Marrying the Preacher's Daughter. Cheryl St.John

others this evening. Not that she’d wanted him to. She’d never have imagined her stepmother and siblings to be so easily fooled.

      On her next trip for more dishes, she deliberately looked at his eyelashes. He caught her stare, and she turned away in discomfit.

      Abigail carried her bowl of steaming cinnamon-scented rice pudding to the table and Elisabeth placed a stack of painted china jelly dishes beside it. Abigail sat, so Elisabeth spooned pudding and carried the bowls around the table, placing them in front of the diners. When she reached Gabe, she stood as far away as possible and leaned in to set the dish before him.

      He turned a curious glance upward. “Thank you.”

      “We don’t need any bridges.”

      Elisabeth glanced up to discover Rhys speaking to Gabe.

      “And there are no salt mines nearby. Will you be making shingles in Jackson Springs?”

      She sensed a mocking edge, as though Rhys was belittling the other man’s skills or perhaps even questioning his intent.

      “Actually, I’m planning to invest,” Gabe replied.

      Rhys lifted his eyebrows. “As in stocks?”

      “Perhaps. But I’m more interested in finding someone who needs capital to get a business started. I don’t want to work the business, so as long as it’s a sound principle. I’d be a silent partner. Meanwhile I’ll buy a few horses and try my hand at ranching.”

      Gabe had Rhys’s attention now. The man sat forward, ignoring the dessert placed before him to focus on Gabe. “And you have the capital to fund a venture such as that?”

      It was a rude question, akin to asking the man how much money he had, but Rhys was a banker, and she supposed it was his nature to question.

      “That I do, Mr. Jackson.”

      “Rhys. Call me Rhys.”