by Janet Dean
So much for her plan to start the morning off on a good note, thinking a well-cooked meal would be a way to ease into the “Oh, by the way, I have a brother” discussion. Instead, once Ted saw the meal, she’d be fortunate if he stayed at the table, much less let Robby join them there.
“Bam! Bam!” Henry beat his spoon on the tray of the high chair. Oatmeal flew, landing on the floor with a splat.
“Henry Logan, I don’t have time to clean up the mess you’re making. So stop that. Please.”
“Bam! Bam! Bam!” He did it again, this time laughing at his cleverness. The last bang sent the spoon clanging to the planks.
If he knew the trouble she’d had making that oatmeal, he’d treat the meal with more respect. Elizabeth bent to retrieve the utensil. “I asked you nicely. Flipping oatmeal is nasty.”
No sooner had the words left her mouth, than something plopped on her head. She reached up and grabbed hold of one oatmeal-coated, chubby hand and looked into Henry’s grinning face. “Good thing you’re as cute as a bug’s ear, young man.”
“Bug!”
“You’re a boy, not a bug.”
“Bug,” he said, then whacked her square on the nose with an oatmeal-loaded fist.
“Ouch.” No wonder Mama had taken her breakfast in bed. The kitchen was a hazardous place. A woman could languish under a mountain of oatmeal and pasty eggs. She wanted to be mad, but found herself running a finger along his cheek.
Henry giggled, ducking his head.
Whenever she saw the mischief in his eyes, part of her softened like butter on a sultry summer day. “I won’t be swayed by those dancing eyes, young man.”
She walked to the door and whistled Tippy inside. He gobbled the oatmeal and licked Henry’s extended hand for dessert before Elizabeth herded him back outside. If Tippy could master a dust mop, he could get a job as a maid.
The smell of smoke brought her nose up in the air. Something was burning. “The toast!”
She raced to the oven. Using a towel, she flung it open and yanked out the pan. Their closest neighbor to the south had sent over a loaf of fresh-baked bread with her oldest son and she’d destroyed the gift. Her eyes stung. She’d been counting on the toast, at least, to be edible.
How would she ever convince Ted to allow her to bring Robby here if she couldn’t handle the work she already had?
The back door opened and closed. Anna wrinkled her nose. “I smell smoke.”
“How’s breakfast coming?” Ted asked.
From across the kitchen, Elizabeth shot him a scowl.
A crooked grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Guess I don’t have to ask.”
He washed his hands and asked Anna to do the same, then took the toast from Elizabeth’s hands. “Better check your hair before that lump of oatmeal dries.” He scrapped the burned crumbs into the sink.
“That lump is a gift from your son.”
Ted chuckled. “He’s a generous boy, like his father.”
Rolling her eyes, she whirled toward the mirror hanging near the sink and plucked at the oatmeal, shaking it off her fingers into the slop jar, then dabbed at the gooey spot with a damp towel, avoiding Ted’s gaze.
“You, ah, missed some.” Ted came around her, took the towel and with a gentle touch, wiped at the mess. He stood facing her, mere inches away, close enough she could feel the heat emanating from his skin. She remained motionless, for surely if she took a step, she’d find herself in the comfort of his arms.
“Your hair is beautiful.” Husky and quiet, his tone rumbled with something intimate. “Like sun-kissed wheat.” His gaze locked with hers, sending a shiver down her spine.
Elizabeth had received dozens of compliments over the years, but never had one left her reeling. She pressed a palm to the mass of curls she hadn’t had time to tuck into a chignon. “My hair’s a mess. I’ll put it up later—”
“Don’t. I mean, you needn’t worry. You look…good as new.”
“I do?” She ran her fingers through her hair, searching for another chunk of Henry’s breakfast, while her wayward heart hammered in her chest. “I doubt that.”
“Never doubt a man’s compliment. They don’t come easy for most of us.”
Across the way, Anna watched Elizabeth and Ted with narrowed eyes, her mouth thinned in disapproval. Hadn’t Elizabeth watched her parents as Anna watched them now? Not out of jealousy or pain as Anna surely did, but with hope.
