by Donna Alward
“Oh, yes.” He gave a shrug. “Another girl. That’s four nieces.”
“Do you have something against girls?”
The cup halted halfway to his mouth. “What? Oh, of course not. We just keep hoping for a boy. To keep the Evans and Son going, you know?”
Emily watched him as he got out juice glasses—three of them—pouring orange juice in two and leaving the third one empty but waiting. He had remembered Sam, then. At times last night and this morning it had seemed as though Luke forgot Sam was even there.
“This is the twenty-first century, Luke.” She smiled at him, poured another pancake. “A girl could take over the farm as well as a boy, you know. Evans and Niece might not have the same ring to it, but I didn’t have you pegged for one worrying about an heir to the empire. Besides, you might still have some big, strapping prairie boys of your own.” She added the pancake to the stack on the warmer with a smile. But her teasing had backfired. He stared at her now with an expression that seemed partly hurt and partly angry.
“I don’t plan on having a family,” he replied, then dropped his gaze, focusing on cutting his pancakes, his knife scraping along the porcelain. Emily stared at him for a second, absolutely nonplussed, and then remembered she still had a pancake cooking and it needed to be turned if she didn’t want it to burn.
He finished the meal in silence as she cooked more pancakes, stacking them until the warmer was full. The quiet stretched out uncomfortably; Emily wanted to break it somehow but after his last words she had no idea what to say that would be a good start to a conversation. He’d clearly ended the last attempt.
He finished what was on his plate and came over to the stove, standing at her elbow. She wished she could ignore him and relax, but he was six foot something of muscled man. She couldn’t pretend he didn’t exist. Not when all of her senses were clamoring like the bells of a five-alarm fire. She gripped the spatula tightly.
“Are there any more of those, Emily?”
She let her breath out slowly, not wanting him to sense her relief. Extra pancakes—was that all he wanted? “Take as many as you like,” she replied. “I can make more for Sam when he gets up.”
He lifted four from the warming tray and Emily swallowed against the lump that had formed in her throat. My, he did have a good appetite. Was there nothing about the man that wasn’t big and virile? On the back of the thought came the unwanted but automatic comparison to Rob. Rob in his suits and Italian loafers and his fancy car. Rob going out the door with a travel mug and a briefcase in the morning. When those things had disappeared so abruptly from her life it had broken her heart. She’d built her whole life around their little family, loving every moment of caring for their house and watching Sam grow. She’d lost the life she’d always dreamed of and it still hurt.
But it was time to start dreaming about something new. Emily lifted her head and caught a glimpse of the wide fields out the kitchen window. The golden fields were Luke’s office. His jeans and boots and, oh, yes, the T-shirts that displayed his muscled arms were his work clothes. The prairie wind was his air conditioning and the sun his office lighting.
She smiled, knowing that the wide-open space was something she’d been missing for a long time. The memories would always be there, but they hurt less now. As she looked out over the sunny fields, she knew that leaving the city had been the right thing to do. She was moving forward with her life, and it felt good.
“What are you smiling at?” Luke asked the question from the table, but he’d put down his fork and was giving her his full attention. And the pancake batter was gone, leaving her with nothing to do to keep her hands busy. Six pancakes remained; certainly enough for her breakfast with Sam. She put down the bowl and brushed her hands on the apron she’d found in the drawer.
“I was just thinking how nice it must be to go to work in the outdoors,” she replied, picking up her cooling coffee. Anything to let her hide just a little bit from Luke’s penetrating gaze.
“Not so nice on rainy days, but yeah…I think I’d go crazy locked up inside all day. You strike me as the inside kind.”
“What makes you say that?”
He looked down at his tanned arms and then at her pale, white limbs. Then up at her face while a small smile played with his lips.
“Okay, you’re right. Sam and I made it to the park but our backyard…” She sighed. “It was very small. Sam had a little slide there, a kid-sized picnic table. That was about it.”
“Boys need room to run around.”
