***
After supper, Mark watched as Layla moved toward the stairs with Heath nestled into her arms. “Hold on one moment, please,” he said from the comfort of the armchair where he was relaxing in the sitting room. Layla turned toward him, an unexpected look fixed upon her face.
“I’d like to say goodnight to my son properly,” Mark explained, trying to alleviate the brief tension. Layla smiled softly and walked delicately back to Mark. He rose and kissed Heath on top of the head.
“Good night, son,” Mark said quietly before nodding at Layla. As soon as she and Heath moved back toward the staircase, Mark counted silently in his head. When he got to ten, he nodded once and followed them. He crept up the stairs, careful not to make a sound as he moved.
He rounded the corner and came to a stop right outside Heath’s pale green bedroom door. It was slightly ajar, so Mark tilted his head, listening carefully to Layla.
“Tonight,” she began in soft, soothing tones. “I would like to tell you a story about a man and a woman named Adam and Eve.” Heath made small gurgling sounds, and through the barely open door, Mark saw Layla rubbing her hand across his belly in a circular motion.
“Adam and Eve were God’s first children. They lived in an amazing place called the Garden of Eden. Trees grew everywhere, and fruits flourished in that blessed soil.”
Mark backed away from the door as he absorbed Layla’s words.
“Adam and Eve lived happily in the Garden of Eden with the Lord, our God, watching out for them.”
Mark leaned back against the wall in the hallway and thought about the words she was likely to say. He had once known these Bible stories by heart and felt an ache in his body and soul as he realized it had been over a year since he’d thought of the story of Adam and Eve, or of any other Biblical tale, for that matter. Envious of the relationship Layla had with God, he wondered how, even despite everything that had happened to her lately, she could find the strength and the resolve to trust in God’s plan.
“A serpent tempted Eve,” Layla said, and Mark’s mind flashed to Trudie.Shehad never told Heath stories, nor had she ever sung to their child in the way that Layla did from time to time. Trudie had been so vibrant and full life when she and Mark first met, even after they were married.
But, after Heath’s birth, Trudie practically disappeared. She’d stopped eating and spent little time with the baby. On the other hand, Layla had not only volunteered to be his wife and Heath’s caretaker, but she seemed to relish the job.
Mark shook his head mournfully as he thought of just how different Layla was from Trudie. If only his first wife had been more like his second … but that line of thinking would get him nowhere. Pushing away from the wall without listening to the rest of Layla’s story, he walked to his own bedroom and shut the door heavily.
“They are going to suffer in the end anyway,” Mark muttered to the darkened room and flung himself on the bed helplessly.
Chapter Seven
Layla rose early on Sunday morning and said a quick prayer before she even got out of bed. “Lord, please help me do things the right way today.”
It marked the end of her second full week on the ranch, and the only thing that she could do with any ease was take care of Heath. Pushing back the crimson quilt, she dragged her legs over the side of the bed. She had learned rather quickly that she could get her morning chores started before the baby was awake if she got up and out of bed early. She smiled contentedly; she did so enjoy spending time with that lovely little boy.
Moving from her bed to her vanity, she stopped to splash cool water onto her face. She rummaged in the chest of drawers for a serviceable and practical white blouse and brown skirt that she wore when she helped her father run the store. However, her more refined clothing was of little use on the ranch, as she couldn’t risk snagging buttons or lace on vines out in the garden or hooks in the kitchen. She brushed her long black hair away from her face and wove it into a plait that rested neatly down her back.
Creeping down into the kitchen, she snatched a basket from a hook on the wall and went out to the garden. As the sun arched into the early morning sky, she pulled peppers from the vines, filling the basket quickly before returning to the house.
“One chore done,” she said merrily as she sat the basket of ripe, red tomatoes on the kitchen countertop. Moving about the kitchen happily, she grabbed ingredients to bake a loaf of bread. She mixed the dough thoroughly and removed it from the bowl to knead it more rigorously with her hands against the broad counter space. As she worked, she hummed her favorite church hymns, and in no time, the dough was ready to bake.
Two chores done, she thought proudly. She walked to the stairs and stretched her neck, trying to hear if Heath was awake. When she didn’t hear a sound, she returned to the kitchen to continue working. She knew Mark would be downstairs at any moment and would be expecting his breakfast; she didn’t want to keep him waiting. Snatching a second, smaller woven basket from near the back door, she raced out to the chicken coop. She emerged with six eggs, feeling that was more than enough to make breakfast for Mark, as well as herself and Heath.
Layla was just cracking the eggs and placing them into a frying pan when Mark strode through the kitchen doorway. His broad shoulders looked immense as he stood there, practically filling up the space. He had yet to put his hat on, allowing Layla to see his thick dark hair. His dark eyes were gentler than expected.
“Good morning, Mark,” Layla chirped.
“Good morning,” Mark answered crisply, and she swiveled to look at him once more. He didn’t seem angry, but even though his eyes were less distressed, a smile did not touch his lips.
“Your eggs will be ready momentarily,” Layla said, casting her eyes back to cracking an egg. Not wholly paying attention to what she was doing, Layla’s hand faltered, and a piece of shell dropped into the pan along with the egg.
Layla groaned. Using her forefinger and thumb as pincers to pluck the eggshell from the pan, she burned herself in the process. She cried out and moved away from the hearth, lifting her throbbing finger to inspect it.
Mark made a noise of irritation but said nothing. He moved through the kitchen and wound his way over to the hearth. The pot of coffee that hung from a hook was boiling, and the earthy aroma permeated the kitchen. Carefully, he removed the pot, brought it to the other side of the counter, and stood over it expectantly. When Layla didn’t move but kept looking at her finger, he grunted in a dissatisfied manner and turned to the cabinet to get his own coffee mug. He gave her a critical look as he poured his own steaming cup of black coffee.
“I guess I’m not hungry this morning,” Mark said scathingly as he walked swiftly to the back door and straight out into the yard. Layla watched him go with astonishment.
“Oh,” she moaned, frustrated that he left in such a huff. She was going to get the breakfast on the table. Why couldn’t he just be patient with her?And things were going so well this morning …She pressed against the tender skin of her aching finger, hoping to relieve the throbbing.
Before she could do anything else, she heard Heath stir and cry softly. “I’m coming,” Layla called as she stuck her finger in the pocket of her ruffly white apron and headed up the stairs.
