The Widow's Bachelor Bargain. Teresa SouthwickЧитать онлайн книгу.
look puzzled about something, Sloan.”
“I am. But it’s none of my business.”
“Probably not.” She shrugged. “Ask anyway.”
He nodded. “I know your brother by reputation and he has a few bucks. Yet you didn’t get the expansion loan from him.”
One of her eyebrows rose. “How do you know that?”
“Because you said you need money to pay back the loan. I don’t think your brother would pressure you or put you and his niece out on the street if you fell behind on payments.”
“No.” She smiled. “But I wanted to do this on my own. My way.”
“And what way is that?” Not the easy way, Sloan thought.
She glanced at the photograph, then back at him. “When Danny and I opened the ice cream parlor, Brady wanted to help us, but my husband refused. He appreciated the offer, but it was important to him to do it on his own. A respect thing. Some might call it macho male pride.”
“I see.”
“He said it was human nature for people to not appreciate things they didn’t have to work hard for. So we poured our heart, soul, blood, sweat and tears into the project. Our phase one. The plan was always to expand and open the café, but there was a setback when he was killed in Afghanistan.”
“I’m sorry.” Stupid words. So automatic and useless. Why wasn’t there something to say that would actually help?
“Thank you.” She slid her fingers into her jeans’ pockets. “Danny’s gone, so I’m carrying on the dream. The way he would have wanted—without my brother’s help.”
“With three sisters, I can say with certainty that my instinct would be to write a check if they needed it. Brady probably feels that way, too. So how’s he taking this loan thing?”
“You’d think I gave his computer a particularly nasty virus.” She grinned. “Still, I think he’s secretly proud of me.”
Sloan didn’t doubt that. What brother wouldn’t be proud of a sister like her? It would have been easy to let herself be taken care of after losing her husband, but she hadn’t. She was raising their child and running an expanded business plus taking in boarders. Doing things her way. And it was a good way.
She glanced at his empty hands. “I assume you have luggage. I’ll show you to your room, then bring your things up.”
“Thanks, but I’ll get everything.” His way wasn’t to let a woman carry his stuff, especially when that woman looked as if the first stiff breeze would blow her away. He admired her independence, but he did things his way, too. “There’s a lot and some of it is heavy.”
“Okay. Follow me.”
Now, that he didn’t mind doing, because she had an exceptionally fine backside. Aside from her obvious external attributes, there was a lot to like about his new landlady. Smart, straightforward, self-reliant. Salt of the earth. He would bet his last dime that she wasn’t a gold digger.
He almost wished she was.
* * *
The next morning Maggie settled her crabby daughter in the high chair beside the round oak kitchen table. After giving the little girl a piece of banana, she whipped up a batch of biscuits and popped them in the oven. When the idea had taken hold to rent out the upstairs rooms, she’d come up with a different breakfast menu for each day of the week. Today was scrambled eggs with spinach, mushrooms, onion and tomato. Fried potatoes. Country gravy for the biscuits. And blueberries. This was one of Josie’s favorites and made one wonder how the older woman stayed so trim. Could have something to do with her being tall and the brisk walk she took every morning after rolling out of bed.
Maggie hadn’t seen Sloan yet this morning and was just the tiniest bit curious about what his favorite breakfast was and how he stayed in such good shape. The snug T-shirt he’d had on when checking in yesterday had left little to the imagination, and the man had a serious six-pack going on. Ever since she’d opened the door, her nerves had been tingling, some kind of spidey sense. It was like the princess-and-the-pea story she read to Danielle. Even when he wasn’t near, she knew he was under her roof.
He wasn’t model handsome, but there was something compelling in his eyes, which were light brown with flecks of green and gold.
“Mama—” The single word was followed by the sound of a splat.
Maggie looked up from stirring the country gravy and saw that Danielle had thrown her banana on the floor. Very little had been ingested, but the little girl had mangled the fruit pretty well.
“Want some Cheerios, sweetie?”
“Cookie—”
Some words came out of this child’s mouth as mangled as that banana, but cookie wasn’t one of them. It was tempting to give in and let her have a treat. Just this once keep her happy so the first breakfast with their VIP guest would go smoothly and convince him she knew what she was doing in the B and B business. But her maternal instincts told her that was a bad habit to start.
“Good morning.” Josie walked into the kitchen freshly showered after her exercise. She was in her early sixties but looked at least ten years younger, in spite of her silver hair. The pixie cut suited her. She moved beside the high chair. “How are you, munchkin?”
The little girl babbled unintelligible sounds, which were no doubt a list of grievances about her mother being the food police.
“She’s not her sunny little self today,” Maggie apologized. “She was restless last night. Teething, I think. I hope she didn’t disturb you.”
“Not a bit. The insulation in these walls is amazing.” She looked around, blue eyes brimming with understanding. “How can I help?”
“Go relax with a cup of coffee. You’re a guest.”
“Oh, please. We both know I’m your friend more than a paying customer. Besides the discount I get for emergency babysitting, it’s a blessing to still be useful when you’re as old as I am.” She put a hand on her hip. “Now, what can I do?”
“You’re doing it. Being a godsend.” Maggie turned on the gas burner underneath the stainless-steel frying pan filled with potatoes. “If you could give Danielle a handful of that cereal, I’d be forever in your debt.”
“Done.” She grabbed the box from the pantry and did as requested. “Now I can get the eggs ready to scramble.”
“Maybe I should change things up.” Maggie grinned. “You know the menu by heart.”
“How many eggs are you thinking with Sloan here? A man like that could be a big eater.”
“So you met him?”
“Last night. We watched TV together in the upstairs game room. Some house-flipping program.” The older woman opened the refrigerator and removed the containers of veggies that had been cut up the night before.
Maggie hadn’t cooked breakfast for a man since the morning she’d said goodbye to her husband, before he deployed to Afghanistan. It wasn’t the first time she’d made sure he ate before leaving the house but she’d never considered it would be her last meal with him. She’d never been able to decide whether or not she would have made the food more special if she’d known. Or if the not knowing had made the ordinary a final blessing.
“I think eight should be enough,” Maggie said.
She couldn’t remember how many Danny would have eaten and felt guilty about that. Every time she realized the recollections were getting fuzzier, she felt disloyal to his memory.
“With all the rest of the food,” she continued, “it should be more than enough. If there are leftovers, I’ll put some on a tortilla later and