She poured herself more coffee. “Yes, I know. Suburbia wasn’t always part of the plan. I did grow up with more than a postage stamp for a yard, you know. In Regina.”
“You’re from Regina?”
“Just outside, yes. My mom was a stay-at-home mom and my dad sold cars.” Telling Luke took her back to her college days when she’d been slightly ashamed of her modest home and she realized now that Rob had never quite fit in there. Perhaps this split had always been coming, and was not as random as she thought. She’d been trying to be someone she wasn’t. Maybe he had, too. Now, despite the fact that she knew there would be a certain bit of “I told you so”, home didn’t seem so bad. She’d been afraid of being judged, but she knew that wasn’t really why she didn’t want to go back. She didn’t want to go back a failure. She wanted to go back when she could look her parents in the eye and say that she’d fixed it. The way they’d always seemed to fix things. If money was tight or jobs were lost, they still always seemed to manage. And they’d stayed together. Not because they had to, but because they loved each other. Emily found it so hard to live up to that kind of example.
However, she could say none of this to Luke. What would he think of her if he knew? The last thing she wanted was to lay out a list of her faults and failings.
“And what took you to Calgary?”
She simply lifted an eyebrow.
“Ah,” he chuckled, understanding. “Sam’s father?”
She nodded, finally taking a seat at the table and curling her hands around the mug. The sun was up over the knoll now and gleaming brightly in the kitchen. This was where the questions would end. She had no desire to tell Luke the sordid details of the split. There would be no more breakfasts for two. She was here to work. It was glorious just to be able to make her own decisions now. She just kept telling herself that. Her parents didn’t know she’d had to give up her house or that she hadn’t received any child support. She’d been too proud to tell them. She’d been certain she’d turn things around before they got to this point. And she would. She just needed a little more time and a solid plan.
“And you?” To keep him from prying further into her personal life, she turned the tables. “You’ve been here your whole life, I suppose.”
“Of course.”
“The girls didn’t care to be farmers?”
He looked at her over the rim of his mug, his blue gaze measuring. Luke Evans was no pushover, Emily realized. He saw right through her intentions. It should have put her off, but it didn’t. Everything about Luke was intelligent, decisive. It was crazily sexy.
“The ‘girls’, as you say, got married and started their own families. Joe manages a farm-equipment dealership—he’s the proud daddy this morning. Liz’s husband is a schoolteacher. They both know their way around a barn, but that’s not their life now.”
“So you handle this alone?” She put the mug down on the table.
“I have some hired help.” His lips made a thin line and his gaze slid from hers. Subject closed.
But she pressed on. “Then what about the Evans and Son on the sign? What about your dad and mom? How long have they been gone?”
He pushed out his chair and put his mug on top of his plate, taking the stack to the cupboard next to the sink. “I’ve got to get going. I have to get the boys started on their own this morning so I can run into town.”
Emily knew she had gone too far. Something about his parents pushed a button. She had sensed it when she’d se
en their picture, when he’d looked into their empty bedroom and again just now when she’d asked about them.
“About town…you really are short of groceries. Could we go with you? We won’t take extra time. We can shop while you run your errands.”
He reached for his hat and plunked it on his head. To Emily, it seemed like armor to hide behind. And it added inches to his height.
Maybe some people didn’t appreciate a closet full of fresh-smelling clothes, shining floors and a good meal, but she’d bet Luke would. She’d bet anything that he’d grown up exactly that way. His sisters had moved on, apparently to fulfilling, happy lives. Why hadn’t Luke? Not that the farm wasn’t successful. But it felt like a piece of the puzzle was missing.
“I can’t expect you to cook without food, I suppose,” he replied. “Be ready about nine, then. I need to get back as soon as I can.”
“Yes, boss,” she replied, putting his dishes in the sink to wash up.
It was all back to the status quo until he reached the screen door and then she heard his voice call quietly. “Emily?”
She went to the doorway. “Yes?”
He smiled. “Good pancakes.”
The screen door shut behind him, but Emily stared at it a good ten seconds before making her feet move.