Time and time again, she’d seen Papa sweet-talk his way back into the good graces of his disgruntled wife. Those moments of affection between her parents hadn’t lasted. The inevitable letdowns had sent her mother to bed and her father to the gambling tables.
Elizabeth fingered her mother’s cameo, the only piece of jewelry that hadn’t been sold to pay the bills.
Her thumb roamed the face of the cameo as she thought of another necklace. A strand of shimmering pearls. Papa had swooped in at breakfast and draped them around Mama’s neck. “Happy anniversary! You get prettier with every year, Amanda. As young as the day we married.”
Mama had giggled at the claim.
“You don’t believe me.” He pointed to the mirror hanging over the buffet. “Look at yourself.”
With her cheeks flushed with pleasure and her eyes sparkling, Mama was beautiful, regal like a queen. Standing at her side, Papa was her crown prince, tall and imposing. The perfect couple—or so they appeared.
Then Papa danced Mama around the room. She’d thrown back her head laughing, her face glowing like the morning sun.
“I’ve made reservations for dinner,” he said. “Afterward we’ll stop at the club.”
Mama paled. “Not the club. Not tonight.”
He kissed her cheek. “I’ll win enough to buy the matching bracelet and earrings. Wouldn’t you like that?”
Watching them leave, Elizabeth had never seen a more enchanting couple, looking as if they’d stepped out of a fairy tale. She’d waited up to see them come home. A little after midnight, Mama came in alone. The next day Papa arrived home, and rushed back out again to sell a painting and Mama’s pearls to pay a debt.
As always, Mama had smiled, but that smile was a little dimmer, her face a little more shadowed. She and Papa never danced in the breakfast room again.
Her mother might’ve pretended the Mannings lived in a rosy world, but she hadn’t fooled Elizabeth. A hundred times over in her parents’ lives, she’d witnessed Papa charm his way into Mama’s heart one minute, then break it the next.
Their happiness had been as fleeting as a shooting star. Love led to shattered dreams and broken hearts. Elizabeth’s throat tightened as her hand fell away from the cameo.
Don’t. Don’t get close.
Don’t get wrapped up in Ted and his compliments.
She needed to forget about her parents, forget about Ted’s flattering and concentrate on finding a way to ease into the subject of Robby.
Resolute, she turned to the stove. Oh, my, now all the eggs were cooked hard, the river of yellow solid. She sighed and scrapped three of them on a plate, added four slices of bacon and set the dish in front of Ted, who gifted her with a smile.
Ignoring that smile, she returned with a bowl of oatmeal and a glass of milk for Anna. Last she brought the toast, slapped it down at Ted’s elbow and then filled his coffee cup.
Ted waited for her to sit, and then bowed his head for prayer. When he’d blessed the food, he grabbed a spoon and scooped oatmeal into his son’s open-like-a-baby-bird mouth. Henry grabbed the spoon, playing tug-of-war, and then gave up on the contest and fed himself with his fingers.
Elizabeth should rush over to wash Henry’s hands, but that meant tattling on Tippy and on her. Besides, a little dog-lick wouldn’t hurt a perpetually grubby boy like Henry. Would it?
“Daddy lets me milk Nellie and Bessie on Saturday,” Anna said between bites of oatmeal.
“You’re Daddy’s helper.” Ted tugged one of Anna’s braids, and then dove into the hard-cooked e
ggs.
“Me and Daddy saw you let Tippy inside,” Anna said in an accusing tone.
Elizabeth smiled. “Tippy is better at mopping than I am.”
“She said Tippy mops.” Anna chuffed. “He can’t hold a mop, can he, Daddy?”
“Well, evidently he has other ways of cleaning up.” He motioned to Henry. “With this guy around, I can see the advantages of bringing Tippy inside upon occasion.” Ted’s eyes roamed over her face, sending Elizabeth’s pulse skittering. “Wish I’d thought of it.”
He reached out and brushed a crumb from her lip. Elizabeth gulped as heat flushed her cheeks. This man did strange things to her insides that she wouldn’t trust.
She shot up from the table and grabbed a cloth to wipe up Henry. The little boy wailed in protest, shaking his head back and forth with a speed Elizabeth couldn’t match.
