Chapter 53

Gideon accorded my pa due deference as we ate, but reserved his real attention for Matthew. What did Laramie look like? Was that Brulé home territory, or had they been driven west like many of the tribes? The questions went on and on.

Rachel Ann, even with stars in her eyes, eventually caught on. Was the flush that crossed her pretty features embarrassment at realizing she was merely a courtesy or anger that Matthew was prey? For his part, my brother-who-was-not-a-brother handled himself well. He described things he knew, and answered with a simple “don’t know” if the point of the question was something he wasn’t familiar with.

I was about to bring up the subject of Matthew’s wound when he managed to slip in our “misadventure” during one of the infrequent pauses in Gideon’s conversation.

“Nothing serious, I hope,” he said. “Gunshots can be nasty things. Even slight ones. Infection, you know.”

I waved a hand in the air. “Don’t worry. I put enough honey on it to attract bees.”