Lone Star Heiress

by Winnie Griggs

  And while there might be some who preferred Chance’s sunny good looks, she personally was partial to a man whose face reflected character and control, and whose manner suggested authority without being overbearing.

  As soon as Eve stepped out of the kitchen, Mitch and Chance wrapped up their business.

  Eve placed a cup of tea in front of Ivy, and a plate of daintily cut sandwiches on the table. “Today I have a peach tea. And two kinds of sandwiches—cheese and apple, and a chopped egg and vegetable mix.”

  It all sounded quite exotic to Ivy.

  “Perfect,” Mitch said as he joined them and took his seat.

  Eve returned to the counter to finish unloading her tray of bonbons, leaving Mitch and Ivy to their tea and sandwiches.

  Mitch picked up one of the tiny sandwiches, then moved the plate closer to her. “Help yourself.”

  She obediently took one and nibbled on it, watching Mitch surreptitiously. He should have looked silly with that dainty cup and tiny sandwich in his huge hands. But he seemed completely at ease and entirely unselfconscious.

  “Is something wrong with your sandwich?”

  His question brought the heat to her cheeks as she realized she’d been staring rather than eating. “No, it’s quite good.” She took a large bite to prove her point and followed it with a sip of the delicious tea.

  She turned to Eve. “You’ll have to teach me how you make this tea. I’d like to fix some for my Nana Dovie when I go back to Nettles Gap.”

  Eve smiled. “Of course. Stop by whenever you have a few minutes and we’ll brew a pot together.”

  Still very aware of the man sitting at her elbow, Ivy kept her gaze on Eve. “Where’s Leo?”

  “Ira took Leo and Jack fishing this morning. They’re not back yet so either the fish are biting well and they don’t want to quit, or they’re not biting and they don’t want to give up.”

  The talk of fishing put her in mind of the fishing she and Mitch had done back at the cabin, and she couldn’t resist a quick look his way.

  Sure enough, he was watching her with a smile.

  “Ivy enjoys fishing, too,” he said. “Even digs her own worms and baits her own hook. Or so she tells me.”

  “Is that so?” Chance said. “Maybe when Eve teaches her to make that tea, she can teach Eve to fish.”

  Eve shook her head firmly. “I’ll cook ’em, but I’ll leave the catching to those who enjoy it.”

  Chance gave an exaggerated sigh, then smiled. “I suppose I’m still getting the better end of that bargain.”

  Eve blushed prettily under his smile, but gave a sassy toss of her head. “That you are.”

  A pang stabbed Ivy as she watched the affectionate exchange between them. She was very happy for them, of course, but it was hard to realize she would likely never experience that same closeness and intimacy with anyone. No one in Nettles Gap would look twice at her, and moving away from there was not an option.

  This time, she resisted the impulse to look at Mitch. Instead, she focused on her food.

  When they finally took their leave, Ivy decided she’d waited long enough. “You said you wanted to talk about my duties?”

  “So I did. Do you know how to sew?”

  That wasn’t at all what she’d expected. “Depends what you mean by sewing. I can mend and patch just about anything. And I can make up a new piece of clothing if I have a pattern to work from. But I’m not very good at fancy work.”

  “How about curtains?”

  Her spirits rose immediately. Was he ready to add some color to his place? “Of course. As long as you want something simple without ruffles and such.”

  He gave her a dry smile. “Definitely no on the ruffles.”

  “Are you planning to replace all the curtains or just some?”

  “Neither. I want to add curtains to the kitchen window.”

  Ah, well, that was a start. “Do you already have the fabric?”

  “No, but I’m sure we can find something at the mercantile.”

  He’d said we. If he really was willing to let her help select it, maybe she could talk him into something colorful. “I did notice they have a nice selection.” She was already imagining a print of some sort with a bright blue as the prominent color.

  “Shall we go take a look?” he asked.

  “I probably should be getting back—”

  “It won’t take long, and there’s no time like the present.”