Yes, indeed. She could wow Luke Evans in the kitchen. And she knew exactly what would be on the menu tonight.
CHAPTER FOUR
LUKE GAVE THE ratchet another turn and adjusted the trouble light. When had it gotten so dark? He stood back, staring at the rusted parts that made up the baler. It needed love. It needed replacing. But this repair would hold him through this season. And if things went well, he’d talk Joe into a discount and buy a new one next year.
He made a few final adjustments and straightened, rubbing the small of his back. Between the trip to town, Cait and the baler, he’d spent all of half an hour in the fields today. He frowned. It wasn’t how he liked to run things. He wasn’t a boss who gave orders and disappeared. Here everyone worked together and shared the load. But what could he do? He’d left the repairs until after dinner as it was, working in the dim light.
“Hi.”
He spun at the sound of the small voice and saw Sam standing before him in his bare feet and a pair of cotton pajamas. The boy was cute as a bug’s ear, Luke acknowledged, with his brown curls and wide chocolate eyes like his mother’s. Eyes that seemed to see everything. Luke wiped his hands on a rag and tucked the end into his back pocket. “Shouldn’t you be up at the house? In bed?”
A light blush darkened Sam’s cheeks as his gaze skittered away for a moment. “I couldn’t sleep. It’s too hot.”
“Your mom would open the window.”
“She said she didn’t want to hear a peep out of me,” Sam admitted, and Luke hid a smile. Not hear a peep, so sneaking out of the house was okay?
“Then you’d better hightail it back in there, don’t you think? You don’t want your mom to be mad.”
Sam swallowed and nodded and turned away, only to turn back again. “Why don’t you like my mama?”
Luke’s hands dropped to his sides as Sam asked the point-blank question. “What makes you think I don’t like her?” he asked.
“Because you never said anything to her at supper. And she made veal. I helped. She only does that when it’s special.”
The veal had been good, as had the pasta and salad. Certainly much fancier than he was used to making for himself. “I suppose I had my head full of everything I need to do. I don’t usually have company at the dinner table. I guess I’m not one for conversation.”
Why on earth was he explaining this to a five-year-old boy? Besides, he knew it was a feeble excuse. He hadn’t known what to say to her. He’d walked in to a house smelling of furniture polish and the fragrant lilacs she’d cut and put in one of his mother’s vases she’d unearthed from somewhere. He’d instantly been transported to a time when the house had been filled with family. His mother’s warm smiles. His dad’s teasing. All of it had been taken from him in what felt like an instant, and he knew the chances of history repeating itself were too good to fool around with. But today he’d been taken back to a happier time.
He’d looked at Emily and felt the noose tightening. All through the meal he thought of her as she’d looked that morning as they ate alone in the quiet kitchen, with her pretty smiles and soft voice. It had felt domestic. Alarm bells had gone off like crazy in his head. He knew the signs. Watchfulness. Blushes. He was as guilty of it as she was, and he had kept his distance ever since very deliberately. He’d had no idea what to say to her.
“I think you hurt her feelings,” Sam persisted. His tone turned defensive and his brown eyes snapped. “My mama’s a nice lady,” he announced, lifting his chin as if daring Luke to dispute it, an action so like his mother Luke found it hard not to smile. “She cooks good and reads me stories and does all the best voices with my dinosaur puppets.”
This was Luke’s problem. He was too soft. He already felt sorry for the pair of them, and he didn’t even really know the extent of their situation. Nor did he want to. He knew he shouldn’t get involved. They were not his responsibility, and he didn’t want them to be. He’d had enough responsibility to last a lifetime, and even though his sisters were on their own there was still the issue of his father’s ongoing care. Emily was the housekeeper. Full stop.
Even Cait, in the first bloom of motherhood, had sensed something was up today. He’d said nothing, not wanting to mention Emily or her kid, instead dutifully admiring baby Janna. His sister was happy, but a family was not for him. So why did seeing her with Joe and her baby make him feel so empty? It was like that every time he saw Liz’s girls, too. They thought he didn’t particularly care for children. But the sorry truth was he knew he would never have any of his own and keeping his distance was just easier.
