into his arms as willingly as a lamb. He held her protectively in his embrace, and something dangerous inside of him clicked into place. He turned back to Peyton.
"I wondered if you were man enough to admit it." Tyler felt the shock rippling through the woman at his side, but Evie would come around quicker if he made her mad. He gave her a look of satisfaction when she tried to pull free. "Sorry, darling, but the resemblance is pretty clear even without the name. I'm surprised you haven't got around to carrying paintbrushes in your pockets."
"Tyler Monteigne, I'm going to smack you if you don't let me go right now. You've no call to be rude to my father."
Tyler reached around her and slipped his hand into the deep pocket of her gown. He pulled it out again with his fist clenched triumphantly around an assortment of oddities. Pulling a charcoal pencil from the litter, he held it out to the man watching them with uncertainty.
"Are all artists absentminded dreamers, or did she inherit that trait like the talent?"
Evie elbowed Tyler and grabbed the pencil still wrapped in his palm. "I am not absentminded. There are perfectly good reasons for everything in there. Now give me back my things, Tyler, or I'll start going through your pockets."
Tyler dumped the jumble into her hands, then held his palms free of his clothes. "Search away, woman, see what you can find."
Evie's gaze drifted to the area where his trouser pockets were located. If they had been alone...
But they were never alone. With a wry grimace of acceptance, she reached for his inside coat pocket and pulled out the derringer he kept there. "Does it have real bullets?" she asked with wide-eyed innocence as she pointed it at him.
Gingerly, Tyler disarmed her, and put the gun back where it belonged. He gave Peyton an apologetic look. "She really isn't as dumb as she pretends to be."
Since the "she" in question was now alive and kicking instead of pale-faced and teary-eyed, Peyton nodded in appreciation of Tyler's tactics. "I wouldn't expect her to be. Her mother was an intelligent woman. I'm the one missing in the brains department."
Tyler grinned as he caught Evie's arms to keep her from any further assaults. "Well, I've been told the same thing, but I'm smart enough to know a good thing when I see one."
"I am not a thing, Tyler Monteigne," Evie hissed, struggling to be free of his grasp.
"Who says I'm talking about you?" Tyler released her wrists and held up his hands again. Seeing the bouquet of roses filling the vase on the dresser, he grabbed one and handed it to her. They weren't the real thing, but they were all he had to offer. "Truce OK? Am I going to get to hear the whole story or do I make up my own?"
Years of details tumbled out over the next few hour as Daniel came in and dinner was served and everyone had their own stories to tell. Although James Peyton had left Texas long before the children were born, they had memories of their mother reading his letters, of the gift she bought for them when he sent her money, and excited voices carried the meal long after dark.
When Evie and Carmen finally took the youngest off to bed, Peyton glanced around the main room with puzzlement. Daniel sat on the straw pallet by the fireplace reading a book. The boys had gone off to the back bedroom, and Maria was being bedded down in the front bedroom. He shook his head and gave Tyler a considering look.
"They don't leave you much privacy, do they?"
Having discarded coat, tie, and waistcoat in the evening heat, Tyler sat at the table in shirtsleeves, sipping his coffee. He shrugged lightly at the question. "There's a few problems we haven't conquered yet."
Peyton's eyes narrowed. "What do you do for a living? Seems to me if you're in a position to marry you ought to be in a position to offer a wife a house of her own."
Tyler merely set his cup down and offered his most charming grin. "I prefer challenges, sir. Any man can find himself a sweet little wife and settle her in a cozy cottage and bring home enough coins to keep her happy But that's not enough for me."
Daniel spoke up from his corner, glancing over the top of his glasses. "He means he's a gambler who'd rather take his chances on a