Her meaning could not be clearer. Caleb had demanded that she do something to calm his daughter, and in her hurry to do so, Ben and Laura had been left in his and Rachel’s charge. Abby gave a small sigh. She probably shouldn’t have mentioned that. Being correct did not give one the right to say so.
Her cautious gaze climbed up the tanned column of his throat to his rugged face. The red of either embarrassment or anger tinged his sun-darkened features. She stifled a groan and wished—as was often the case—that she could call back her rash statement. Dear Lord, I try to bridle my tongue; You know I do.
Yes, He knew she fought a constant battle with her stubbornness and her temper, which flared hotly and died just as fast. Always had, and, she thought with another sorrow-filled sigh, probably always would. Her quick tongue had often landed her in trouble as she’d grown up, but when she’d met William, she met a man who valued her opinions, one who insisted that anyone as intelligent as she was should speak her mind. Though the final decision was always his, he had listened to her thoughts and ideas—an advantage she was aware that few wives were granted. As for her temper, more often than not, he just grabbed her in a big bear hug and held her until she quit struggling, laughing at her all the while, which quickly defused her ire and had her laughing with him.
But Caleb Gentry was nothing like her husband, she thought, staring up at features that might have been carved from unyielding Arkansas stone. How could they ever deal with each other in a practical way when, aside from her brief, annoyed outburst, the thought of just speaking to him turned her legs to jelly?
Before Caleb could say the words she knew were hovering on his lips, Rachel, the basket of cookies hooked over her wrist, returned, slanting Abby an uneasy look before disappearing into the kitchen. Abby stood, her chin high, all thought of retaliatory criticism dissolving as she realized that her brief spurt of provocation had probably jeopardized the job he offered.
Without speaking, Caleb tossed the breakage into the ash bucket that sat near the fireplace. Swiping his hands on the legs of his denim pants, he turned to face her with his arms crossed over his chest and an unreadable expression in his unusual gray eyes.
She was still trying to formulate an acceptable apology when he heaved a great sigh and asked, “Is Betsy all right, then?”
Surprised, both at the evenness of his voice and the turn of the conversation, Abby stammered, “Y-Yes. Fine. She was just hungry.”
That basic problem, indeed the problem, cleared up to his satisfaction—at least for the moment—they stood there, their mutual strain growing with every indrawn breath. Finally, she took her courage in hand. Knowing that even if she had messed up her chance to provide for her children, she could not leave without offering him what comfort she could for the days to come; she cleared her throat.
“Mr. Gentry,” she said, lacing her hands together at her waist to still their trembling. “I want you to know that I am very sorry for your loss, and while I cannot know your exact feelings, I do know what it’s like to lose a mate. My husband died eight months ago, shortly after Laura was born.”
The expression in his eyes could only be described as bleak. “I had heard that.” He cocked his head to the side, regarding her with a curious expression. “Tell me, Mrs. Carter, did you love your husband?”
Abby’s eyes widened with surprise at the personal nature of the question. “Of course.”
“Well, let me assure you that in no way could your feelings be compared to mine.”
Her breath caught at the strength of his statement, and her twisting hands stilled. He must have loved Emily very much, though it was hard to imagine such a fierce, hard man ever feeling any emotion as tender as love.
Deciding to clear the air before she lost her courage, she said, “There are some things that we should talk about before we make the decision as to whether or not I accept the position you’re offering.”
Surprise flickered in his eyes. He was not used to a woman taking the lead in the dialogue.
“I agree.”
“First, I would like to apologize again for the destruction of the figurine. Since I wasn’t here, I can’t say for certain how it happened, but please believe me when I say that Ben is seldom meddlesome, though he is quite curious, as most children are. I will be glad to repay you for it.” Nerves made her speech stilted and formal, and she had no idea how on earth she would make good on her promise if she did not land this job.
“I didn’t see it happen, either, Mrs. Carter, and I concede that you were right in stating that I was anxious when you arrived and did not give you time to see that the children were properly settled. Most likely your baby—”
“Laura,” she supplied.
“Laura. Laura probably bumped into the table and toppled the figurine. We can certainly ask, uh—”
“Ben.”
“Yes, Ben.” He cleared his throat, and his next words seemed to come only with the greatest effort. “I would venture to guess that it was just an unfortunate accident.”
She nodded, sensing how hard the admission must have been. “You should know about all our warts,” she said, determined to lay out possible problems beforehand. “Ben is very much a boy, and is often loud and rowdy, and Laura is just beginning to venture about and explore things....” Her voice trailed away on a sigh, and she lifted her shoulders in a slight shrug. Surely he could see where she was leading.
“They are good children, Mr. Gentry,” she said, an earnest expression on her face, “and they are easily set to rights, but they are children, nonetheless.”
Sensing that he was about to speak, she rushed on. “Another thing. Ben still misses his father very much, and that grief manifests itself in different ways—sometimes tears, sometimes misplaced mischief and even anger. If I were to take this position, I would appreciate your showing us as much patience as possible as we try to find our way in our new roles. Of course, knowing the suddenness and depth of your loss, we will extend you the same courtesy.”
She was surprised that Caleb did not interrupt as many men would have. Again, she chided herself for speaking with such boldness and ruining all chance of employment, but as much as she needed the position, it was more important that her family be happy.
“I appreciate your honesty, Mrs. Carter,” he said in a tone whose mocking edge caused her to doubt the sincerity of the statement. “And you should understand that I’m unfamiliar with children as well as being rather set in my ways. It will take some time for us all to adjust. As you say, there will have to be compromises on both sides.”
Abby swallowed hard. “I would like to apologize for my rude outburst. My husband was a man who felt women are intelligent individuals and should voice their opinions, even when those attitudes may cause discord.” She released a soft sigh of contrition and met his gaze with a stubborn determination. “I fear I have become used to doing just that. I realize that his attitude is not shared by other men and will do my best to bridle my tongue.”
She couldn’t read the expression in his eyes, but he nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “One more thing.”
Abby looked at him, wondering what else was on his mind.
“Since this will be your home for the next several months, I would appreciate it if you took on the responsibilities of cooking and cleaning. I will, of course, pay you extra for that.”
Abby felt her mouth drop open in surprise. She snapped it shut, as her fair eyebrows puckered. “My home? I’m not sure I understand.”
Another of those frowns drew his dark eyebrows together in an expression of surprise that mimicked hers. “Surely Rachel explained that you and the children would have to stay here for the next few months. At least until Betsy is of weaning age.”