Colorado Dawn by Kaki Warner Page A

at Ash, “want me to get my pistol?”
    “Not unless you want me to have it. Come, lass. Put your dog down. I’ll watch Tricks until they’re acquainted.”
    Hesitantly, she lifted the dog from her lap.
    Ash felt the wolfhound tense under his hand and murmured softly in Gaelic until the dog relaxed.
    As soon as the rat touched dirt, it charged.
    Madeline leaped from her chair.
    “Wooee!” Satterwhite hollered, lifting his scuffed boots out of the raging mite’s path.
    “Hold fast!” Ash ordered.
    His wife obeyed. The rat dinna.
    Without rising to his feet, Tricks lifted his head out of the frenzied creature’s reach as the dog yipped and jumped in his face.
    “Easy, lad. The thing is mostly hair and gristle and wouldna go down easy anyway.”
    Eventually the wee beastie wore itself out. Panting, its pink tongue drooping from its open mouth, the rat settled on its haunches and attempted to stare down the bigger dog.
    Tricks responded by lifting a hind foot and scratching his ear.
    “See, lass? All is well.”
    “I thought for sure the big one would eat the little one.” Satterwhite sounded disappointed.
    Ash studied the rat, trying to determine its ancestry. “One of those Mexican dogs, is it?”
    “Half.” Still watchful, Madeline sank back into the chair. “The mother was a Corgi of low virtue who was also a sound sleeper. An unfortunate combination,” she added with a pointed look in his direction.
    He ignored it. “I find it odd,” he said pleasantly, “that you named your wee dog after me. I might even have been flattered, had the animal been male.”
    “Angus is a girl?” Satterwhite bent to study the dog’s furry underparts. “I never knew that. ’Course I never looked that hard, either.”
    “She is.” His wife focused her attention on smoothing the skirt draped over her knees. “And her name is Agnes.”
    “Agnes? You said it was Angus, missy.”
    “I fear you misheard, Mr. Satterwhite.”
    Ash watched her lips twitch. A smile, perchance? It gave him hope that the fine sense of humor he remembered might still lurk beneath that starchy reserve. “A common mistake, so it is.”
    “Indeed.”
    Turning to the old man, Ash said in a friendly tone, “In the future,Satterwhite, you willna call my wife ‘missy.’ She is a viscountess and should be addressed as my lady or Lady Madeline or Viscountess Ashby.”
    “Oh, rubbish,” his wife interjected. “And I suppose next you’ll insist I call you Lord Ashby. Don’t be such a stick. Missy is fine, Mr. Satterwhite. We are friends, after all.” Turning back to Ash, she added as if he were a blithering numptie, “Americans do not recognize titles,
Angus
. And as I have not yet accepted yours, I choose not to use it.”
    He managed to keep his voice calm. “It’s not a matter of choice,
Maddie
. I am Viscount Ashby. You are wedded to me. Thus, you are Viscountess Ashby. And even though it’s customary for peers to be addressed by their titles rather than their given names, if Ashby is too lofty for you, I’ll answer to Ash.” He punctuated that with a wide grin.
    She looked away, her lips pressed in a thin, flat line.
    Again, Ash wondered why she was fighting him on this. Most women he knew would jump at a title. Yet, she wanted none of it. Why?
    Or was it him she wanted naught to do with?
    “Stew’s done, Your Majesties,” Satterwhite announced. “Grab your plates.”
    They ate the burned food beside the fire. Although it was still early evening, the sun had dropped behind the trees and long shafts of dappled light slanted across the wispy grass. Already the air was cooling, and Maddie was grateful when Angus—Ash—added another log to the coals.
    Ash.
It suited him. As did the gray hair. With his imposing figure and handsome face, and now a lofty title, he would have no trouble finding another woman to be his viscountess. Then she would be free to take her pictures and travel when and where she wanted, and answer to no