His Expectant Neighbor. SUSAN MEIER

vigorously, the little boy jumped from his seat, opened the cupboard and was back at the table with glasses in seconds.

      Gwen started to sit again, but seeing Ben open the mustard, she changed directions. “You’ll need a knife for that.”

      He eased her back down. “Nate can get that. Right, Nate?”

      “Right,” Nate said, then ran to her silverware drawer. He extracted a knife and presented it to Ben.

      “What kind of sandwich would you like?” Ben asked Nathan.

      “Bologna,” he said with a grin.

      “Just bologna? Nothing else?”

      “Just bologna.”

      All in all, making the sandwiches, distributing potato chips, pouring the cola and settling everyone into a seat took less than ten minutes. But Gwen wasn’t oblivious to the fact that she’d done nothing to put this little impromptu lunch together.

      Which, as hostess, made it all the more important that she come up with some good mealtime conversation. “So what did you do this morning?” she asked Ben, then mentally chastised herself because that hardly sounded interesting, let alone stimulating.

      “I’m having trouble with my accountant,” he said simply, then downed half a glass of cola. “But it’s not a big deal. If he’s messing up, I can fire him and replace him in a minute. I just don’t like to get rid of somebody who doesn’t deserve to be let go. I like to be sure.”

      “Good idea,” Gwen agreed. “I’ve never been on the firing side of being an employer, but I’ll bet it’s no picnic.”

      “It doesn’t have to be a disaster, either,” Ben said. “The only real problem I ever had was firing someone unfairly. That will keep you up at nights and make you just plain miserable. I’ll never do it again.”

      Though she didn’t know Ben very well, certain things about his character were obvious. “I can’t imagine you letting somebody go without good reason.”

      “Oh, I did,” Ben assured her. “I found out too late I’d gotten bad information from someone who had a grudge against the guy.”

      “Yikes.”

      “Yeah, you’ve got to be really careful about who you trust,” Ben agreed. “Anyway, I had to hunt the man down and bring him back with a raise. But in the end my conscience was clear.”

      Ben’s comment about trust didn’t escape Gwen’s notice. If she’d been romantically interested in him, she would have taken it as something of a warning. Since she wasn’t romantically interested in him—couldn’t be—she focused on the fact that Ben’s generosity was only outdone by his integrity. Then she glanced at Nathan, saw he had finished his sandwich and was just about to ask him if he wanted another, when Ben beat her to it.

      “All done, Nate? Or would you like something else?”

      “More chips,” he said, and Ben promptly complied with the request.

      Gwen stifled a laugh. The way they interacted was cute, but more than that it was now obvious that they were deliberately keeping her from doing anything. Which was kind of sweet, though very impractical. She doubted they would stop if she told them she’d caught on, but she wasn’t so stupid that she couldn’t beat them at their own game.

      “What are you doing this afternoon?” she asked slyly.

      “I’m going south to look at some horses.”

      “Long trip?”

      “It depends. If I find what I want at the first stop, I could be back before dinner.”

      “Good. I’ll be sure to make something that won’t get cold or ruin if it sits while we wait for you.”

      Ben’s eyes narrowed as if he’d finally figured out she had tripped him up. She smiled ingeniously at him. His eyes narrowed another notch.

      Deciding it best to change the subject as quickly as possible, Gwen said, “Nathan and I started art lessons this morning.”

      Ben shot Nathan a look, and though the little boy’s eyes widened, he said nothing. Ben continued to peer at Nathan, but his question was obviously addressed to Gwen. “You didn’t do anything too strenuous, did you?”

      “Even though I’m pregnant, I can still draw. Besides, I do it every day. Drawing textbook illustrations is how I make a living.”

      Seemingly content with the answer, Ben glanced at her. “Can’t Nathan help you?”

      “Not really. But even if he could, Nathan is busy with his own projects.”

      This time the look Ben shot Nathan was openly questioning.

      “I’m making pictures,” Nathan said apologetically.

      “And I’m going to examine them so I can see what Nathan knows naturally and what he needs to be taught. I don’t want to disturb his talent, but I do want to correct what he’s doing wrong.”