Читать книгу Colorado Courtship: Winter of Dreams / The Rancher's Sweetheart - Cheryl St.John - Страница 12

Chapter Two

In his bright sunlit office Ben Charles ran his finger down a column in the open ledger on his desk. The numbers weren’t adding up today, and the problem was due to the pretty little distraction he’d picked up at the train station.

He’d prayed about hiring someone to help out after Mrs. Gable had resigned to care for her sister. The woman had been with them since Tessa’s childhood. She’d been a part of his and Tessa’s little family. He’d been sorry to see her go, and not only because of her cooking and housekeeping abilities. Her cheerful countenance had been sorely missed these past few months. Tessa needed another female around.

He’d been impressed with Violet’s replies to his ad, but after meeting her he wasn’t confident she had the maturity he’d been counting on. He had a good ten years on her, if not more. Only time would tell if she had what it took to run the place—or the stamina to stay. If God had directed her to them as he’d prayed, then Ben Charles had to believe she would work out. He and Tessa had both grown up in a home where the undertaker lived and worked. For Ben Charles it had been his father, for Tessa that figure was himself. The way they lived was normal to them. A death meant carrying out the duties required for a service and a respectful burial. There was nothing uncomfortable or repelling about it.

In his experience people appreciated his calling and stuck closer than brothers during their time of need. But as for friends and marriage prospects, they kept their distance.

Only once had he thought he’d met someone who understood his work and who would make a good companion. He’d been very young, very naive. Madeline had been interested, but only in a perversely curious fashion. He’d been an oddity, someone her friends whispered about, someone with whom keeping company drew attention, and she’d liked that.

Afterward he’d even wondered if she’d shown interest on a dare, if, after their evenings together, there had been curious inquiries. While hope had sprung to life in his heart, he’d been no more than a passing peculiarity to her. She’d married a banker and moved to Denver. And he’d learned his lesson. He stuck to business, devoted himself to his sister and his work, and didn’t aspire to be like other people.

At five-forty he closed his ledger, capped the bottle of ink and headed next door. The smells emanating from the kitchen made his stomach growl. He’d missed a meal at noon and eaten only a handful of pecans at his desk.

Violet started when he entered the room through the connecting door. “Sorry,” he said.

“I didn’t know whether to set this table or the one in the dining room, so I set that one for you and your sister, and I set places for Henry and me in here.”

He glanced at the two plates on the long wooden table. “Unless you prefer to eat in here, I’d rather you join us in the dining room.”

Her expression showed her surprise.

“Is that a problem?” he asked.

“No, sir. It’s just—well, employees eating with the family is unusual.”

“We’re an unusual family.” He dipped water from the reservoir into a small pitcher. “I’ll be back down in just a few minutes.” He climbed the narrow back stairs.

Tessa wasn’t in her favorite place at the other end of the hall near the front stairs, so he called out.

She poked her head from her room. “I’m ready for dinner.”

A few minutes later, washed and wearing his jacket, Ben Charles pulled out Tessa’s seat and waited for Violet to return and take hers. She blushed as he held her chair. “Everything looks and smells delicious.”

“It’s only scalloped potatoes and ham. Not much effort involved in opening a jar of green beans. I did make biscuits when I saw the crock of honey.”

Henry had seated himself before Ben Charles had entered the room, and his expression showed appreciation for the feast on the table.

Ben Charles reached for Tessa’s hand and she took his immediately. Henry bowed his head. Violet looked from one to the other, then followed their lead.

“Thank You for Your generous provision, Lord,” Ben Charles prayed. “We’re thankful for Miss Bennett’s safe journey and her presence here at our table and in our home. I pray her transition into this household is smooth and that she feels welcome.”

He was praying about her? The only person Violet remembered hearing pray was the reverend who performed her father’s burial service, and his stilted language had sounded nothing at all like the conversational tone Ben Charles was using to speak to God. The heat creeping into her cheeks would no doubt give away her embarrassment at being singled out.

“Keep us healthy, Lord,” he continued. “And bless the abundance of this food to the nourishment of our bodies. We humble ourselves in Your presence and rejoice in Your grace and mercy. It’s in Jesus’s name we pray. Amen.”

“Amen,” Tessa and Henry chorused. Henry picked up his fork. Tessa spread her napkin on her lap. Violet was slow to raise her head, and when she did, she didn’t meet Ben Charles’s eyes. She leaned forward to serve the casserole.

Ben Charles inhaled the aroma of the steaming creamy potatoes on his plate. “Where did you learn to cook like this, Miss Bennett?”