Anna slipped in between them, took the cloth out of Elizabeth’s grasp. Trapping Henry’s chin in one hand, Anna sang a tune about scrubbing in a tub and cleaned the cereal from her brother’s face. Then, smirking at Elizabeth, she strolled toward the back door.
“Anna, you need to ask to be excused,” Elizabeth said without thinking.
“I don’t have to, do I, Daddy?”
“Yes, that’s the polite thing to do. I’ve been negligent about our table manners.”
With her lower lip protruding, Anna returned to her seat, eyeing Elizabeth. “Can I go, Daddy?”
“Yes, you may.”
Anna walked past Elizabeth. “Was your mama as mean as you?” She raced out the door, letting it slap behind her.
Ted sighed.
Elizabeth swallowed hard. She’d tired of her mother’s focus on etiquette, while under that facade of perfection their world tumbled out of control.
Did Anna feel the same?
She forced a laugh, but even she could hear the wobbly hurt in it. “Maybe I was too tough on Anna.”
“I’m sorry about Anna’s behavior. Since Rose died, I haven’t had the heart to discipline her. It shows.”
“I understand that.” She was very aware of the ramifications of losing a mother.
To smooth her relationship with Anna, she’d overlook the small things that didn’t matter to children. And leave the training of his daughter to Ted.
She glanced at her husband. Ted’s attention had drifted away. He’d gone somewhere else, somewhere far from his kitchen. “It can’t be easy, stepping into another woman’s shoes,” he said at last. “It’s not easy for me, either. I try to be a good father, but I’m failing Anna when she needs me most.”
The anguish in his tone banged against Elizabeth’s heart. “I’m not sure men occupy the same role as women. Some women are born mothers.” She didn’t bother to add she was not one of them. Ted already knew.
He brought his gaze back to her. “True. My mother…wasn’t.”
That pause said a lot. Elizabeth wanted to ask, to probe, but she wasn’t here to be Ted Logan’s confidant. She was here for Robby.
“What kind of a mother was yours?” Ted asked.
“Loving.” She sighed. “I was strong willed and she didn’t know what to make of me.” Amanda Manning could no more stand up to her daughter than she had her husband. “Martha arrived when I was five and laid down the rules.”
“You must’ve been more like your father.”
His assessment stung. But she couldn’t deny it. “Papa laughed at the antics that put Mama in a tizzy. He’d say, ‘Leave her alone, Amanda. She’ll never be bedridden by life.’” Elizabeth swallowed hard. “I realized later they were talking about each other, not about me.” She clasped her hands in her lap. “It was never about me.”
“I’m sorry.” Ted brushed his fingers along her cheek. “You’re a precious child of God. Don’t let anyone’s assessment, even your own, determine your worth.”
Tears brimmed in her eyes. She turned her face away. “I’m sorry I was too young to understand her. To understand the battles she fought every day. If only I could ask her forgiveness.”
“Nothing Anna and Henry could do would stop me from forgiving them. I’m sure your mother felt the same.”
Could Ted be right? Could Mama have forgiven her, even without Elizabeth asking for absolution? “I hope so.”
Ted stretched out a hand, taking hers in his firm grip. “If you ask Him, God will forgive you anything. And give you the peace about your mistakes that you need. That we all need.”
She gave a wry smile. “You sound like a preacher.”
Disquiet flitted across his face. He withdrew his hand. “I’m glad you’re in here fixing breakfast when I’m out at the barn. I can’t thank you enough for taking care of us and for watching my children.”
She shrugged as if it was nothing. But in truth just making eggs was a formidable task. Yet nothing compared to the demands of taking care of Ted’s children.
“Maybe some women aren’t born to be mothers,” Ted said. “But they can become good mothers.”
“If you’re thinking of me that would take a miracle.”
He studied her, his eyes dark, penetrating, as if he wanted something from her that she couldn’t give.
Elizabeth rose, gathering the dishes and carrying them to the sink, but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember what to do with them.
Behind her she heard the scrape of a chair, then felt the heat of Ted’s body as he closed the gap between them. “I hope…”
She turned toward him, waiting. “Hope what?”
