Chapter Four
Six-thirty couldn’tarrive fast enough.
Mitchell forced himself to walk at a normal pace toward the house, even though every part of him wished to run as fast as he could toward the food awaiting him inside.
He climbed the steps to the porch and paused outside the door. Should he knock? He’d never been the only ranch hand around before.
Better to knock than to walk right in and offend them, he decided. He barely knocked once when the door opened. The younger of the two girls he’d seen on the porch when he arrived stood there. She gave him a cherub-like grin.
“Come in, Mr. King. Mama was asking about you.”
“I hope I’m not late.” That would be impossible. He’d watched the seconds on his pocket watch like a man who’d never tasted food.
“You’re not.” Mrs. Thomas gripped the edge of the kitchen doorframe, a towel in her hand and her face flushed from exertion. Seeing the woman look as if she could do with a good, long sit in a chair made Mitchell even more grateful he’d taken this job. He couldn’t imagine Mrs. Thomas outside chasing down calves and repairing fence line in her state.
The scents that wafted through the air made Mitchell want to sprint straight to the kitchen and start eating the stew straight from the pot. But he forced himself to remain planted in the parlor, where the girl who had answered the door and her older sister stared at him with eyes wider than dinner platters.
“These are my daughters Hannah and Dot,” Mrs. Thomas said, gesturing at each girl in turn. The older one, Hannah, blushed, while Dot gave him a big grin. “Girls, will you show Mr. Thomas to the dining table while I help Belle?”
Dot immediately took hold of his hand and began to pull him toward a doorway off to the left, chattering nonstop about Shep, Holly, and Noel, who Mitchell eventually figured out were the dogs.
“They’re outside right now. Mama says they have to stay outside when we have company eating with us,” Dot finished. “You should sit there.” She pointed at the nearest chair.
It didn’t feel right sitting when no one else was in the room, but to Mitchell’s great relief, Arlen Thomas appeared in the doorway with another man Mitchell guessed was his brother-in-law just behind him.
“George Cummings,” the other man said, reaching out a hand. He was the spitting image of his sister, but his brown hair sported streaks of gray. “Glad you agreed to stay on. Now maybe we can convince Josie to sit down more often.”
“Good luck with that,” Arlen said with a strained smile. Worries sat obvious and heavy on his shoulders, and Mitchell felt an instant kinship with the man. God above knew he had his own parcel of worries, but at least he didn’t have a family to feed in the middle of a drought.
Mrs. Thomas and a younger, blonde woman, who Mitchell also remembered from his arrival, bustled into the dining room with plates of bread and a tureen of stew. There was no water at the table, but the blonde woman poured each person a mug of bitter-smelling coffee.
Mitchell resisted the urge to pour the entire contents of his mug down his throat immediately. He distracted himself with wondering where the curious and somewhat impudent Miss Cummings had gone.
“Where is Lara?” the older girl, Hannah, asked as if she were reading his mind.
“I’m here,” came a breathless, familiar voice from behind Mitchell.
She moved quickly around the table and took the empty seat across from him, wearing a different dress of some green striped material that set off her hair and eyes to such a degree that Mitchell had trouble not staring.
She’s nosy and potentially a thief. Well, perhaps not the latter, but the thought helped him regain his senses and accept the bowl of stew that Cummings passed to him. Besides, even if she was, he was the last person to judge a thief.
The meal was more chunks of beef and potato than any sort of actual stew. It was a given, considering the lack of water, and Mitchell didn’t mind one bit. It looked—and smelled—far more edible than anything else he’d eaten in the past few weeks.
The very moment Mrs. Thomas lowered her spoon to her bowl, he dove in. And he didn’t stop until every bite was gone. The beef was tough and the potatoes were past their prime, but Mitchell barely noticed.
When he looked up, he found Miss Cummings watching him, her blue eyes alight with amusement as she chewed.
