She paused. “I’m sorry for interrupting. I thought Eliza would be here, or perhaps Mrs. Markham.” She went to back out the door, but he sent her a pleading look.
“Mrs. Markham is ill,” he explained. “Miss Cline said she would return this evening.”
He was at a total loss, the poor man. Taking a second look at the contents of the pan, Olivia decided she could not leave him to fend for himself. Ignoring her reluctance to spend time alone with the handsome widow, she stepped inside and closed the door firmly behind her.
While doing what she could for this poor family, she’d not have any time to allow herself to wallow in self-pitying thoughts.
“Sit down, Mr. Smith.” She shooed him from the stove. “Has Harvey drank his milk yet?”
“His milk? Miss Crone didn’t say…”
Olivia searched around the room until her gaze landed on the feeding apparatus. Empty. “Pat him on the back in case he has air inside.”
“Are you here to cook for us?” One of the twins tugged at her skirt.
The oldest, who was all of eight years old, Luke Jr, stared at her sullenly, which had been his normal expression ever since his mother died.
“Pa already gave you something,” Luke Jr. reminded his younger brother.
Olivia studied the pan more closely. Could this black clumpy substance have once been potatoes? She confirmed her suspicions with a sniff and then wrinkled her nose.
This food was not fit for man nor beast.
Over the next hour, she made herself busy, sending Luke Jr. to the pen to see if the chickens had any eggs for them, cleaning the pan, cutting new potatoes and eventually cooking up an entirely new meal.
By the time Mr. Smith returned from the chores he’d attended to in order to sit down and eat, Harvey had long fallen asleep, the twins were reading together from a book she’d brought them—studying the pictures anyhow— and Luke Jr. had disappeared outside to do whatever it is eight-year-old boys like to do when left alone.
“Smells like heaven,” he announced as she removed the heavy pan from the stove. “Looks a whole lot better than what I made up earlier.” The smile he sent her showed an abundance of appreciation.
He dug into the food practically before Olivia could set it onto the table. And she found it enjoyable, she admitted to herself, to see her handiwork consumed so enthusiastically.
“Thank you again, Miss Redfield.” Mr. Smith caught her eye as she added another helping to his plate.
Was this what her life would be like if she married him? She’d been so busy all morning that she hadn’t had a chance to hardly think about Gabriel.
Nor the way his black as night eyes crinkled when he smiled.
The warm tingling sensation she felt when he laughed.
The taste of his mouth.
Her heart squeezed.
One part of her wished he’d never come into her life at all and another part knew she’d treasure his kisses, smiles, and laughter well into her old age.
It was almost as though she’d fallen in love with him.
She jerked up at the thought, nearly losing her grip on the heavy pan.
She wasnot. She could not be.
Foolishness.And yet she had to turn away from Luke Smith in order to blink away the stinging behind her eyes.
I cannot love him!
Mr. Smith approached from behind and removed the pan from her grasp. “This is awfully heavy for such a little lady. You’ve already done so much.” And then he cleared his throat. “I realize none of this,” he gestured around his small home, “is your responsibility. The least I can do is help with the washing up.”
“I’m sure you do enough, Mr. Smith. It’s not necessary…” She kept her gaze averted from him as she blinked the tears away.
