“Perhaps they can help you with your yard chores. Say for the rest of this morning?”
The judge weighed the offer, his dark lashes flickering from her to the children. Then he commanded the children’s attention. “Kyle. Kerri. Do you agree?’
Kerri nodded eagerly, her face brightening, while Kyle, trying hard not to show any enthusiasm for the idea, spoke for them both. “S’pose so. What do we have ta do?”
It dawned on Quincee that Kyle may be in need of a man’s company. He’d been very young when his parents split, and the kids’ dad, Mac Stillman, hadn’t been seen since shortly after Kerri was born.
“I’m pruning rosebushes against my house right now,” the judge said, bringing her thoughts back to the task at hand. “You may gather the clippings for the trash can. After that, I’ll be working in the vegetable garden. You may both help with weeding.”
Before he’d finished speaking, Kerri was crawling through the gap in the hedge. Kyle scrambled to follow.
Quincee didn’t know whether to go with the children or not. They needed to learn this valued lesson, to be sure, but she knew very little about Judge Paxton’s personal life. Hamilton Paxton was still practically a stranger, though her real estate woman had told Quincee that her neighbor in the Victorian beauty next to hers lived alone, but was a very respected citizen. The woman hadn’t mentioned his name.
At the time, who would’ve guessed she’d care?
Paula hadn’t normally let the children go with someone of whom she knew so little. Neither did Quincee. Yet however much she might think him a stuffed shirt, she instinctively trusted the judge.
“You may check on the children at any time, Miss Davis,” the judge said, reading her thoughts. “We’ll be right here in plain sight for you to find.”
Quincee nodded. His unexpected thoughtfulness struck her as unusual; he certainly hadn’t cut her any slack or shown any kindness at court. “Thank you.”
Through the low woody hedge gaps, she saw their feet turn away.
“Come home by lunchtime, kids,” she called after them. “And you must follow Judge Paxton’s instructions, but don’t get in his way.”
“We will, Quincee,” Kerri returned, her voice floating behind her.
“I don’t suppose either of you have any work gloves, do you?” she heard the judge mutter. “We’ll have to see what I can dig up.”
Quincee was left to puzzle over the man’s behavior after giving a great imitation of disliking kids. He certainly didn’t have much respect for her. He thought her a fluff.
Promptly at noon, the kids came through the back door. Kerri carried a brown paper sack. “Look what I have,” she boasted.
“What’s that?” Quincee asked.
“Strawberries.” Kerri opened the sack and showed off her prize. “They came out of his garden. He said he didn’t want any more, he’d had enough. And he let me pick ’em ’cause he showed me how. You only pick just the red ones, see?”
“He gave these to you?” Quincee queried, narrowing her eyes. “Are you sure?”
“Uh-huh. We earned ’em,” Kyle said. He displayed more dirt than a gopher.
“And what have you been doing to earn the strawberries?” she asked. She couldn’t imagine what that stiff-necked letter-of-the-law would consider ample work worthy of these lovely strawberries.
“Chopping up dirt and taking out the rocks so the stuff in the garden can grow better,” the boy replied. “He said we grow more rocks in Missouri than grass.”
“I suppose that’s true,” she responded with a surprised chuckle. “But I think you both need baths before you grow anything interesting in all that dirt you’re sporting. Quickly now, before lunch.”
She scooted each of them in and out of a speedy dunking in the stained claw-footed tub, wishing for the efficiency of a shower. It was on her list.
But then, that was the reason she’d been able to buy the house at all, she reminded herself. It had been greatly reduced because it needed so much repair and it was so out of date. She was only surprised the heirs of the former owner hadn’t sold the old tub to an antique dealer. One day, she’d have it refinished. That was on her list, as well.
While the kids ate their peanut butter sandwiches, she gently shook the ripe berries into her sink to wash. Only heaven knew where her colander was to be found. Popping a clean berry into her mouth, she closed her eyes and savored the sweet taste.
Sighing, she wondered what to do with all of them. She’d slice a bowl of them for breakfast tomorrow, she decided. Over cereal, they’d be a grand treat. She could make either shortcake or a pie with the rest.
It would have to be a pie, she guessed. She didn’t have enough flour to make shortcake biscuits. And now she couldn’t go to the store until her friend Laura had time to take her. One day next week, she thought.
Could she find everything she needed from her boxes to make a pie? She set the children to helping as soon as lunch was over.
Kyle unearthed the baking tins and Kerri found the flour and sugar. Then while the children rested at her insistence, she made a pie crust, praying the old oven would give an even heat. A new stove was on her list, too, but by her calculations she’d have to make do with this one for at least a year.
By the time the kids were up again, the brightly glazed berries gleamed in a reasonably browned crust. She only wished she had some whipped cream to complete her masterpiece.
“Ooh, that looks yummy,” Kerri said, eyeing the treat. “Can we take a piece to him?”
“Him who?” Quincee teased. She knew it was natural for a little girl to get a sudden crush on a father figure, but the idea of Judge Paxton filling that role for Kerri struck her as hilarious.
“You know.” Kerri rolled her wide eyes. “Him.”
“Oh, that him.” Well…it was the least she could do, she supposed, to share his generosity in this form. She wasn’t about to be in his debt for a single, solitary thing. “Sure, honey, why not. But after supper, okay? And after you and Kyle empty at least three boxes of your clothes into your chests.”
About seven, Quincee carefully placed a large piece of pie in a plastic container and let Kerri and Kyle take it next door. She cautioned them to go around by way of the sidewalk. Would he be home? She couldn’t see his garage, placed on the other side of his house, to see if his car was there.
She’d included a note of thanks.
Thirty minutes later, when the children returned, they handed her back the note. At the bottom, she found one sentence added in a short masculine scrawl, telling her the pie was quite good. It was signed H.A. Paxton.
H.A. Paxton. He was a puzzle for sure.
Why didn’t the blasted man have a Saturday night date? He was young enough, and handsome.
Well…presentable, anyway. If one liked that old-fashioned kind of man. Why was he home, when most of her single acquaintances joined friends for a movie or a barbecue? Why did the blasted man have to be home when she’d hoped to sneak out and make a grocery run?
But she secretly thought he had the best pair of male eyes in the city of Independence.
Chapter Two
Two afternoons later, Quincee decided she’d made enough headway on the inside of the house. She’d done a thorough inspection of the outdated plumbing and wiring and knew that the wiring must be her first priority in repair.
She’d learn to do it herself, except there were licenses and requirements about those things. But couldn’t she do it and