The Bride Next Door. Winnie Griggs

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      That request raised questions, naturally, but he offered up only the bare information that he had hired her to cook for him. Anything else they wanted to know about her, they’d have to ask her.

      By the time he returned to his office, a light was shining in Daisy’s downstairs window. So she was already up and about. Was she looking forward to her first day working for him? Or dreading it?

      At precisely ten minutes after nine, Daisy walked into his office. He supposed that was as close to punctual as he should expect from her.

      “Good morning, Mr. Fulton,” she said by way of greeting.

      Everett stood and moved around the desk as he returned her greeting. She carried a heavily laden basket on her arm, but didn’t seem unduly burdened by it.

      “I enjoyed doing the marketing today. There are some fine shops here, and most of the shopkeepers seem willing to negotiate a bit. And don’t worry, I was very frugal with your money, but I think you’ll be pleased with the results.”

      The woman did like to chatter. “As long as you stay within the budget we discussed, I won’t have any complaints on that score.”

      She patted the basket. “I got a good deal on a couple of rabbits at the butcher shop. I hope you like rabbit stew. It’s one of my specialties.”

      Was she looking for some kind of approval or praise? That wasn’t really his way of doing business. “As I said, the meal planning is in your hands. I’m sure whatever you cook will be an improvement over what I’ve been preparing for myself.”

      She grinned. “Not the most enthusiastic response, but I hope to win you over with my cooking.”

      Surely no one could be this cheerful all the time? “I look forward to your attempts.”

      She spotted the small stack of newspapers near the door. “Are those your papers?”

      “Of course.” What else would they be? “It’s this morning’s edition of the Turnabout Gazette.”

      She eyed them as if not sure she wanted to get any closer. “Is that interview of me in there?”

      Was she worried about how he’d portrayed her? “Yes, it is.” He crossed over and picked one up. “Would you like to have one so you can read it?”

      Her cheeks reddened slightly. “I’m afraid I don’t have any extra money to—”

      “Consider a copy of the paper part of your pay.” He always had a few copies left over at the end of the day.

      “Why, thank you.”

      This talk of extra funds brought something else to mind. He cleared his throat. “I daresay there are other things you might need to get settled in properly, so when you are done for the day I will give you your first week’s pay in advance.”

      Her cheeks reddened. “Oh, that’s not necessary. I—”

      He held up a hand. “No argument. I won’t have my cook distracted by thoughts of how she’ll make it through the week. And use this money wisely, because I’ll do this only for the first week.”

      She smiled. “Thank you for your thoughtfulness.”

      He brushed that aside. “Now, let me show you to the kitchen.” Everett took the basket from her, then waved her ahead of him up the stairs.

      She stepped aside when she topped the stairs, pausing to look around. The stairway emptied into an open space that served multiple functions. To the left was the kitchen and dining area, and to the right was what passed for a sitting room or visitor area. Not that he ever had visitors up here. Beyond the sitting room were the two bedchambers, one of which currently served as more of a storage room. It did have a small bed—more of a cot, really—but he didn’t expect to be hosting overnight guests anytime soon.

      Everett placed her basket on the table and she moved past him, her gaze sweeping the room.

      “This kitchen is nice,” she said. “A bit spare but clean and neat. It gives me hope for what my place might look like once I get it fixed up.”

      How bad was it over there? If what he’d seen of the ground floor was any indication, she really had her work cut out for her.

      Daisy ran a hand lightly over the edge of the stove. “Yes, sir, a fine kitchen, indeed. This is a good stove. And you already have the fire stoked. Thanks!”

      Everett waved his hand in an inclusive gesture. “The dishes are in the top cupboard, the pots and pans are over there, and the cooking implements are in that drawer. This door opens to the pantry. Feel free to use anything you find there.”

      She nodded as she peered inside.

      He straightened. “I should warn you, the stove is a bit temperamental.” Something he knew from his own less-than-successful attempts at making biscuits.

      She closed the pantry door and smiled. “Most stoves take some getting used to. I’m just happy to have a real stove to cook on instead of a campfire.”

      That statement gave him pause. “But you do have experience with a household stove, don’t you?”

      “Of course. When I lived with my grandmother I spent a lot of my time in the kitchen, and I pestered the cook until she gave in and taught me all about cooking.”

      “So you haven’t used one since you were twelve years old?”

      “Not so. During the worst of winter each year, my father would find a town where we could rent rooms for about six weeks, rather than live in the wagon. To help pay for our lodging, and replenish our wares, he would find odd jobs and I’d find work in a kitchen somewhere.”

      That admission caught him by surprise. “So this isn’t your first time to hire on as a cook?”

      “Goodness, no. I told you, I know what I’m doing.”

      That remained to be seen. But he’d had enough of idle talk—time to return to his work. “I’ll leave you to it, then. There’s extra kindling and firewood for the stove in that corner. If you need anything else, you know where to find me.”

      He descended the stairs, accompanied by the sound of her cheerful humming. Was he going to have to put up with that all morning?

      He supposed there were worse distractions he could be presented with.

      Still, it didn’t seem quite normal for someone to be so relentlessly cheerful all the time, especially someone with her less-than-ideal circumstances.

      Before he’d made it back to his desk, his door opened and Alma Franklin walked in, looking for a paper. She glanced toward the stairway at the sound of Daisy’s humming, and mentioned that she’d heard he’d hired a cook and asked how that was working out for him. Right on her heels, Stanley Landers came in, also looking for a paper, and he also commented on his new cook.

      It was that way for the next hour—a steady stream of people either wanting to buy a paper or checking on notices that were already СКАЧАТЬ