Maggie nodded. “Uncle Jess cooks all the time. He lets me help. I read Mama’s recipes to him. But they don’t taste the same.”
Sarah’s stomach rolled. “No, I don’t expect they do.”
“That’s ’cause I don’t know all the words.”
“Then maybe your uncle should read.” Anything would be an improvement.
“He says for me to read ’cause it’s good to be able to read.”
Mildly surprised, Sarah nodded. “Does your uncle ever read to you?”
“No. Mama had lots of books. She used to read to me and Jimmy sometimes at night. But Uncle Jess doesn’t read them.” Maggie pulled off a crust of chicken. “He makes up stories. He says they’re better than book stories.”
“And are they?”
Maggie laughed. “They’re funny. Uncle Jess makes up funny stories. He tells us one every single night.”
Sarah laughed, too, unable not to. “Still, wouldn’t you like to hear the stories in the books and look at the pictures?”
“Uncle Jess says he can paint the pictures in our heads with the words. He says you don’t have to be able to read to make good stories.”
Sarah’s stomach knotted. Was that the reason for the unpalatable meals? Jess couldn’t read?
“Can I go play now?” Maggie licked her fingers.
“Certainly, dear.” Sarah’s thoughts ran wild, imagining Jess’s childhood, the horrible death of his family right before his eyes, then bouncing from home to home having little guidance. He’d been such a behavior problem, maybe no one had taken the time to teach him. Maybe Jess Logan couldn’t read.
Sarah pushed herself to her feet and stalked across the schoolyard. No. No, she wouldn’t get involved. She couldn’t. She had to keep to herself. She needed this job and she needed this town. She needed a home. And she would be a part of Walker—albeit a distant, detached part—no matter how much her heart ached to help.
With a deep, cleansing sigh, Sarah climbed the steps to the schoolhouse. Absolutely, positively, without a shadow of a doubt, she would not get involved with Jess and the children. She would not.
“It’s just a simple stew. I thought you and the children might like some.”
Sarah held out the black kettle, bearing up under Jess’s harsh gaze from the back porch.
“I made too much for myself.”
His eyes narrowed.
“It’s beef and vegetables.”
His brows furrowed.
“It’s good.”
The line of his mouth hardened.
“It’s heavy.” Sarah winced and braced her outstretched arm with the other one.
He came down the steps and took the kettle from her, but still just stared at her.
“Besides, I owe you.” Sarah rubbed her forearm.
“For what?”
“Luke Trenton.” She waved him toward the door. “Put that on the stove before it gets cold.”
Jess looked at the kettle, then at her, at the house, then back to Sarah again. “You want to eat with us?”
A lump rose in Sarah’s throat. She shouldn’t even be here, let alone go inside. But it was doubtful anyone had seen her come to Jess’s house; the only close neighbor was Mrs. McDougal across the road and Sarah knew she was having supper with the Sullivans tonight.
She glanced around. “Well, all right.”
Jess held the door open for her and Sarah walked inside. He seemed bigger, growing taller and wider each time she saw him. And somehow it made her feel smaller, weaker, until her knees trembled, and made it harder to breathe.
Maggie and Jimmy were both in the kitchen, oblivious to the dirty dishes, the pile of dust under the broom in the corner, the disarray. They sat at the table, drawing with nubby pencils on sheafs of white paper.
“Hi, Miss Sarah.” Maggie smiled broadly. “We’re making pictures, aren’t we, Jimmy.”
The boy spared her a glance and turned back to his drawing.
Sarah stood in the corner, feeling uncomfortable. “I brought stew for supper. Anybody hungry?”
“Uncle Jess said we could make oatmeal cookies for supper. I told Mary Beth Myers we were.”
Sarah looked at Jess. “You giving the children cookies for supper?”
“After supper.” He pushed aside a greasy frying pan and sat the kettle on the stove. “Anything wrong with that?”
“No, of course not.” Sarah took off her cloak and unpinned her hat. “Let me help you.”
He glared at her. “I can do it.”
“I’m only offering to help with supper, Mr. Logan, not bear your child.”
The kettle lid slipped from Jess’s fingers and clattered onto the stove, then flipped onto the floor. His gaze riveted her in place.
Sarah turned away, her cheeks flaming. What on earth had she said? Why had she blurted out such a suggestive remark?
“See my picture, Miss Sarah?”
Grateful, Sarah peered over Maggie’s shoulder, admiring her drawing of a house with trees and flowers in the yard. Her own home, obviously.
“That’s lovely, Maggie. Let’s have a look at your brother’s work.”
Sarah pursed her lips as she gazed at Jimmy’s picture, crude sketches of bared teeth, narrow eyes on angry faces. She walked to the stove.
“I thought drawing might help him,” Jess said as he stirred the stew. “Since he won’t talk, maybe he’ll say what’s on his mind with the pictures.”
Sarah glanced over her shoulder at the table. “He’s very troubled.”
“With good reason.”
“What has the doctor said about him?”
Jess shuddered. “I’m not taking that boy to any doctor.”
“I understand Dr. Burns is very capable—”
“No.”
His reasoning was only too obvious. Sarah pursed her lips. “Really, Mr. Logan, just because you’re afraid of the doctor, doesn’t mean—”
“Afraid?” His gaze riveted her. “Who said anything about being afraid?”
She gave him an indulgent look.
Jess shifted uncomfortably. “I’m not taking Jimmy to any doctor, and that’s all there is to it.”
“What’s best for you, Mr. Logan, isn’t necessarily what’s best for Jimmy.”
Dammit. There she went, being right again. Jess clamped his mouth shut.
“At least consider it. Won’t you?”
“Yeah, I guess I will.” Jess looked down at her standing at his elbow. “Since I’ve got these two children already and don’t need anymore borne for me tonight, would you mind setting the table instead?”
Sarah’s cheeks pinkened, but she laughed, and to her surprise, Jess laughed with her, a deep, masculine laugh that rippled through her.
Together they got the meal on