Yes, indeed. She could wow Luke Evans in the kitchen. And she knew exactly what would be on the menu tonight.
CHAPTER FOUR
LUKE GAVE THE ratchet another turn and adjusted the trouble light. When had it gotten so dark? He stood back, staring at the rusted parts that made up the baler. It needed love. It needed replacing. But this repair would hold him through this season. And if things went well, he’d talk Joe into a discount and buy a new one next year.
He made a few final adjustments and straightened, rubbing the small of his back. Between the trip to town, Cait and the baler, he’d spent all of half an hour in the fields today. He frowned. It wasn’t how he liked to run things. He wasn’t a boss who gave orders and disappeared. Here everyone worked together and shared the load. But what could he do? He’d left the repairs until after dinner as it was, working in the dim light.
“Hi.”
He spun at the sound of the small voice and saw Sam standing before him in his bare feet and a pair of cotton pajamas. The boy was cute as a bug’s ear, Luke acknowledged, with his brown curls and wide chocolate eyes like his mother’s. Eyes that seemed to see everything. Luke wiped his hands on a rag and tucked the end into his back pocket. “Shouldn’t you be up at the house? In bed?”
A light blush darkened Sam’s cheeks as his gaze skittered away for a moment. “I couldn’t sleep. It’s too hot.”
“Your mom would open the window.”
“She said she didn’t want to hear a peep out of me,” Sam admitted, and Luke hid a smile. Not hear a peep, so sneaking out of the house was okay?
“Then you’d better hightail it back in there, don’t you think? You don’t want your mom to be mad.”
Sam swallowed and nodded and turned away, only to turn back again. “Why don’t you like my mama?”
Luke’s hands dropped to his sides as Sam asked the pointblank question. “What makes you think I don’t like her?” he asked.
“Because you never said anything to her at supper. And she made veal. I helped. She only does that when it’s special.”
The veal had been good, as had the pasta and salad. Certainly much fancier than he was used to making for himself. “I suppose I had my head full of everything I need to do. I don’t usually have company at the dinner table. I guess I’m not one for conversation.”
Why on earth was he explaining this to a five-year-old boy? Besides, he knew it was a feeble excuse. He hadn’t known what to say to her. He’d walked in to a house smelling of furniture polish and the fragrant lilacs she’d cut and put in one of his mother’s vases she’d unearthed from somewhere. He’d instantly been transported to a time when the house had been filled with family. His mother’s warm smiles. His dad’s teasing. All of it had been taken from him in what felt like an instant, and he knew the chances of history repeating itself were too good to fool around with. But today he’d been taken back to a happier time.
He’d looked at Emily and felt the noose tightening. All through the meal he thought of her as she’d looked that morning as they ate alone in the quiet kitchen, with her pretty smiles and soft voice. It had felt domestic. Alarm bells had gone off like crazy in his head. He knew the signs. Watchfulness. Blushes. He was as guilty of it as she was, and he had kept his distance ever since very deliberately. He’d had no idea what to say to her.
“I think you hurt her feelings,” Sam persisted. His tone turned defensive and his brown eyes snapped. “My mama’s a nice lady,” he announced, lifting his chin as if daring Luke to dispute it, an action so like his mother Luke found it hard not to smile. “She cooks good and reads me stories and does all the best voices with my dinosaur puppets.”
This was Luke’s problem. He was too soft. He already felt sorry for the pair of them, and he didn’t even really know the extent of their situation. Nor did he want to. He knew he shouldn’t get involved. They were not his responsibility, and he didn’t want them to be. He’d had enough responsibility to last a lifetime, and even though his sisters were on their own there was still the issue of his father’s ongoing care. Emily was the housekeeper. Full stop.
Even Cait, in the first bloom of motherhood, had sensed something was up today. He’d said nothing, not wanting to mention Emily or her kid, instead dutifully admiring baby Janna. His sister was happy, but a family was not for him. So why did seeing her with Joe and her baby make him feel so empty? It was like that every time he saw Liz’s girls, too. They thought he didn’t particularly care for children. But the sorry truth was he knew he would never have any of his own and keeping his distance was just easier.
“I like your mom just fine, and you’re right, supper was good. But my job is to fix this baler so we can roll up the hay out there and have feed for the winter.”
Sam scowled. “Mama told me if we didn’t stay here we had to go to Grandma and Grampa’s. I don’t even know what they look like.”
Luke leaned against the bumper, watching Sam with keen eyes. When had she said such a thing? Before arriving or after he’d given her the job? He found the answer mattered to him. And how could Sam not know his grandparents? Regina wasn’t so far from Calgary as to prevent visits.
“Oh, you must remember them.”
But Sam shook his head. “My mama says they would be excited to see me because they haven’t since I was a baby.”
Three years. Maybe four, if what he said was true. Luke frowned. Even though he’d only known her a few days, he pictured Emily as the type to be surrounded by family. What had kept them apart?
“You should go on up to the house,” he said, more firmly this time. “You don’t want to get in trouble with your mom, Sam. Go on now.”
Sam’s lips twisted a little. “You don’t like me either,” he announced.
“What does it matter if I like you or not?” Luke was feeling annoyed now, having his character called out by a boy. Besides, it wasn’t a matter of liking or not. It went so much deeper. Self-preservation, if it came to that. There was too much at stake for him to get all gushy over babies and such. “You get on up to bed.”
Sam’s little lip quivered but his eyes blazed. “That’s all right. My dad doesn’t like me either and my mama and I do just fine.”
He spun on his toes and ran back to the house.
Luke sighed, watching him depart. He’d been sharp when he hadn’t meant to be. It wasn’t Sam’s fault—or Emily’s for that matter—that the years of stress and responsibility had worn him down. The boy had been through enough with his parents splitting up—Emily had as much as said so last night. He felt a moment of guilt, knowing Sam was feeling the loss of his father keenly. Did Sam never see him, then?
He rubbed a hand over his face, blew out a breath. Emily’s domestic situation was none of his concern. Why he continually had to remind himself of that was a bit of a mystery. He turned out the trouble light and felt for a moment the satisfaction of another day done.
Followed by the heavy realization of all that remained to do tomorrow. And the day after that.
He squared his shoulders. “Suck it up, Evans,” he mumbled to himself, shaking his head. Darn the two of them anyway. They’d had him thinking more over the last two days than he had in months, and not just about himself. About her, and the series of events that had landed her on his doorstep just at the moment he needed her most.
Emily was wiping up the last of the dishes and Sam was already sound asleep in bed when Luke returned to the house in the twilight. Sam had worked alongside her most of the afternoon, helping her dust the rooms and fetching things as she needed them. The bathroom fixtures shone and the floors gleamed again, and she sighed, not only from exhaustion but also from satisfaction. Sam had