He leaned nearer until he stood mere inches away. The solid comfort of his presence slid through her. With his cupped hand, he lifted her chin. Her pulse kicked up.
Would he…?
Would he kiss her?
“I hope in time you’ll be happy here,” he said. “In every way.”
Then he turned and left.
They’d opened up to each other, given a peek into their worlds. And she’d gotten sidetracked from raising the subject of her brother.
Instead of planning her next step toward accomplishing that goal, she slumped onto a chair, reliving that almost kiss.
Feeling the oddest sense of relief.
And disappointment.
Chapter Ten
Even from yards away, the odor of the place hit Elizabeth harder than a belch from Reginald Parks. She shoved the egg basket at Ted. “I’ll, ah, wait out here.”
He arched a brow. “You’re afraid of a few chickens?”
“I didn’t say I was afraid.” Elizabeth put her hand over her nose. “It’s just…they stink.”
He bent down and chucked her under the chin. “You are afraid.” He laughed. “I can see it in your eyes.”
She couldn’t let him know he was right, not with those teasing eyes daring her to act. These smelly birds would pay for her and Robby’s tickets. She dared not refuse to gather their eggs. “Fine, I’ll do it…if you go with me.”
“I’ll show you how it’s done.” He touched her scarf looped around her head. “If you plan on getting along with the hens, you might want to remove that red kerchief.”
“I can’t go into that nasty coop without covering my hair.”
“Still, you’d better—”
She fisted her hands on her hips. “Ted Logan, you’re always telling me what to do.”
“Fine. Do it your way.”
He opened the door and she slapped a hand over her mouth and nose and stepped inside with Ted on her heels. As the door closed, the henhouse exploded with activity—squawking hens, flapping wings. Chickens streaked across the wooden floor. Flew to perch on the rafters.
Heart pounding, Elizabeth turned to Ted. “These birds are wild! And you suggested I come in here without a kerchief. My hair could be caked with lots more than oatmeal.”
He opened his mouth, but she shot him a look and he clamped it shut. Good. He’d gotten the message. Finally.
She turned back to the peevish hens, determined not to let her disquiet show. “Haven’t you se
en a lady in pants before?” she crooned. “Only difference—your pants are made of feathers.”
The chickens clucked. Ted joined in with a soft chuckle. Finally the henhouse quieted. Elizabeth inched farther into the coop, letting her eyes adjust to the dim interior.
Two chickens, unruffled and serene, remained in their straw-stuffed boxes. They didn’t look all that scary.
She approached the first box on her left, overflowing with a fat, white hen. “Can I have your egg?” The hen blinked at her and squatted farther into the straw. “Please?” She shooed the bird but the stubborn creature didn’t budge.
“Slip your hand beneath the hen, real easy like, and pull out the egg,” Ted said.
But when she reached, the hen turned one beady, ferocious eye on her, a warning she’d heed. She took a step back. “Keep it, if it means that much to you.”
“Here, I’ll get it.” Ted retrieved the egg without incident. He met her gaze and shrugged. “They know me.”
“Too bad I left my calling cards in Chicago.” Gripping the egg basket, she ignored Ted’s laugh and edged down the row, plucking eggs from the vacant nests. As she approached the next sitting hen, the bird hopped aside to reveal a pristine egg.
Elizabeth smiled. “Now, that’s more like it.” She stretched out a hand. In a flash, the hen pecked the top. “Ouch! You’d better watch it or you’ll end up as Sunday’s dinner.”
Not that she could kill that bird…unless looks could kill.
“Let me.” Ted tried to step between the hen and her, but Elizabeth would not give way.
She reached again. The hen pecked again—harder. Elizabeth let out a shriek. A bird flew from its perch on the rafter into her face. Blinded, her heart lurching against her chest, Elizabeth jerked away, stepped into a water pan and staggered backward, dropping the basket.
Ted caught her before she hit the floor. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” But she wasn’t. She fought back angry tears. She loathed this farm and all the smelly, scary, noisy beasts living on it. Right now that included Ted.
But in truth, she wanted him to put those strong arms of his around her. Make her feel safe. Secure. Tell her everything would be okay, even though it wouldn’t.
