The Path To Her Heart. Linda FordЧитать онлайн книгу.
him—gratitude that she dealt with Jessie so calmly, soothingly. Anger and frustration that Jessie had to confront the fear of loss. Children his age should be secure in the love of a mother and father. Most of all, emptiness sucked at his gut making him feel as naked, exposed and helpless as a tree torn from the ground by a tornado, roots and all. The future stretched out as barren as the drought-stricken prairies. This was not how he’d envisioned his life. Nope, in his not-so-long-ago plans there’d been a woman who shared his home and made it a welcoming place.
He clenched his jaw so hard his teeth ached. He’d come here to find peace and safety. In the space of half an hour, Emma had robbed him of that, not once, but twice. Thankfully he wouldn’t have to see her more than a few minutes each day—only long enough to share a meal with all the boarders.
He deposited the bucket on the flagstone sidewalk where it would be unable to start a fire. The wind made the ashes glow red. Dust sifted across the backyard. Late October often meant snow, which would settle the dust. But this year the snow had not come. Only the endless wind. He lifted his face to the sky. God, when will this end? He couldn’t say exactly what he meant. The drought? The nationwide Depression? His loneliness? Jessie’s fears? He supposed he meant all of them.
Not that he expected divine intervention. Seems a man just did what he could and hoped for the best. He hadn’t received what he considered best, or even good, in a long time. He tried to find anything good in his life. Right now, about all he could give that label to was Jessie. He paused…and this house. He headed to the kitchen.
Jessie sat at the table, a coloring book and crayons before him, but he paid more attention to Emma than his coloring. Emma stood at the stove stirring something while Aunt Ada carved the pork roast. Emma had changed into a black skirt and pale blue sweater. She glanced up as he stepped into the room and her gaze collided with his. Her dark eyes were a surprising contrast to her golden hair. If he didn’t know she was a nurse, he might think her an attractive woman.
He hurried to her side and reached for the spoon. “I’ve come to help Aunt Ada. Now that I’m here, there’s no reason for one of the boarders to work.” His voice was harsher than he intended and caused the two women to stare at him.
Jessie stiffened. His eyes grew wide and wary.
“What I meant is you’re a paying guest. You shouldn’t have to help.” He forced a smile to his lips and tried to put a smile in his voice. He knew he failed miserably.
He felt Emma, inches away at his elbow, studying him, but refused to meet her gaze until she laughed and he jerked around in surprise. Her eyes glistened with amusement, and her smile seemed to go on forever. He couldn’t breathe as it brushed his heart. He shook his head, angry at himself and his silly imaginations.
“Here you go.” She handed him the spoon and a jar full of white liquid. “You do know how to make gravy?” Her words were round with barely restrained laughter.
He looked at the pot of bubbling liquid on the stove and the jar. He had no idea what he was expected to do.
Emma laughed low and sweet, tickling his insides. He fought his reaction. He could not allow a feeling at such odds with how he felt when he saw her in a nurse’s uniform.
She laughed again. “A simple yes or no would suffice.”
Behind him Aunt Ada chuckled.
“Daddy, you can make gravy?” Jessie’s surprised awe brought more low laughter from Emma.
“I’m sure I could if someone would tell me how.”
“Very well,” Emma said. “Stir the juice and slowly pour the flour and water mixture in. The trick is to keep it from going lumpy.”
Boothe followed the instructions as Emma hovered at his elbow watching him like a hungry eagle waiting for some helpless prey. A reluctant grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. His experience taught him nurses didn’t care for anyone showing they might know a thing or two. He’d do this right if only to prove he was as capable as she.
The gravy thickened. “Smells good. How am I doing?”
She stepped back and considered him. “Are you sure you haven’t done this before?”
He grinned, glad to have succeeded in the face of her doubt. “Cross my heart.”
Aunt Ada laughed. “Maybe you could teach him to mash potatoes, too.”
Emma didn’t seem the least bit annoyed at his success. In fact, if her flashing smile meant anything, she seemed rather pleased about it.
He couldn’t tear his gaze away from hers as something inside him, both exciting and alarming, demanded consideration. His stomach growled and he freed himself from her dark eyes. He was only hungry. Nothing more. “I’m sure I can learn to mash potatoes with the best of them.”
Emma handed him a masher and pointed him toward the big pot. Not only was there pork roast, gravy and potatoes but there was a pot of turnips and a bowl of canned tomatoes. His mouth watered at the prospect of so much to eat. For months he’d been forced to ration every scrap of food he scrounged, glad Jessie was being well fed with Vera and Luke. All this abundance was unbelievable. God’s blessing? A flash of hope and belief crossed his mind before he focused his attention on Emma’s instructions.
“I think everything is ready,” Aunt Ada said a few minutes later. “Jessie, do you want to help me ring the bell for supper?”
Jessie bounced off his chair and followed Ada into the hall. At the bottom of the stairs, she handed him a little brass bell and instructed him to shake it. He laughed at the racket it made. From upstairs came the sound of doors opening.
Emma scooped the potatoes into a bowl and poured the gravy into a large pitcher. “Help me carry in the food.” She nodded toward Boothe.
He grabbed the platter of meat in one hand and the gravy jug in the other and followed her into the dining room where the table was already set. He counted nine chairs. That made six paying guests. Quite a load for Aunt Ada. He intended to ease her load and find a job as well. He’d heard there was always work in the town of Favor, on the edge of the irrigation area.
Aunt Ada took her place at one end of the table and indicated Boothe should sit at the other end, Jessie at his right. “As soon as we’re all here, I’ll make the introductions.”
People filed in, taking what seemed to be appointed places. As soon as each chair had a body behind it, Aunt Ada spoke. “I told you all that my nephew, Boothe, agreed to come and help me run the boardinghouse. The young man beside him is his son, Jessie.”
Jessie pulled himself to rigid attention at being called a man.
Boothe grinned. His heart filled with pride.
One by one, Aunt Ada introduced the others starting on her right. “Loretta, one of my oldest and dearest friends.”
The older, thin woman smiled at Aunt Ada before she turned to Boothe. “I’m glad you’ve come.”
Beside her stood a woman, probably in her forties, Sarah, who had a dress shop downtown. Next, Betty, a chambermaid at the new hotel, a girl fresh off the farm if Boothe didn’t miss his guess. He turned to those on the other side of the table. Beside Jessie stood Don, a man in his late twenties or early thirties, and next to him, Ed, an eager-faced young man who could barely tear his gaze away from Betty long enough to greet Boothe. Both men worked at the brick factory.
And then Emma. She grinned at him. “Boothe made the gravy, so if you have any complaints, direct them to him, not me.”
Don chuckled. “Emma’s teasing you already. Best be careful. She can have you running in circles.”
Boothe kept his expression bland. “I don’t run in circles.” Maybe not literally but she’d already proved her ability to send his thoughts down useless rabbit trails.
Aunt Ada cleared her throat. “Shall we pray?”
They