  She was surprised by his insistence. “All right, I suppose the laundry could probably use a few extra minutes to dry.”

  When they arrived at the mercantile, Mitch placed a hand lightly at the small of her back and guided her down one of the aisles. Ivy was certain it was a reflexive gesture, totally impersonal and meant to be polite rather than affectionate.

  But her reaction to it was anything but impersonal.

  The table where the bolts of fabric were stacked was at the far end of the store and she remained acutely aware of the protective warmth of his touch the entire way. The walk seemed to take forever and end too quickly at the same time.

  As soon as they reached the fabric table, Mitch stepped away from her and reached for a bolt near the top of the stack. “What do you think of this one?”

  She tried to focus on the fabric. It was a tan-and-brown plaid with a thin maroon stripe providing the only hint of color.

  She stifled a grimace. There was nothing inherently wrong with it, but she’d had something a little brighter in mind. “Perhaps something with a little more color.”

  To her relief, he didn’t seem insulted. “Which one would you recommend?” Then he gave her a stern look. “No flowers.”

  She laughed, and the smile he gave her warmed her right down to her toes.

  However was she going to make it through the rest of her time in Turnabout with her heart unscathed?

  * * *

  Mitch watched as Ivy studied the bolts of fabric. He hadn’t been able to resist the urge to touch her, even if it was just to put a protective hand at her back.

  He’d have to watch that in the future. Ivy was the last person he wanted to mislead.

  She studied the bolts intently, as if it were a decision of utmost importance. He decided he liked the way her nose crinkled and her lips quirked up on one side when she was mentally working through a problem.

  She fingered a yellow print covered with white flowers and then another that had white-and-yellow polka dots on a green background.

  To his relief, she dismissed both of those and continued looking. With a triumphant grin she pulled out a bolt of blue gingham. Grabbing a corner of the fabric, she turned to him with a smile. “How’s this?”

  He pretended to study it critically. “It’s not neutral, but I think I can live with it.”

  Mitch had turned to signal Doug Blakely, the owner of the mercantile, that they needed help when another customer walked in. To his chagrin, it was Hilda Swenson and her boys.

  The widow caught sight of him at the same time, and her expression brightened. She immediately headed his way. “Mr. Parker, how nice to see you. Are you doing your shopping, too?”

  When she spied Ivy, her expression slipped for just a moment, but she recovered quickly. “Miss Feagan. I thought you were off on Wednesdays.”

  Now, how had she learned Ivy’s schedule?

  “I am. I’m just helping Mr. Parker pick out some fabric for kitchen curtains.”

  “How very nice.” The widow glanced at the fabric Ivy had picked out. “Oh, my dear, surely you’re not thinking of going with that gingham.”

  Mitch started to protest, but Ivy spoke up first.

  “I know it’s not the most colorful of prints, but I’m trying to keep in mind that this is for a bachelor’s home.”<
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  So she’d picked up on his more conservative tastes, had she?

  Mrs. Swenson nodded. “Of course. But just because men don’t appreciate florals doesn’t mean we must choose something dull.” She stepped past Ivy and dug through the bolts stacked on the table. She finally pulled out one from the bottom of the pile. It had alternating stripes of red and blue separated by narrower strips of white.

  “This one is much brighter and still has a masculine look to it, don’t you agree?”

  Ivy nodded. “You’re right, this is a much better choice. I don’t know how I missed it.”

  The woman preened. “I’m just more familiar with the offerings here.” She glanced Mitch’s way. “I confess I’m always on the lookout for ways to make my home cozier and more welcoming. Mr. Blakely lets me know when he has something that might interest me.”

  Mitch cleared his throat. “I think the fabric Miss Feagan selected is fine.”

  Ivy, however, disagreed. “But this one Mrs. Swenson found will work out much better than the gingham.”