“I like your mom just fine, and you’re right, supper was good. But my job is to fix this baler so we can roll up the hay out there and have feed for the winter.”
Sam scowled. “Mama told me if we didn’t stay here we had to go to Grandma and Grampa’s. I don’t even know what they look like.”
Luke leaned against the bumper, watching Sam with keen eyes. When had she said such a thing? Before arriving or after he’d given her the job? He found the answer mattered to him. And how could Sam not know his grandparents? Regina wasn’t so far from Calgary as to prevent visits.
“Oh, you must remember them.”
But Sam shook his head. “My mama says they would be excited to see me because they haven’t since I was a baby.”
Three years. Maybe four, if what he said was true. Luke frowned. Even though he’d only known her a few days, he pictured Emily as the type to be surrounded by family. What had kept them apart?
“You should go on up to the house,” he said, more firmly this time. “You don’t want to get in trouble with your mom, Sam. Go on now.”
Sam’s lips twisted a little. “You don’t like me either,” he announced.
“What does it matter if I like you or not?” Luke was feeling annoyed now, having his character called out by a boy. Besides, it wasn’t a matter of liking or not. It went so much deeper. Self-preservation, if it came to that. There was too much at stake for him to get all gushy over babies and such. “You get on up to bed.”
Sam’s little lip quivered but his eyes blazed. “That’s all right. My dad doesn’t like me either and my mama and I do just fine.”
He spun on his toes and ran back to the house.
Luke sighed, watching him depart. He’d been sharp when he hadn’t meant to be. It wasn’t Sam’s fault—or Emily’s for that matter—that the years of stress and responsibility had worn him down. The boy had been through enough with his parents splitting up—Emily had as much as said so last night. He felt a moment of guilt, knowing Sam was feeling the loss of his father keenly. Did Sam never see him, then?
He rubbed a hand over his face, blew out a breat
h. Emily’s domestic situation was none of his concern. Why he continually had to remind himself of that was a bit of a mystery. He turned out the trouble light and felt for a moment the satisfaction of another day done.
Followed by the heavy realization of all that remained to do tomorrow. And the day after that.
He squared his shoulders. “Suck it up, Evans,” he mumbled to himself, shaking his head. Darn the two of them anyway. They’d had him thinking more over the last two days than he had in months, and not just about himself. About her, and the series of events that had landed her on his doorstep just at the moment he needed her most.
Emily was wiping up the last of the dishes and Sam was already sound asleep in bed when Luke returned to the house in the twilight. Sam had worked alongside her most of the afternoon, helping her dust the rooms and fetching things as she needed them. The bathroom fixtures shone and the floors gleamed again, and she sighed, not only from exhaustion but also from satisfaction. Sam had sometimes been more of a hindrance than a help, but it had been worth it to see the smile on his face and the pride he took in helping. It hadn’t been until he’d nearly nodded off over his dinner that she’d realized he’d missed his afternoon nap.
Now he was tucked away in the small room, his dark head peaceful on the pillow. Meanwhile Emily had dishes to finish and the last of the dry sheets to put back on the spare beds before she could call it a night.
She heard Luke come in through the screen door and her heart did a little leap. It seemed so personal, having the run of his house, making herself at home. She heard the thump of his boots as he put them on the mat by the door and pictured him behind her. Now her pulse picked up as she heard his stockinged feet come closer. To her surprise he picked up the frying pan and moved to put it in the cupboard.
“Mr. Evans…you don’t have to do that.” She avoided his eyes as she picked up the last plate to dry.
“It’s no biggie. I’m done for the day and you’re not.”
His shoulder was next to hers as he reached for another pot, the close contact setting off the same sparks as she’d felt at dinner. His jeans had been dirty with a smear of grease on one thigh, and his T-shirt had borne marks of his afternoon of work, but he’d gone into the downstairs bath and come to the table with clean hands and face and a few droplets of water clinging to his short hair.
