Secrets In Texas

The urge to tell Matthew off was almost overwhelming. He’d put her in a position of subservience she’d sworn never to allow again. Anything less than being a full partner was dangerous.

She clenched her fists, her fingernails biting into her palm. This was a job, an assignment. It was merely playacting and had nothing to do with her past.

“Yes, Matthew.” She’d tried to achieve an adoring coo but fell short. Grudging acquiescence seemed to be the best she could do.

It seemed to be enough, because Matthew nodded. He grabbed his Windbreaker and went out the front door.

Angel released her breath. Some of the tenseness eased from her shoulders. Funny, Matthew was on her side but seemed like the enemy. She felt much more comfortable with Eleanor and Ruth, who she suspected would like nothing better than to get rid of her.

Angel separated utensils and stacked the plates, her motions automatic.

“At least you’re not afraid of a dirty dish,” Eleanor commented.

“I bussed tables at a Mexican restaurant in high school. Then waitressed my way through college.” She lifted the heavy stack of plates and carried them to the kitchen.

“Ruth, you can go get the children’s lessons ready while Angel and I do the dishes.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The older woman bustled past Angel, taking the stack of plates from her and placing them in the sink. She ran water, added dish soap and retrieved clean, dry towels from the kitchen drawer. She handed a towel to Angel. “Here, you dry.”

Angel resisted the urge to salute. She was beginning to understand why Matthew insisted Eleanor might have nearly as much power as his uncle.

They worked in silence for several minutes.

“Jonathon indicates your marriage to Matthew is a love match. Your parents didn’t arrange the marriage? Or church elders?”

“No. We met in Phoenix. My family lives in Houston. I’m not Mormon, but I’ve promised Matthew I will abide by the teachings of the brethren.”

“Many young women find our ways too…strict.”

Angel met Eleanor’s gaze. “I was looking for a change.”

“Hmm. How did you know Matthew was suitable if you didn’t know his family?”

“I just looked at Matthew and knew. His eyes were so deep and kind. They never lie.” Angel was shocked to realize she believed the hogwash about Matthew’s character. At least she hoped it was hogwash. Because if Matthew really was one of the good guys, she was in deep, deep trouble. Being thrown together in close quarters on an assignment was not the time to let her guard down with a man.

“He always was a kind boy. Patient with the younger children. Bringing home hurt birds. Caring for the barn cats.”

Angel tried to regain her equilibrium, steeling herself against the hint of affection in the older woman’s voice. She didn’t want to see Eleanor as a person. She didn’t want to like Matthew. Yet she had to show wifely interest in her husband’s history. “Matthew mentioned he had a pet calf named Spot.”

A smile touched briefly at Eleanor’s lips, then was gone. “Yes. He was heartbroken after Spot was slaughtered.”

“I bet.”

“It was a necessary learning experience. We needed the animal for food and Matthew was aware of that. He chose to get attached.”

“He was a little boy, for goodness sake. Of course he got attached.”

“You’re from the city. You wouldn’t understand.”

Angel bit back a retort. She dried silently until she could get her temper under control. “What was Matthew’s mother like then?”

“Abigail was a righteous woman. But she lost sight of our way of life.”

“Did you know her when she was younger?”

Eleanor glanced at her sideways. “Of course I knew Abigail. She was my older sister.”

Sister?

“Matthew didn’t mention you were sisters. You must have missed her when she left.”

Eleanor hesitated, her expression softening. “There are days when I still miss her,” she murmured. “She was my closest friend growing up.”

Angel was surprised at the admission. “I, um, got the impression there was no love lost between you two.”

“There is much you don’t understand. Things changed after Matthew’s father died.”

“Because she married Jonathon.”

“It’s not unusual for a man in our community to marry his brother’s widow. It’s a way of caring for widows that dates before Joseph Smith, back to biblical times.”

“I, um, guess that’s one way to take care of it.” Angel preferred the idea of a nice fat whole-life insurance policy.

She shuddered to think of marrying into Kent’s family if he’d had a brother. It would have been like going from the frying pan into the fire. As it was, she hadn’t seen her in-laws since before Kent’s death. They’d held the funeral for their only son while she was in the hospital, never contacting her. No get-well card, no flowers, no I’m-sorry-our-son-was-a-monster-and-almost-killed-you phone calls.

“Are you prepared to welcome a sister wife into your home when Matthew thinks it’s time?”

The soapy plate slipped from Angel’s hand. Years of experience handling dishes came to her rescue and she managed to catch it before it hit the floor.

It was a good diversionary tactic, unintentional though it was. “Whew. Glad I caught that. I’d hate to break one of your dishes my first day here.”

Eleanor made an assenting noise low in her throat.

Matthew entered the kitchen and came up behind Angel. He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed the back of her neck.

For some silly reason, the gesture made her blush.

Maybe it was the wistfulness in Eleanor’s eyes.

Or maybe it was because the gesture of affection seemed so natural and reassuring.

“Matthew, don’t.” She made a token protest.

“Mmm. You smell good.” His breath tickled as he kissed the hollow behind her ear.

He was taking the loving-husband bit too far. She elbowed him in the gut. Not hard enough to knock the air out of him but enough to let him know to back off.