  Before Mitch could respond, Mrs. Swenson spoke up again. “If your duties keep you too busy to sew, I’ll be happy to make these curtains for Mr. Parker. Mr. Swenson used to say I was quite the seamstress. He took pride in showing off my domestic talents.” She lifted her chin proudly. “And of course I make most of the clothes for myself and the boys.” She fanned out one side of her skirt, inviting them to admire it.

  “That’s quite kind of you,” Ivy responded, “but I consider this part of my job and wouldn’t feel right letting someone else take care of it.”

  “But I—”

  Mitch had had enough. “That’s indeed a generous offer, but as I’m in no hurry, I’m certain Miss Feagan can work it into her schedule.”

  With a disappointed smile, the widow nodded. “Of course. But the offer stands if that changes.” Then she tightened the strings on her purse. “Now, I’ll leave you to finish making your purchase. And I’ll see you tomorrow to discuss Peter’s tutoring needs.”

  Later, when they stepped outside, Mitch offered Ivy an apologetic grimace. “I’m sorry if Mrs. Swenson’s interference upset you. She can be overbearing at times.”

  “Not at all. She means well and she was right about the fabric.” She hefted the parcel in her hands. “This piece is much better than the one I selected.” She gave him a curious look. “I would think you’d be flattered by the attention. She’s a handsome woman with a number of nice qualities that would make her a fine wife for some lucky man.”

  “She’d be better served to turn her attention elsewhere. I’ve tried to make my disinterest as clear as I can without being outright rude.”

  They stopped in front of Mitch’s house and he opened the gate. Ivy handed him the fabric as Rufus raced to greet her.

  She finally straightened. “Thank you for the tea and the company, but it’s time I headed back. In this heat, I’m sure at least part of the laundry has dried.”

  “Of course. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Ivy started to turn away, then paused. “By the way, would you mind if I spoke to Mrs. Pierce about purchasing produce from her garden? She’s harvesting more than she can use, and I like the idea of picking it fresh myself.”

  “Not at all. Tell her to keep tabs on the amount and I’ll pay her once a week when I pay you.”

  Mitch watched Ivy walk away, surprised once again at her thoughtfulness. First her tactful handling of Hilda’s interference and now this scheme to help Mrs. Pierce out.

  He slowly headed for his backyard. He’d actually enjoyed their little shopping expedition today. Strange how even the most mundane tasks took on a sense of adventure when he was able to view them through her eyes.

  He was going to miss that when she was gone.

  That and much more than he cared to admit, even to himself.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Mitch was working on a sketch of Ivy seated on the swing when a knock at the door sounded the next morning, and he reluctantly put down his pencil. This time, he had no doubt as to who it was.

  He wasn’t happy at the interruption. It had been a long time since he’d had any interest in sketching a person, but he could see already that this sketch was going to be his finest work to date. If he could just capture her smile...

  But before he could get up, Ivy appeared in the hallway and gave him a very firm look. “I’ll get it.”

  With a smile, he settled back in his chair. She’d shown up at his kitchen door this morning with a determined look in her eye. She’d made quick work of breakfast and then shooed him away, saying she had baking to do and didn’t want to be distracted.

  He’d heard her humming and talking to herself for the past few hours and it had influenced his sketching, infusing the figure coming to life beneath his pencil with a joyous abandon.

  “Mrs. Swenson, good day to you.” Ivy’s words carried clearly to him, and he smiled at her formal tone. “I believe Mr. Parker is expecting you. If you and your boys will have a seat in the parlor, I’ll let him know you’re here.”

  Mitch put away his sketchbook as he waited for her to appear in the doorway, which she did almost immediately.

  “Mrs. Swenson has arrived.”

  “So I heard.”

  She gave him another stern look. “I’ll have refreshments ready in a few moments.”

  He knew it would be useless to tell her not to bother, so he merely nodded. He would let her have her moment, even if it might give Hilda Swenson the impression she was welcome here.