“Both of my parents were excellent cooks,” she replied. “My mother worked for a family for years, and when I was small she took me with her. As she cooked she used to share stories about her family and her childhood. All her recipes were in her head, and she’d add a pinch of this or a handful of that as she talked.”

Tessa gave her an encouraging smile. “Those sound like good memories.”

“They are. My father was a baker. After Mama died and there were only the two of us, I helped him before and after school. Father was precise and businesslike while he measured and mixed.”

“Your parents are no longer living?” Ben Charles asked.

She set her fork on her plate and sat with her hands in her lap. For a moment he didn’t think she’d answer, but then she said, “Mother has been gone since I was small. My father became ill several years ago. He was forced to sell the bakery and I took care of him. After his death nearly two years ago I worked for the man who bought our bakery...until recently when—when it closed.”

The pain of her loss was plain in her voice and expression. “It’s always difficult to lose a parent, whether we’re children or not.” He took a sip from his water glass and glanced at Henry. “Miss Bennett will need to shop. If weather permits tomorrow, please have the carriage ready in the morning.”

“Yessir. It snowed some this afternoon, but nothing to keep us from going out.”

“Tessa, it might be nice if you joined Miss Bennett.”

His sister quirked an eyebrow. “To buy food?”

He’d had this sort of thing in mind when he’d hired Violet, and he might as well start pushing his plan now. “Maybe there’s something else you need. You might introduce her to the seamstress. You two can look at fabric and buttons or whatever it is ladies do.”

Tessa and Violet exchanged a glance. “Yes, of course,” Tessa replied.

“Do you live here, too?” Violet asked Henry.

“No, I have a place at the south end of town. Sometimes I bunk here if the weather’s bad, but not often.” He helped himself to another heaping serving of the potatoes and ham. “You’re a fine cook, Miss Bennett.”

A quick smile lit her features, bringing a new sparkle to her eyes.

Her smile was gone too soon. Ben Charles considered how to elicit one himself, and then realized what he’d been thinking. He used the opportunity sitting across from her to enjoy an assessing look. Her dark hair was sleek and shiny, and she wore it loosely contained on the back of her head, with practical tortoiseshell combs holding it away from her face behind each ear.

Her narrow brows arched gracefully above expressive dark eyes fringed with black lashes. Her ivory skin was a becoming contrast. Her appearance might easily lead one to think she was delicate, but the air of confidence and strength with which she handled herself hinted otherwise. He admired the courage she’d shown by coming to a place she’d never been to work for people she’d never met.

She lifted her gaze. “I didn’t have time to prepare a dessert. But there are jars of peaches, and I hoped one of those might do.”

“Sounds perfect,” he replied. “We can get to know each other better over coffee.” He glanced at Tessa. “And tea.”

Tessa gave him an affectionate smile that said she appreciated his attention to her preference for hot sweet tea. She spent too much time by herself, and he hoped Violet’s presence was going to change that. Though she’d kept much of her unhappiness to herself, she’d been teased and shunned in school, due to living beside the funeral parlor. Once he’d learned the extent of the cruel treatment, he’d removed her immediately and sent her to a boarding school out East.

She’d been painfully homesick and begged him to let her come home—and so of course he had. A tutor came four days a week to guide his sister with her studies.

Violet served the peaches, steaming cups of coffee, and placed a Wedgwood teapot filled with steeping tea within Tessa’s reach.

Ben Charles sweetened his coffee and turned his attention to Violet. “You must be tired after digging right in as soon as you arrived.”

“I’m thankful to have this job.”

“You said the bakery where you worked closed?”

She stood and refilled Henry’s cup, then glanced at Ben Charles’s, which was still full. “The tea should be done.”

Tessa filled her cup. “It smells good.”

Violet had changed the subject, and he surmised that closing what had once been her father’s business was an uncomfortable topic. He sipped his coffee thoughtfully. “Is there anything you want to ask us? I want you to feel at ease.”

Her cheeks were flushed, probably from her chores and the tension of serving her first meal. At last she lifted her gaze to his. There was deep vulnerability in the dark abyss of her eyes, an uncertainty that touched his heart. The same bone-deep protectiveness he felt toward his sister reached its possessive arms toward her.

She wanted to say something, so he waited.

At last she parted her lips to speak. “What time would you like breakfast served?”

He drew on inner reserves to find a shred of detachment, which had never been his strength. “Henry and I will eat in the kitchen at six. Tessa usually wakes later, so keep a plate warm for her.”

This relationship wouldn’t work if he couldn’t keep his objectivity. He could already see the flaw in that plan.

Everything about Violet intrigued him.