Family of Her Dreams. Keli Gwyn

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       Chapter Four

      Spencer didn’t know which amused him more, Luke’s antics or Miss Grimsby’s show of pique. He hid his twitching lips behind his napkin. “Luke, that’s unkind. We must be grateful for what we’re served.”

      She set a large bowl of soup on the table, performed an about-face and left the room without a word.

      He cast a glance at Mrs. Carter, seated to his left on the other side of Luke with Lila in her lap. The widow appeared to be concealing a smile, too. “You got nothin’ to fear, Mr. Abbott. I slurped a spoonful of the soup earlier, and it’s delicious.”

      “I look forward to tasting it myself.”

      “But she said the soup was ruined, Papa. I heard her.”

      “I said no such thing.” Miss Grimsby placed a platter of fish in front of Spencer that smelled so good his mouth watered. “It’s julienne soup. Not ruined soup. I gather you’ve never had it before.”

      Luke shook his head so soundly his long hair flapped from side to side. “Mama didn’t fix things with funny names. She made what Papa likes. Steak and baked potatoes. Not smelly old burned fish.”

      “I didn’t burn the fish, Luke. What makes you think that?” Miss Grimsby gazed at the ceiling for several moments.

      All of a sudden she nodded. “I understand. You heard me tell Mrs. Carter I was going to make black butter to drizzle over the fish. The butter’s not really black, though. It’s just browned, and it tastes good. I’ll bring in the rest of the food, and you can see for yourself.”

      She returned with a dish of small potatoes cut into chunks and sprinkled with herbs, along with a plate of artistically arranged tomato slices. Rather fancy fare for a family supper. Not that Spencer was complaining. Steak and baked potatoes were fine, but a man could do with a change on occasion.

      And fresh fish? How had she managed that? This looked to be salmon. His favorite. Trudy couldn’t stomach seafood, so he’d not had any in years.

      His gut tightened. Trudy. He’d eat steak and potatoes every day for the rest of his life if that would give him one more hour with her. One more opportunity to take her in his arms, pull her to his chest and feel the silkiness of her hair against his chin. One more chance to tell her how sorry he was for—

      “Mr. Abbott?”

      “Hmm?”

      Miss Grimsby sat at the opposite end of the rectangular table with Lila in her lap. “Did you want to say grace?”

      “Yes. Of course.”

      She took Lila’s hands in hers, pressed the baby’s palms together and covered them with her own.

      Spencer swallowed the boulder that lodged in his throat at the site of his little girl in another woman’s arms, a capable and caring woman as different from Trudy as California was from Texas. A comely woman who’d filled his thoughts far too often since their trackside meeting. “Thank You, Father, for the meal and for...the h-hands that prepared it.”

      He cast a furtive glance around the table to see if anyone had noticed his hesitation. Mrs. Carter and Luke’s heads were bowed. Miss Grimsby, on the other hand, had something akin to sympathy on her face. When she realized he’d seen her, she blushed a pretty shade of pink and squeezed her eyes shut. He hastened to cover his halting start. “Thank You that we can gather around the table to enjoy this unexpected treat. Be with us as we partake. In Christ’s name. Amen.”

      Miss Grimsby plopped some potatoes on her plate and averted her gaze, for which he was grateful. The only sound was the clink of silverware on porcelain as they filled their plates.

      Spencer dipped his spoon into the soup. Despite the strange name, the little strips of vegetables swimming in broth were tastier than he’d expected. Crisp, not mushy—just the way he liked them.

      How strange it was to be in the dining room. They hadn’t eaten there since Trudy’s dea— in months. The shirts he’d slung over the chairs were gone, the tabletop gleamed and his wife’s cherished vase overflowed with a massive bouquet. “Those flowers. Where did they come from?”

      “We picked them, Papa. Me and her.” Luke pointed to Mrs. Carter.

      “They’re from the beds out front, aren’t they?” He hadn’t meant for his question to come out with such force, but—

      “They are.” Miss Grimsby eyed him warily. “I thought they would brighten the table and fill the air with a pleasant aroma. Is there a problem?”

      “My wife planted them. They were her pride and joy.”

      “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t know.”

      There was no way she could have. The vase was so full of colorful blooms that there couldn’t be many left out front. But there would be more. In time. “It’s all right.”

      Miss Grimsby’s fine features relaxed, although he detected pity in the glance she sent him. Sympathy was bad enough, but he wanted no part of pity.

      Conversation had ceased following his heated question. Not that he could blame the others for being quiet. The same thing often happened at the rail station when his feelings got the better of him, which happened far too often these days. He must regain control.

      His normally unobtrusive daughter wriggled and whimpered. His prospective housekeeper had her hands full holding Lila while trying to eat. The baby’s flailing fist sent Miss Grimsby’s spoon sailing. Then his little girl flung her arms open wide and said “Papa” as clear as you please. Her first word ever, and she’d said it for him.

      “It СКАЧАТЬ