Blessings of the Heart and Samantha's Gift by Valerie Hansen Page A

of the potatoes. “It looks gross!”
    “Oh, I don’t know,” Mitch said. “I kind of like exploding food, as long as it’s done blowing up before I try to eat it.”
    Bree was not amused. “You don’t have to rub it in.” She studied the oddly shaped remnants of skin and fluffy white potato. “They look kind of like they’re double baked, only a lot rougher around the edges.”
    “They do, don’t they? Wonder if they’d be good with cheese melted on top?” Mitch put the dish aside and went to the refrigerator to look for a wedge of Cheddar.
    Brianne stood back, watching. At the mere mention of melted cheese the younger boy had brightened up. She could tell that Ryan, too, was happy about the cheese idea, though he tried not to show approval. Well, fine. She wasn’t trying to starve the poor kids. If they didn’t want to eat her potatoes without doctoring them, that was okay with her.
    While the cheese and milk were heating in the microwave to make a quick sauce, Mitch got busy scraping the marinade off portions of chicken and cutting them into bite-size pieces for the boys. He cautioned them to wait politely until everyone had been seated before beginning to eat.
    Brianne brought a hot dish of canned corn to the table and took her place. Having all of them together at the small kitchen table made things crowded but doable. After what had happened at breakfast she certainly didn’t intend to serve the children in the formal dining room and spend all her time worrying about drips on the rug. And she could hardly throw them outside again, since the rain had resumed.
    As soon as Mitch returned with the cheese sauce and sat down, Bree took the first bite of her chicken. The initial taste was delicious. By the time several seconds had passed, however, her tongue started to prickle.
    That was just the beginning. In less than ten heartbeats the roof of her mouth was on fire. When she breathed, her sinuses felt like she was inhaling pure flame and being seared from the inside out.
    Eyes tearing, she grabbed her glass of water and gulped it dry, looking at Mitch just in time to see him sample his entrée. He raised one eyebrow and saluted her with his fork, evidently surprised that it tasted so good.
    By the time Bree said, “Don’t!” it was too late. His face reddened, his dark eyes widened and his nostrils flared.
    Bree couldn’t tell if his expression was one of shock, aggravation, panic—or none of the above, since he’d covered his mouth with his napkin and was snorting like a walrus with a bad cold.
    One thing was certain. Even though Mitch had scraped the extra marinade off the chicken he’d cut up for the children, they mustn’t be permitted to taste it.
    Brianne moved to snatch their plates an instant before Mitch did. That set up a clamor from the hungry boys reminiscent of a henhouse being raided by a ravenous fox.
    Ignoring the ruckus, Bree and Mitch made a mad dash for the sink and began gulping down cold water. She glanced at him, expecting a tirade. To her surprise, he looked amused.
    “I—I’m sorry,” she blurted, chancing a smile.
    Mitch drew another glassful of water. “No problem.”
    There was something about the mischievous twinkle in his watering eyes and the twitch at the corners of his mouth that made her giggle. That was all it took to set him off.
    He began to roar. Brianne joined him. They chuckled and snickered and laughed and hooted until both were gasping for air.
    Tears rolled down Bree’s cheeks. She drew a shuddering breath and said, “Oops,” which started Mitch off again, nearly doubling him up.
    Finally, he managed to regain his self-control. Laying a hand on Brianne’s shoulder, he said, “Maybe you’d better retire from cooking while we’re still on our feet.”
    “The exploding potatoes were a nice touch,” she countered, bringing more chuckles.
    Together, they looked at the table. Both boys were sitting there, unmoving, holding their empty forks in their