  He straightened the papers on his desk, then headed to the parlor.

  As soon as he stepped into the room the widow gave him a beaming smile. She sat on the sofa and her three boys occupied the other seating in the room.

  He decided to remain standing for the moment.

  “Peter, hand Mr. Parker your papers, please,” she instructed.

  The boy solemnly complied.

  Mitch smiled down as he accepted the papers, trying to put the youngster at ease. “Thank you, Peter.” He didn’t like the idea of discussing the boy’s work in front of his siblings. “Perhaps Peter and I should step into my office to review this.”

  “Oh, there’s no need for that. I’m sure his brothers can learn from whatever you have to tell Peter.”

  Before Mitch could insist, Ivy returned carrying a tray loaded down with two teacups and a platter of sandwiches similar to what they’d had at Eve’s place yesterday.

  “I thought you might enjoy a bit of refreshment while you have your discussion.” She set the tray down on a small table next to the sofa, then turned to the two younger boys. “If you’d care to join me in the kitchen, I just took a tray of cookies out of the oven and need someone to taste them.” Then she turned to Mrs. Swenson. “If it’s okay with your mother, that is.”

  Mrs. Swenson graciously gave her permission and the two younger boys hopped up, eager to follow Ivy.

  Before they exited, Ivy turned to Peter. “Don’t worry. There’ll be cookies left when you’re done with your business here.” Then she turned and ushered Peter’s brothers out the door.

  Had she overheard his request for more privacy with Peter? Or was she just intuitive when it came to the feelings of others?

  Mrs. Swenson recaptured his attention as she reached for a teacup. “It was very charitable of you to hire Miss Feagan as your housekeeper,” she said complacently.

  Charity had had nothing to do with it, but he didn’t feel the need to explain himself. “She’s earning her wage.”

  “I’m certain she is. And she’s providing a nice woman’s touch to your place.” She glanced at the wildflowers Ivy had placed on the mantel this morning. “In fact, I predict that you’ll miss all these little niceties once she leaves.”

 
Mrs. Swenson met Mitch’s gaze head-on, as if she was intentionally reminding him that Ivy would be leaving soon. Mitch made a noncommittal sound, then turned to Peter. “Before I review your papers, why don’t you tell me which parts of this test gave you the most trouble?”

  Twenty minutes later, Mitch had finished his assessment. Peter seemed to have grasped all but a few of the basic principles. And the boy had meticulously detailed his computations, so it was easy to see where he’d gotten off track.

  Mitch put a hand on Peter’s shoulder and turned to the boy’s mother. “There’s no need to be concerned. Peter has a good understanding of the basics, and I think just a few sessions will set him on the right path.”

  Mrs. Swenson nodded. “And you’ll work with him?”

  He glanced down at the boy. “I’ll be happy to.”

  “Then we should discuss payment.”

  Mitch frowned. “That won’t be necessary. As I said, it won’t take more than a couple of sessions, and I consider this part of my role as his teacher.”

  “Then at least let me bake something for you.”

  “That won’t be—”

  “Nonsense. I must repay you somehow. And I do so love to bake. Mr. Swenson used to say I was quite the dessert maker.”

  Apparently the late Mr. Swenson had seen no wrong in his wife. “I’m certain you are. But I have a cook so—”

  Again she interrupted his protest. “I won’t take no for an answer. Now, which days would be best for you to work with Peter?”

  Mitch decided the sooner this was over, the better. “Let’s plan on tomorrow and Saturday.”

  “Perfect.”

  “And it would be better if I saw Peter alone.”

  Her expression fell.

  “It will allow him to focus solely on his work,” he said smoothly. “I’m sure a good mother such as yourself can understand how important that would be.”

  The bit of praise from him seemed to restore her good humor. “Of course.”

  Mitch stood. “I won’t keep you.” He smiled down at the boy. “And don’t worry, Peter. We’ll have you tackling these math problems with confidence in no time.”