He studied the stiff, tight way she held herself. “Are you still going to marry that guy?”
Laura flashed him an angry look, dark eyes snapping. “Shut up, Trey. Just shut up.” She grabbed the door and gave it a swing, shutting it in his face.
The morning sun was still low in the sky when Laura came down the steps the next day. The familiar thump of her grandfather’s cane came from the hallway that led to his ground-floor room in The Homestead’s west wing. The sound of it grew steadily nearer, signaling his approach. Laura had a warm smile ready for him when he hobbled into view.
“Good morning, Gramps.”
He paused in surprise. “You’re up early.”
“I don’t always sleep until noon.” Laura saw no reason to admit that her sleep had been less than restful. “Have you seen Boone?”
“He had breakfast with everybody about an hour ago, then commandeered the den.” He nodded in the direction of the room, its doors firmly shut in an apparent request for privacy. “Said he had some calls to make.”
“I see,” Laura murmured.
“There’s a pot of coffee waiting for me on the veranda,” Chase told her. “You’re welcome to grab a cup from the dining room and join me.”
Her hesitation was momentary. “I’ll do that.”
When they reached the entryway, they separated, Chase continuing outside while Laura crossed to the dining room. She found the housekeeper, Allie McGuire, busily clearing away the covered warming pans from the side table. She offered to fix Laura a hot breakfast. Laura declined in favor of a slice of toast slathered with jam.
Carrying both the empty coffee cup and the toast, Laura joined her grandfather, taking a seat in the twin to his rocker. “Where’s Sebastian this morning?” she asked while he filled her cup with coffee from the insulated carafe. “Did he go off again with Trey?”
“Not today, he didn’t. Said he wanted to walk off breakfast.” Chase’s glance made an idle sweep of the ranch yard. “He’s wandering around there somewhere.”
Laura nibbled on the jam-covered toast without really tasting it. A sip of coffee only seemed to add to the restlessness that had plagued her all night.
“I suppose you heard about the fight last night.” As much as she was loathe to discuss it, she also knew it was a subject that had to be confronted.
Chase rocked slowly back and forth. “Trey told me about it.”
“I can imagine what he said.” Irritation crept into her voice.
“Was it the truth?” The words held a challenge that didn’t match the conversational level of his voice.
Laura avoided a direct answer. “The truth is rarely black and white. I would certainly have thought less of Boone if he hadn’t objected to abusive language that was used in addressing me.”
“True.” The pace of his rocking never changed.
“You don’t think I should marry him, do you?” The tilt of her chin signaled her readiness for an argument.
“It doesn’t matter what I think, Laura,” Chase replied evenly. “The only thing that matters is what you want.”
“There are worse faults a man can have,” she insisted.
“I expect there are.” He rocked a few more times. “Just out of curiosity, if you had to describe your fiancé to someone, what would you say about him?”
The unexpected question had Laura scrambling for a quick answer. “I don’t know. I suppose I would say that he’s the son of Max Rutledge from Texas—”
Chase didn’t let her get any further. “That’s an interesting way to begin. When most women talk about the men they plan to marry, they go on about how wonderful they are, how thoughtful and caring, or how funny and warm. They’re usually slow to mention who they are related to. It seems to me you only have one question you need to answer—whether it’s Boone Rutledge you’re marrying or the son of Max Rutledge. If it’s the latter, it doesn’t matter what happened last night.”
His words were like a slap in the face. Laura desperately wanted to hit back. It was infuriating to realize she couldn’t, because there was a little too much truth in his statement.
“But whatever you do,” Chase added, “just don’t close your eyes to what you might be getting into.”
“I know exactly what I’m doing.” But she wasn’t sure if she resented his suggestion that she didn’t or that she was making a mistake marrying Boone.
“Good.” He reached over and patted her hand, then settled back in the rocker. “Speak of the devil, here comes Sebastian now.”