Читать книгу Courtship, Montana Style - Charlotte Maclay, Charlotte Maclay - Страница 12

Elizabeth snapped Suzanne into a clean jumper outfit and lifted the baby to her shoulder. She really could use a changing table. A proper crib, too, for that matter.

“Come on, Susie-Q. We’re going to make breakfast for the boys.” Surely, even blurry eyed from being up with her daughter three times during the night, Elizabeth would be able to pull together scrambled eggs and toast for a bunch of hungry cowboys. How hard could it be? And she wanted to start as soon as possible making herself useful around the house lest Walker think of an excuse to send her away.

Besides, if she intended to be an independent woman, she needed to start now by learning to do for herself and her baby. A housekeeping job—albeit an unpaid one—was a perfect opportunity.

She slipped Suzanne into the Snugli carrier she’d purchased in Reno, adjusting it so the baby was comfortable against her chest and her own hands were free to get some work done.

At a few minutes past six, she hurried downstairs and found the kitchen empty, the only sign of life the coffeemaker with a freshly brewed pot on the warmer. Someone was up, probably Walker. And since the boys apparently hadn’t arrived for breakfast yet, she’d have time to feed Suzanne, a task she dearly loved.

She quickly fixed a bottle, poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table.

The kitchen was as big as the one in her parents’ home, the appliances almost as new. But the old wooden table, scarred by use, gave it a homey feel missing in the glass and chrome version she’d grown up with.

Humming while Suzanne drank her formula and she sipped her coffee, a feeling of contentment swept over Elizabeth, more satisfying than she had felt in a long while. The months of wedding plans, not to mention her pregnancy and paralyzing grief over Steven’s death, had taken its toll. The tension that had been plaguing her, making her shoulders ache and keeping her teeth on edge, eased away.

She sighed with relief.

The back door banged open, and she jumped at the sight of a stranger standing there. Tall and rangy with midnight-black hair, he had the distinctive features of a Native American.

“Well, now, looks like my brother has been keeping secrets from me.” The smallest hint of a smile teased at the corners of his lips.

Her jaw went slack. Walker’s brother? Except that both men were tall, there wasn’t an iota of family resemblance.

When she continued to sit there mute, he strolled into the kitchen as if he owned the place. He tipped his hat to the back of his head. “I’m Rory, and you must be…” He left the question dangling, waiting for a response.