"You broke the rules."
She forced a laugh. "There weren't any rules, remember? You made that choice, not me."
"What was the wager?" John asked.
Travis paused to glare at Emily for kicking him again before he answered. He explained their argument and how he wanted to prove she was wrong.
"It was a foolish wager," Emily said. "But I did win, and it's all your own fault, Travis. You should have been more specific, like the moneylender in a story I read called The Merchant of Venice. Have you ever read it?"
"As a matter of fact, I have."
"I don't recall reading the story," John said. "Of course, I don't know how to read yet, and that could be why I don't recollect it."
"I don't recollect it either, John," Millie said. "But I'm wanting to hear about it."
"It's a wonderful story," Emily began. "A gentleman borrowed money and made an agreement to pay it back within a certain amount of time. He also agreed that if he wasn't able to repay, then he would give the moneylender a pound of his flesh."
John's eyes widened. "That would kill a skinny man, wouldn't it?"
"It would kill any man," Travis told him.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jack get up and move to a table in the center of the room. It was apparent he was trying to get closer so he could hear every word Emily said, and he was also trying not to draw any attention to himself. It took all Travis had not to laugh, but, honest to God, seeing the savage up on his tiptoes really was comical. His brothers weren't going to believe him when he told them about it.
"Don't leave my John hanging for the rest of the story," Millie said in her usual abrupt tone. "It seems mighty foolish for a man to make such a rash promise, doesn't it, John?"
"Yes, Millie, it does seem foolish. Now, if the moneylender gave him time to put some weight on around his middle, well then, I'm thinking that promise wasn't so rash after all. Did he give him time?" he asked.
Emily shook her head and tried not to laugh. "No, John, he didn't give him time."
"He never should have made that promise," Millie insisted with a shake of her head. "He obviously wasn't from around these parts. Men out here would never do such a foolish thing."
"He was desperate," Emily explained. "And he was certain he would have the money in time to repay. He didn't though."
"I had a feeling that's what happened. Did he get cut up?" John asked.
"He died, didn't he?" Millie asked at the very same time.
"No, he didn't get cut up, and he didn't die," she answered.
"He welshed, didn't he? It just doesn't seem right to me," John said. "A promise made is a promise that's got to be kept. A man's word is sacred, after all. Isn't that right, Millie?"
"Yes, John, a man's word is all he's got in these parts. How did he get out of his promise?" she asked Emily. "Did he go into hiding?"
"No," Emily answered, smiling over the Perkinses' enthusiastic response to the story.
Travis was also smiling. Although he had read the Shakespearean play at Adam's insistence, he liked hearing Emily tell it much better. Her animated expressions made the characters seem real.
He happened to glance over at One-Eyed Jack then, saw what he interpreted to be a genuine smile on his face, and knew that Emily really had won the bet fair and square after all. The proof was hanging on her every word. Hanrahan was definitely smitten.
"If he didn't run away, what happened to him?" Millie asked.
"He refused to give a pound of flesh, and the moneylender refused to let him out of his promise or give him any more time, and so a trial was held to determine the outcome."
John slapped his hand down on the tabletop. "Leave it to the law to interfere."
"An attorney saved the man, of course," Travis said.
"Who just happened to be a woman," Emily reminded him. "Her name was Portia."
She and Millie shared a smile over that interesting fact before she continued.
"I'm wanting to know what in tarnation happened to the man who borrowed the money," Millie said. "What did the judge have to say?"
"He decided the agreement was legal and binding and that the moneylender was entitled to his pound of flesh."
"I knew it, Millie. Didn't I tell you a promise made is a promise that's got to be kept?"
"Yes, you did, John."
"But," Emily hastily added before she was interrupted again, "it was also ruled that while the moneylender could take his pound of flesh, he couldn't take a single drop of blood."
John rubbed his jaw while he mulled the judgment over in his mind. "Well now, I don't believe you can take any flesh without taking some blood."
"It's a fact you can't," Emily explained. "If the moneylender had been more specific," she said with a meaningful glance at Travis, "the outcome might have been different, but he wasn't specific, and neither were you with our wager, Travis. I won fair and square."
He admitted defeat, told her there were no hard feelings, and even suggested that she gloat if she felt like it.
"Want me to kiss you to prove I'm not mad?"
He realized he'd embarrassed her as soon as she lowered her gaze to the tabletop and shook her head at him. He reached over and put his hand on top of hers.
"You've got a lot in common with Portia," he whispered. "But I don't think she blushed when she won her case. You have her passion though."
Emily was pleased by the compliment. She wasn't given time to thank him, however, for a loud thumping sound interrupted all of them.
Someone was trying to break through the front door. John jumped up and ran to the entrance. Travis was right behind him.
"Are the men from Murphy's ranch here, Millie?" Emily asked.
"From the way they're banging on my door, I'd have to say it's them all right." She hurried over to Emily's side and latched onto her elbow. "You can finish eating in the kitchen tonight. You'll feel much safer, and Travis will make sure the ranch hands stay in my dining room. I don't know how I'm going to get you up those stairs though, but I'll let John worry about that. Come on, girl. This isn't the time to dally. Lord, I sure hope they aren't all liquored up. There's nothing worse than a drunk," she added with a shiver. "And if any of them steal my valuables, I swear I'll shoot them myself. Oh, I hope they aren't drunk."
Millie really was frightened. Emily wasn't about to take any chances. She picked up her plate of stew, followed Millie into the kitchen, and then offered to help her get the ranch hands' plates ready.
"You sit on down at the table and eat. I'll see to the chore after I put some more biscuit dough into my oven. After you've finished, you can scrub my frying pan if you have a mind to. It's been soaking in the basin long enough."
Emily was happy to have something to do. She quickly ate, then rolled up her sleeves and attacked the pan with a vengeance, smiling to herself as she tried to picture her mother's reaction if she were watching her daughter now. She would probably have heart palpitations, Emily supposed, for none of her daughters were ever allowed to do common housework-there were maids for that-but after she'd gotten over her initial shock, Emily didn't think she'd be disappointed in her.
"Millie, do you have anyone to help you with your chores?" she asked.
"No, but I'm getting used to the notion of hiring someone. My John's been nagging me to slow down, and lately our house has been packed with guests more often than not. After washing and cleaning and cooking and fetching all day long, by nightfall I'm so weary I can hardly get myself ready for bed."
"Have you ever thought about moving to a town?"
"No, I'd never want to do that. Folks have to come through here to get north or west unless the season's dry and they can cut through the gullies, and even though we have lots of company, we're still isolated enough to feel free. I don't think I could abide having neighbors living right on top of me, knowing my business. John wouldn't like it either."