Duncan's Bride by Linda Howard Page A

seasonings. The chops were already baking. Bread. She needed bread. There were no canned biscuits in the refrigerator. She couldn’t dredge the recipe for biscuits from her memory, no matter how many times she’d watched Grandma Lily make them. She found the cookbooks and began checking the indexes for biscuits.
    Once she had the list of ingredients before her it all began to come back. She mixed the dough, then kneaded it and rolled it out as she’d done when she was a little girl. She couldn’t find a biscuit cutter, so she used a water glass, pressing it down into the dough and coming up with a perfect circle. A few minutes later, a dozen biscuits were popped into the oven.
    Dessert. She’d seen some small, individually wrapped devil’s food cakes. She got those out, and a big can of peaches. It would have to do, because she didn’t have time to bake. She opened the can of peaches and poured them into a bowl.
    By the time she had the table set, Reese had come back downstairs, considerably cleaner but unimproved in mood. He looked pointedly at the empty table and stalked into the living room.
    She checked the potatoes; they were tender. She mixed up a small amount of flour and milk and pouredit into the potatoes; it instantly began thickening. She let them stew while she checked the chops and green beans.
    The biscuits were golden brown, and had risen nicely. Now if only they were edible… Since she’d followed a recipe, they shouldn’t be too bad, she hoped. She stacked them on a plate and crossed her fingers for luck.
    The chops were done, finally. “Reese! Dinner’s ready.”
    â€œIt’s about time.”
    She hurried to put the food on the table, realizing at the last minute that she had made neither coffee nor tea. Quickly she got two glasses from the cabinet and poured milk. She knew that he liked milk, so perhaps he sometimes drank it at dinner.
    The chops weren’t the tenderest she’d ever cooked, and the biscuits were a bit heavy, but he ate steadily, without comment. Heavy or not, the dozen biscuits disappeared in short order, and she ate only one. As his third helping of stewed potatoes was disappearing, she got up. “Do you want any dessert?”
    His head came up. “Dessert?”
    She couldn’t help smiling. You could tell the man had lived alone for seven years. “It isn’t much, because I didn’t get around to baking.” She put the small cakes in a bowl and dipped peaches and juice over them. Reese gave them a quizzical look as she set the bowl in front of him.
    â€œJust try it,” she said. “I know it’s junk food, but it tastes good.”
    He did, and cleaned the bowl. Some of the fatigue was fading from his face. “The stereo in the living room looks like a good one.”
    â€œI’ve had it for several years. I hope it survived the shipping.”
    He’d sold his stereo system years ago, deciding that he needed the money more than he needed the music, and he’d never let himself think too much about it. When you were fighting for survival, you quickly learned how to get your priorities in order. But he’d missed music and was looking forward to playing some of his old classics again.
    The house was full of signs of what she’d been doing all day, and he felt guilty about yelling at her because dinner hadn’t been ready. The floors were cleaner than they’d been in years, and the dust was gone from every surface. The house smelled of household cleaner and furniture polish, and the bathroom had sparkled with cleanliness. The house was ten rooms and over four thousand square feet; his fancy city woman knew how to work.
    He helped her clean the table and load the dishwasher. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to her list.
    â€œThe shopping list. The pantry has a limited selection.”
    He shrugged. “I was usually so tired I just ate