Nora. Diana Palmer
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upsetting her cup of coffee. Nora quickly steadied it. “Careful,” she cautioned under her breath, “lest Aunt Helen suspect and say something to you as well.”
“Thank you,” Melly said sincerely. She laughed unsteadily. “I daresay, we are both in danger from Mama this evening. And from the look of things, you seem to be on Mr. Barton’s list of preoccupations.”
“That is unlikely now, since I have been forced to snub him,” Nora said carelessly, refusing to look as she saw Cal making his way steadily toward them. “I fear that he finds me totally forgettable.”
“Really? Would you look at that scowl!” she mused as he came closer.
Nora’s own hands were none too steady, but she had poise and composure that young Melly lacked. She looked up at Cal indifferently, feeling the distance in their social stations keenly as she took in his slightly out-of-fashion suit and the scuffs on his black dress boots. She couldn’t know that he’d dug them out of the bottom of his trunk deliberately for the occasion, to reinforce his status as a lowly ranch hand.
“You look very nice, Mr. Barton,” Melly said with a grin.
“Thank you, Miss Tremayne,” he replied politely. “So do you.”
Nora tried not to look at him. She sipped her coffee. “Are you having a good time, Mr. Barton?” she asked. “I take it that social functions aren’t your usual sort of entertainment.”
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