Heartland Courtship
obeying the rules of this house. Clean hands to eat with and chew the food.”
    The boy glared at her, then muttered, “Yes, miss.”
    She slid the plate back to him.
    He began eating again, but marginally slower.
    She wanted to ask him questions but decided not to. She needed to talk to Brennan first and find out where this boy had come from.
    As if he heard her thoughts, Brennan appeared in her doorway, his hat in hand. “Miss Rachel.”
    “Has thee eaten breakfast, Mr. Merriday?” she asked, hiding how her heart sped up at the sight of him.
    Her question evidently prompted his stomach to growl. “No, miss.”
    She set another two cinnamon rolls on a plate and poured some coffee that had been keeping warm and then sat down at the table again.
    Brennan stepped outside and she could hear him washing his hands. Then he entered, hung his hat and sat down beside Jacque.
    “You gotta wash yer hands, too?” Jacque asked, sounding put out.
    “That’s her rule. You eat at Miss Rachel’s table, you wash your hands.”
    Rachel stifled a grin, but her pulse still beat faster, though she couldn’t say why it should. “Jacque, done with breakfast?”
    “Yes, ma’am, I mean, Miss Rachel.”
    “Come here then.” She motioned for him to come around to her. “As promised” she offered him a piece of sponge candy, which disappeared instantly. “Now I need to measure thee for thy new clothes.” Rising, she began measuring the boy’s skinny arms, then scrawny chest, waist and legs with a tape measure from her sewing box. Since she’d be fattening him up—she hoped—she’d make the seam allowances wider than usual to be let out later.
    Mr. Merriday’s gaze followed her every move. She forced herself not to look back at him. “The clothing should be done by Sunday for church.” Suddenly she needed time to sort all this out, figure out how she should feel about this.
    She turned to Brennan, who rose. “I know thy wrist is still swollen, but why not take Jacque and mark off my garden? He could begin turning over the sod.”
    Brennan gazed at her. Miss Rachel had fed the boy and was sewing for him. But now she had informed him it was his turn to deal with the boy. He sucked it up. “Sounds right. Boy, why don’t you go out to the lean-to and find the shovel there?”
    Jacque looked disgruntled but obeyed, his hands shoved in his pockets.
    When they were alone, Brennan looked across the table. Miss Rachel sat again and gestured for him to sit also. He obeyed reluctantly.
    “Evidently thee wished to speak to me alone?” she asked coolly.
    No, he didn’t really want to speak to her alone, not about this. Brennan didn’t know what to say so he said the first thing that came to mind. “I didn’t mean to burden you more. My wrist is sprained and now the boy...”
    She gazed across to him. “Is it likely that this boy is thy blood?”
    Leave it to Miss Rachel to cut to the marrow. “Could be.” He knew he should tell her about Lorena, about what had happened to tear them apart. He couldn’t. He had no words to express that dark time.
    “It is really none of my business. But a child complicates...”
    He looked at her, willing her to be silent. Don’t tell me what I already know.
    She tightened her lips. “Very well. I will not press thee now.”
    He heard the remaining sentence she did not voice— but we will talk about this, and soon.
    He rose, grabbed his hat from the peg and headed outside, nearly running.
    “Come on, Jacque!” he called in the yard, feeling something near hysteria building in his stomach. Why hadn’t the past stayed in the past? But it wasn’t the child’s fault, none of this was. “We’ll pace off the garden and start you diggin’.”
    The two of them began walking to the back of the clearing.
    “Isn’t it late to be planting?” the boy asked, sounding annoyed. “She should have planted in March.”
    “She didn’t live here in March. She came in June like I did. We’re just

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