by raised eyebrows.
The Indian turned his attention to Ian. “Gardez-vous avec vous francaise?”
“Oui, mon oncle, je pratique tous les jours.”
Priscilla’s jaw dropped and she stared at Ian. “You speak French?”
Mitch leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest. “Um, Priscilla, we all speak French.”
Her head swung back toward him. “You, too?”
“Oui.”
“When I spoke in French, you understood?”
“Chaque mot que vous a dit.” He grinned at her, obviously enjoying her discomfort.
“I’ve been mumbling insults to you in French for days. And all that time you knew exactly what I was saying.” She dropped her head in her hands. “Mon Dieu!”
“Most of our family speaks English, French, and Crow,” Mitch said.
“Crow, too?” She choked on the words. Although Mitch had proven to be much more intelligent and sophisticated than she’d assumed, every day as she learned more about him she became more impressed.
“My mother was Crow, my father French-Canadian. When fur trapping became harder, they left Canada and moved to Colorado where he opened the gun shop.”
Priscilla slid off the sofa. Mitch immediately felt the loss of her presence next to him. “I think I can announce that dinner is almost ready. Ian, why don’t you come help me in the kitchen?”
“Sure.”
Once the two were in the kitchen, chatting away and rattling dishes as they set the table, Two Moons poured a small amount of whiskey into both of their glasses. “If you let that one get away, you’re nowhere near as smart as I’ve always given you credit for. She’s pretty, smart, comes from a fine family, and I can tell by looking at him that Ian adores her.”
Mitch leaned back and rested his arm on the back of the sofa. “That’s the problem, Uncle. She comes from a big shot family. She’s so far above me I can barely see her shoes.”
