She woke at first light and lay pondering the morning’s agenda as the gray dawn yellowed into day. The sound of Hunter’s small feet hitting the floor had her sitting up to peer around the brocade hangings at the front of the bed. Hunter darted through her open door, caught the bedpost with one hand and leapt up onto the mattress.
She opened her arms, smiling even as she scolded. “Careful, Hunter. This is expensive antique furniture.”
Always quiet, he burrowed into her warm embrace without comment, sighing with contentment. She loved those happy little sounds that he made; they healed the wounds in her heart that his frightened squeaks and shivers inflicted.
He tilted his head back, asking solemnly, “When do we eat?”
She laughed. “As soon as we’re dressed, we’ll go downstairs and see what we can find.” She’d bought groceries at Abby’s, but she didn’t think the Chatams would appreciate that, and she’d feel foolish offering it.
He ran away. She knew he’d stuff his pajamas into a corner of his suitcase and put on the clothing that she’d laid out the evening before.
“Your toothbrush is in here,” she called. She’d prefer that he didn’t use the bath off his bedroom for fear that he’d break something precious.
He returned mere minutes later, allowing her just enough time to change clothes and twist up her hair. After they brushed their teeth, they wandered hand-in-hand across the broad landing and down the grand staircase. It was like something out of a movie, that staircase, all gold marble and dark, glossy wood overhung by a spectacular crystal chandelier anchored to an amazing sky-blue ceiling painted with wafting feathers, ethereal clouds and sparkling sunshine. Hunter could barely walk for gazing upward.
They passed no one as they turned around the newel post and moved down a long hallway that flanked one side of the staircase, only to wind up in a bright sunroom overflowing with wicker and tropical prints. Retracing their steps, they went in the other direction and down the hall that passed by the parlor where their hostesses had gathered the previous night. This time, they found themselves in a darker back hall. The sounds of clanking pots and clinking dishes prompted Jessa to push through a tall swinging door and into the warm, redolent kitchen. Her gaze darted about the amazing room, noting delightful features: a huge fireplace, shuttered windows open to the morning sun, stainless-steel worktables and a massive range.
A large woman with straight hair cropped just below her ears turned from the stove, a spatula in hand. She wore a loose, shapeless dress of brightly flowered fabric under her apron. “The Pagetts, I reckon,” she said expressionlessly.
“Yes. He’s Hunter, and I’m Jessa.”
“Early risers,” the woman announced. “I like early risers. I’m Hilda, the cook. Chester, the houseman, is my husband, and my sister Carol’s the maid.” She waved the spatula at a small, charmingly battered table. “Take a seat. Unless you’d prefer to eat in another room. The misses breakfast next door in the sunroom or take trays upstairs.”
“This will suit us fine, if it’s no bother,” Jessa said, shepherding Hunter toward the table.
“No bother. My job’s feeding folks. There’s tea, coffee, juice and milk. Help yourselves. How do you take your eggs?”
“We’re not particular,” Jessa assured the gruff but likable cook.
They were sitting before plates of fluffy scrambled eggs, crisp bacon and plump biscuits before Jessa could taste her coffee. No sooner did she lift a fork, however, than an outside door creaked open and Garrett Willows stepped up into the room.
“Morning, Hilda. What’s for breakfast?”
“Eggs and bacon, unless you want a ham steak,” came the answer as Hilda shifted a skillet around on the stove.
Garrett clumped across the floor in heavy work boots, heading for the coffee pot. He drew up short when he realized that Jessa and Hunter were seated at the table.
“You’re up early.”
Jessa nodded and quickly forked egg into her mouth. He poured himself a cup of black coffee and carried it to the table. Pulling out the end chair, he sat and laid one forearm along the edge of the table. Lifting his cup, he sipped then smiled at Hunter.
“Sleep okay?”
Hunter nodded and dropped his gaze to his plate. Garrett turned his blue eyes on Jessa. “He’s a quiet one.”
“Yes. Yes, he is.”
“How about you?”
She felt a bit off-balance, as if he’d just shaken that ladder again. Thankfully, she wasn’t about to find herself in his arms this time. Just the memory of that warmed her cheeks. “Uh, am I quiet?”
Garrett grinned. “Actually, I was wondering if you’d slept well, too.”
“Oh! I did, yes. Thank you.”
He sipped more coffee, eyeing her over the rim of his mug, before drawling, “That makes three of us, then.”
Jessa felt her face heat, as he called to the cook, “How about you, Hilda? How did you sleep?”
“Like a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound rock,” came the acerbic reply.
Garrett laughed silently into his mug, blue eyes twinkling. Was he making fun of the woman’s weight? Even if Hilda was making fun of herself, it seemed crude for him to be so amused.
Jessa tried to ignore him by eating. Unfortunately, she couldn’t stop being supremely aware of him. Such fascination made no sense. The man was, if not her enemy, then at least her opponent. What difference did it make how handsome he was or how likable? Who cared if his eyes twinkled when he teased or how tanned and strong his hands looked? She was a fool to even notice such things, but notice she did. She just couldn’t seem to help herself, and that puzzled her.
Hilda came and dropped a plate onto the table in front of Garrett. “You didn’t say, so you get bacon.”
“Bacon suits me to a T,” he said, sending a smile up at her. “Is there honey for the biscuits?”
She snorted and waved her spatula. “Of course there’s honey for the biscuits. Right over there.”
Garrett looked in that direction then literally fluttered his long, inky eyelashes at her, imploring her with a look.
“You’ll have to do better than that,” she huffed, even as she trundled across the room for the honey pot. She plunked it down in front of him then stayed to talk about wedding cake. “I’ve been thinking of decorating Ellie’s cake with candied violets. That seems like Ellie, doesn’t it?”
Garrett nodded, cutting into a trio of over-easy eggs. “I’ve noticed that she favors purples.”
“Well, with those eyes, who wouldn’t?” Hilda said.
Jessa had noticed Ellie Monroe’s unusual coloring when they’d met. With hair a glossy slate gray and eyes like amethysts, purple would suit Ellie very well.
“We could have candied violets in the ice ring, too,” Hilda went on. “Wouldn’t that be pretty in a grape punch? And if we had some fresh violets, we could scatter them around the serving tables.”
Garrett just grunted and crammed a huge bite of egg-drenched biscuit into his mouth.
Jessa laid down her fork, mind whirling, and carefully inquired, “Where do you intend to get your flowers?”
“From the greenhouse out back,” Garrett answered off-handedly.
She gaped at him. “There’s a greenhouse?”
He nodded, gobbling