The Prodigal Groom. Karen Leabo

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СКАЧАТЬ another employee, not her former lover, or she wouldn’t be able to function.

      Wendy watched curiously from her booster chair, where she’d been sitting and drinking a glass of orange juice. “Did you burn something, Mommy?” she asked.

      “Just a little. It’s fine now,” Laurie answered absently. “I think breakfast is ready. Would you go outside and ring the bell, please?”

      Wendy scrambled out of her chair, eager to perform her favorite task. But she stopped at the door and looked at the four place settings on the table, her little brows drawn together as she put the pieces together. “Is Jake eating with us?”

      “Yes, he is. And don’t call him Jake, sweetie, call him Mr. Mercer.”

      “Why?”

      “Because he’s a grown-up, and children shouldn’t call grown-ups by their first names.”

      “What about Maurice?”

      “That’s different,” Laurie said. “He’s practically part of the family.”

      “Then why can’t he be my daddy?”

      Laurie sighed. “He just can’t be, okay? Now go ring the bell.”

      Wendy reached for the doorknob and twisted it, quietly chanting, “Mr. Merster, Mr. Merster.” Just before she walked outside, she turned back to Laurie. “Jake’s easier to say.”

      Laurie shook her head. She had a feeling that her efforts to keep Wendy and Jake away from each other would be in vain. The two seemed to have a sensitivity to one another, almost as if they both knew, on some subconscious level, that they were father and daughter. Last night, when Jake had pulled into the driveway with his truck loaded with the belongings he intended to move into the manager’s house, Wendy had run out to greet him before Laurie could stop her. Then the child had jabbered nonstop as Jake had unloaded his belongings and taken them inside the little cottage.

      Laurie had tried to take Wendy away, claiming that Jake should be left in peace while he was moving in, but Jake had insisted she stay. “Wendy’s gonna be my number-one ranch hand, so we better get to know each other, right?” he’d said, tickling Wendy’s chubby tummy.

      Wendy had giggled, denying she was a ranch hand but obviously intrigued with the idea.

      The old schoolhouse bell pealed as Wendy pulled strenuously on the rope. Laurie watched out the window as both Jake and Maurice looked up. Maurice waved to signal her that he’d heard, and Jake tipped his hat. Even at a distance, Laurie caught a glimpse of steel blue eyes—or maybe she only imagined them. Nonetheless, she shivered.

      A few minutes later both men came into the kitchen. Jake’s sleeves were rolled up, revealing sinewy, tanned forearms, and his hair was damp and slicked back, evidence that he’d washed up at the old pump before coming in for breakfast. Laurie tried not to stare as she served up scrambled eggs with green peppers, homemade biscuits and the slightly crusty hash browns.

      “Smells good,” Jake offered.

      “Miz Laurie’s turned into the best cook in the county,” Maurice said, “though when she first came here she couldn’t boil water. She learned quick, though.”

      Laurie’s gaze locked with Jake’s for an endless moment. How well she remembered his teasing her about her lack of cooking skills, insisting she ought to learn some domesticity if she wanted to keep her man home at night. And she had insisted, with a certain amount of suggestive body language, that she had other means of keeping her man’s attention.

      Looking at him now, she had a feeling that he, too, was remembering those peppery dialogues they used to have. She glanced away and took her chair, busying herself with her napkin.

      “Mommy burneded the taters,” Wendy announced.

      “They are a bit browner than usual,” Maurice said.

      “Better crispy than raw,” Jake added, taking a large bite of the hash browns.

      Laurie stood abruptly. “You’re right, they’re too brown. I’ll make some more,” she said, moving to the refrigerator. “The potatoes are already shredded, I just have to fry them up. Won’t take but—”

      “Laurie, sit down,” Jake interrupted. “The hash browns are fine.”

      “But it’s no trouble.”

      “It’s not necessary. Sit down.”

      Laurie bristled. How dare he order her around in her own house. Who was the boss here? Then she sighed. Jake could hardly be considered her employee when she wasn’t paying him. He was trying to bail her out of a mess. And right now, he was being very tolerant of a less-than-satisfactory breakfast.

      Why was she so concerned that breakfast be perfect, anyway?

      Laurie reclaimed her chair, and the rest of the meal passed quietly, punctuated only by Wendy’s oblivious chatter.

      Maurice put his fork down with a gusty sigh of contentment and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Well, now, that was a mighty fine breakfast.”

      Wendy giggled. “You always say that.”

      “It’s always true. So, Sunshine, are you ready for another riding lesson this morning?”

      Wendy’s china blue eyes lit up with delight. “Can I, Mommy?”

      Laurie started to say yes, but Jake interrupted. “Maurice won’t have time for lessons this morning. We’ve got a full schedule.”

      “Surely he can take off thirty minutes…” The look Jake gave Laurie pinched off her objection.

      Jake turned his attention to Wendy, whose cherubic face was wreathed in disappointment. “How about we have your lesson this afternoon?”

      The little girl smiled again, though not quite as brightly as before. “Okay, Mr. Merster.”

      “Call me Jake.”

      “Mommy said not to.”

      Jake looked questioningly at Laurie.

      “She’s not supposed to call adults by their first names,” Laurie said coolly. “It’s the way I was raised, and she’s being raised that way, too.”

      “Okay, fine.” But Laurie didn’t miss the conspiratorial wink he flashed at Wendy, and she suspected that no matter what her preferences, her daughter would be calling Jake “Jake.”

      Laurie stood and began clearing the dishes. “Wendy, honey, it’s time to feed the cats. Ask Maurice to help you.” She looked defiantly at Jake, daring him to countermand her orders.

      He stared back, measuring, as he stood and donned his hat, but all he said was, “Thanks for breakfast.”

      “Wait a minute,” she said, halting him at the door. “I’d like a word with you in private.”

      He pulled his Stetson back off and held it, fidgeting, until Maurice and Wendy were gone. “Yes, ma’am?” СКАЧАТЬ