that drew her attention back to the cupboard.
Never had she seen such an elaborate piece in a kitchen. Had Mr. Denton made it, or did he merely chop down the trees and leave the carpentry for someone else?
The fire crackled, its woodsy smell overtaking that of the aromatic flowers. She glanced at a cup of wilting, pinkish-white twin-flowers on a table. They were bell-shaped with two blooms per stem hanging down like tassels. Each mirrored the other. She wondered if, like honeysuckle, they made good syrup or sorbet.
Crossing the room in large strides, Denton slipped through a side door, then returned with a large pot of water.
She lifted a questioning gaze to him.
“The milk room’s through there,” he explained, setting the pot on the stove and opening the fire chamber. He threw in some pine for a quick hot fire, then began to light it. “I have an artesian spring that runs right by the house and have piped some in to cool the room.”
Her gaze returned to the door he referred to. A milk room? And a natural spring?
Turning again to face her, he rubbed his hands on his thighs. “I’m going to see to Shakespeare and the milk cows. By the time I’m done the water should be hot. So, sit tight and I’ll be as fast as I can.”
He stepped to the back door, then without turning around said, “The necessary house is just out this door and around the corner.”
And then he was gone.
Even though he wanted to rush, he took his time with Shakespeare, rubbing him, brushing him, and giving him an extra scoop of feed. All the while his mind was on the woman in his house.
She’d not been happy to find herself in his lap. But she’d kept sliding off his shoulder and it had been easier to keep her still in his lap. Was also easier to keep her dry. The fact that he liked having her there was beside the point.
Shakespeare paused in his eating to cast an eye back at Joe. He realized he’d stopped his brushing and immediately resumed his task.
He shouldn’t have pushed his horse so hard. He was sorry he’d done it. It was one thing for him to skip his meals. Quite another to expect Shakespeare to.
Squatting down, he began to massage the horse’s back leg. What was his guest doing now, he wondered. Was she wandering through the house, soothing her curiosity? What would she think of it?
He paused. What if she went into his bedroom? Would she dare? He hoped not, because if she did she’d see the twinflowers.
Shakespeare flicked his tail. Joe resumed the massage. He’d completely forgotten about the blasted flowers until he walked through the door and their smell hit him square between the eyes.
But he’d been expecting to bring home a bride. It had seemed like a good idea when he’d gathered them and set them in every available container he had throughout the house. That was before he learned he’d be bringing home a cook instead.
He shook his head. He should never have done it to begin with.
He moved to Shakespeare’s front legs. Please, God, don’t let her say anything to the boys .
Red must have seen to the animals because the cows had been milked, the oxen, pigs, and goats fed, and the stalls cleaned. More likely he’d been curious about Joe’s bride and had come to have a look-see for himself, then kept busy in the barn hoping to be here when the couple arrived.
He wondered if the crew would show up expecting breakfast in the morning. He sure hoped not.
Lifting the lantern off a nail, he gave Shakespeare a pat, then let himself out of the stall. Tucking his horse in for the night was one thing. But what exactly were his responsibilities to the woman?
She wasn’t his guest. She was his cook. His employee. So that should change everything.
But it didn’t. Because she was a woman. A young woman. He swallowed. A pretty woman. And one that Mercer had picked out specifically for him.
He released the top button of his shirt and cast a longing gaze at one of the empty stalls. What he wouldn’t give to
Never had she seen such an elaborate piece in a kitchen. Had Mr. Denton made it, or did he merely chop down the trees and leave the carpentry for someone else?
The fire crackled, its woodsy smell overtaking that of the aromatic flowers. She glanced at a cup of wilting, pinkish-white twin-flowers on a table. They were bell-shaped with two blooms per stem hanging down like tassels. Each mirrored the other. She wondered if, like honeysuckle, they made good syrup or sorbet.
Crossing the room in large strides, Denton slipped through a side door, then returned with a large pot of water.
She lifted a questioning gaze to him.
“The milk room’s through there,” he explained, setting the pot on the stove and opening the fire chamber. He threw in some pine for a quick hot fire, then began to light it. “I have an artesian spring that runs right by the house and have piped some in to cool the room.”
Her gaze returned to the door he referred to. A milk room? And a natural spring?
Turning again to face her, he rubbed his hands on his thighs. “I’m going to see to Shakespeare and the milk cows. By the time I’m done the water should be hot. So, sit tight and I’ll be as fast as I can.”
He stepped to the back door, then without turning around said, “The necessary house is just out this door and around the corner.”
And then he was gone.
Even though he wanted to rush, he took his time with Shakespeare, rubbing him, brushing him, and giving him an extra scoop of feed. All the while his mind was on the woman in his house.
She’d not been happy to find herself in his lap. But she’d kept sliding off his shoulder and it had been easier to keep her still in his lap. Was also easier to keep her dry. The fact that he liked having her there was beside the point.
Shakespeare paused in his eating to cast an eye back at Joe. He realized he’d stopped his brushing and immediately resumed his task.
He shouldn’t have pushed his horse so hard. He was sorry he’d done it. It was one thing for him to skip his meals. Quite another to expect Shakespeare to.
Squatting down, he began to massage the horse’s back leg. What was his guest doing now, he wondered. Was she wandering through the house, soothing her curiosity? What would she think of it?
He paused. What if she went into his bedroom? Would she dare? He hoped not, because if she did she’d see the twinflowers.
Shakespeare flicked his tail. Joe resumed the massage. He’d completely forgotten about the blasted flowers until he walked through the door and their smell hit him square between the eyes.
But he’d been expecting to bring home a bride. It had seemed like a good idea when he’d gathered them and set them in every available container he had throughout the house. That was before he learned he’d be bringing home a cook instead.
He shook his head. He should never have done it to begin with.
He moved to Shakespeare’s front legs. Please, God, don’t let her say anything to the boys .
Red must have seen to the animals because the cows had been milked, the oxen, pigs, and goats fed, and the stalls cleaned. More likely he’d been curious about Joe’s bride and had come to have a look-see for himself, then kept busy in the barn hoping to be here when the couple arrived.
He wondered if the crew would show up expecting breakfast in the morning. He sure hoped not.
Lifting the lantern off a nail, he gave Shakespeare a pat, then let himself out of the stall. Tucking his horse in for the night was one thing. But what exactly were his responsibilities to the woman?
She wasn’t his guest. She was his cook. His employee. So that should change everything.
But it didn’t. Because she was a woman. A young woman. He swallowed. A pretty woman. And one that Mercer had picked out specifically for him.
He released the top button of his shirt and cast a longing gaze at one of the empty stalls. What he wouldn’t give to
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