Mary and the Fighter (Prairie Tales Book 2) by Kit Morgan

Author:Kit Morgan [Morgan, Kit]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Angel creek press
Published: 2018-08-31T04:00:00+00:00

A half hour later, Mary entered the kitchen, a long list in her hand. Some of the items were scratched out and then written down again. She wasn’t sure how much time the squire and Mrs. Wallace would need. But there was no sign of either anywhere. Could Mrs. Wallace have gone to the garden? She often did at this time of day.

“Ah ha! There you are.”

Mary jumped with a small yelp. “Squire Ferguson, ye frightened me.”

“I’ll do more than that before the day is out if we don’t get this list filled for Mrs. Wallace. Have you got it?”

She handed him the list wondering about his threat. What did he mean ‘we’? She went to the kitchen window and peered out. Mrs. Wallace was furiously digging in the garden. “I take it she’s not going to market?”

“No,” he said ominously. He looked out the window too. “I hope that woman digs herself a hole and crawls into it!”

“Squire Ferguson!” Mary said in shock.

He blew out a breath. “Oh, I didn’t mean it. Better she dig me a hole and I’ll crawl into it!”

Mary did her best not to giggle. Even though the squire and Mrs. Wallace insulted each other, they did it with affection, as was obvious. “Shall I get my cloak?”

“You won’t need it. It’s warm enough outside. Let’s go.”

She followed him out the door to the barn and waited as Mr. Gerber hitched up a horse to one of the wagons. Squire Ferguson, being the rich man he was, owned a small buggy, a wagon, and then a larger wagon for the work crews. Who knew how many more he had that he didn’t keep on the estate.

Mr. Gerber’s job done, he helped her onto the wagon seat as the squire climbed up beside her. “Tell Mrs. Wallace we’re going to eat at The Rose and Thorn today. She need not make me lunch.” The squire’s tone was terse, his words clipped. He was clearly upset about something. She was probably the only one that knew what it might be. In fact, she pondered the possibilities as they rode to the village.

“While we gather things on that woman’s list,” the squire grumbled. “I want you to go find Patrick Mulligan, and order me a couple of small barrels ale.”

“Yes, Squire,” she said.

“At this time of day you’ll find him at the brewery. Tell him I want two of his finest.”

She gave him a sidelong glance and did her best not to smile. She noticed he always got this way after a spat with Mrs. Wallace. And even though this one ended with a kiss, he seemed especially perturbed. “When shall I have him deliver them?”

“I’ll think about that over lunch,” he said and gave the horse a tap with the lines. The animal broke into a trot.

“Are you in a hurry, sir?” she asked, curious.

“I want to get our business done before Cromwell’s taproom fills up for the afternoon. I don’t care to eat with a bunch of noisy folks.

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