Page 111 of Native Hawk
“A commode? Emily!” Anne jostled her friend. “Don’t be silly. What man would get his bride…” Then she looked askance at Drew. “It ain’t a commode, is it?”
“No,” he assured her.
“Twelve anvils,” Chase grumbled.
“Mr. Wolf,” Emily chided, “honestly…”
“Oh, I know! I know what it is!” Anne announced. “It’s a cradle!”
Mortified, Chase and Drew answered together, “A cradle?”
Chase pinned him with a glare. “Are you…?”
Drew blew out a steadying breath. “No.No.It ain’t a cradle.”
“Well, I’m stumped,” Anne said.
They slid the crate into the bedroom and took a crowbar to it. Even after it was unpacked and the ladies were cooing over it, Chase had no idea what the strange wood and iron contraption was.
But that was fine. Cat would know exactly what it was.
