Читать книгу The Dreammaker - Judith Stacy, Judith Stacy - Страница 12

At the big oval mirror in the corner of her room Kaitlin studied herself from head to toe, turned in a quick circle, and headed for the door. With all the work she had planned for today, she looked good enough.

Stepping into the kitchen, she saw Tripp at the stove tending a pan of frying bacon. She wasn’t sure which -was more disconcerting—seeing him first thing in the morning, or seeing him cooking.

“Looks like I got the best end of this partnership.”

Tripp jumped, then ran his hand over his chest. “How’s that?”

“I won’t have to do all the cooking.” Kaitlin smiled and walked over to the stove.

He turned his back to her. “I cook for Charlie and me.”

Kaitlin peered around him. “What happened to your chin?”

Tripp touched his finger to his face, and turned away again. “I cut myself shaving this morning, that’s all.”

“Oh.” Kaitlin gestured to the rolled-out biscuits and the bowl of eggs on the sideboard. “What can I do to earn my share of this meal?”

Tripp glanced back over his shoulder at her. “You can—” He sucked in a quick breath. She wasn’t wearing a bustle.

The fabric of her simple blue dress hung in loose folds from her waist, draping her hips with clarity. He groaned softly as an all too familiar stirring coiled inside him.

Bad enough that he’d lain awake most of the night smelling her sweet scent all the way in his room, and that he’d cut his chin just looking at his shaving soap a while ago, but did Kaitlin have to be running around this morning dressed—or hardly dressed—like that?

“Well?” Kaitlin stepped closer, her eyebrows raised. “What can I do to help?”

Putting on some decent undergarments would sure as hell help. Tripp turned back to the stove. “Nothing. I’ll take care of it.”

“But that’s not right. We’re partners. I should do my share. I’ll put the biscuits in the oven.”

“No!” Tripp whirled around and pulled the pan from her hand. No, she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t bend over right there next to him at the stove.

Kaitlin shrank back and eyed him up and down. “I’ll just set the table.”

“Good. That’s good. You do that.” Tripp shoved the biscuits into the oven and slammed the door. He reached over the pump and pushed the window all the way open. Damn, it was hot in here.

“Do you remember where the plates are?” Kaitlin asked.

Tripp turned to find her bending down, rummaging through the crates that lined the wall, her round bottom bouncing up and down, and up and down as she searched box after box. He sagged against the sideboard and mopped his brow with his sleeve.

What was wrong with him? Tripp watched her, savoring every move, every rustle of her skirt. He hadn’t been so randy since—well, he couldn’t even remember the last time.

Maybe it was just the things Rafe had talked to him about last night. Of course, Rafe and Julia had been the furthest thing from his mind when he’d stared at his shaving cup this morning, and nicked his own chin. And it hadn’t been the two of them who had crept into his thoughts as he lay staring at the ceiling during the night.

Tripp licked his dry lips as Kaitlin lifted a stack of plates from the packing crate and carried them to the table. Maybe it was just the natural order of things, he thought. He’d not had much interest in such things since—

He spun back to the stove and scooped bacon from the pan, trying to push away the memories. Emily. His wife, Emily. Even after all this time the images still came back with such force. All the old feelings, the pain. He’d put it behind him for the most part, but sometimes without warning it all rushed into his thoughts again. And God, how he hated these moments.

“Coffee?”

Kaitlin peered around him, her brown eyes bigger and wider than usual this morning.

“Sure. Coffee’s fine.” He cracked eggs in the skillet and wiped his hands on a linen towel.

“I’m anxious to get started on the store today,” Kaitlin said as she poured two cups of coffee.

“We need to talk about that.”

“How did I know you were going to say that?” She passed him one of the white mugs. “Where’s Charlie?”

“Upstairs.”

Kaitlin sipped her coffee. “Did Charlie have trouble sleeping last night? Being in a new place does that.”

“Charlie’s used to it.” Tripp turned the scrambled eggs into a bowl, then pulled the biscuits from the oven and piled them on a platter. “Let’s eat. I’m hungry.”

She set her cup down. “I’ll get Charlie.”

“No. I’ll get him.” Tripp went to the foot of the staircase. “Charlie! Come on, son!”

Kaitlin put the food on the table. “It was nice of Julia to give us enough to fix our meals with today. I’ll pay her back as soon as I get some shopping done.”

Footsteps clattered on the stairs and Charlie came into the kitchen pulling up his suspenders. Kaitlin ruffled his uncombed hair and smiled down at him. “Good morning, Charlie: Hungry?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He reached up for Tripp, who gave him a quick hug, then settled him into a chair at the table. “How come you don’t got no kids, Miss Kaitlin?”

She slipped into the chair across from him. “I’m not married, Charlie.”

“How come?”

Kaitlin glanced at Tripp as he sat down between them. “The time’s not right for me to marry yet.”

“Have you got a papa?”

“My papa died a long time ago, so did my mother.” Kaitlin smiled, warming at the memories. “She was a great stage actress. That’s how they met. She was with a touring company, and when he saw her on stage, it was instant love.”

“Well, how come—”

“Eat your breakfast, Charlie.” Tripp scooped eggs and bacon onto the boy’s plate, then passed the platter to Kailin. “You, too.”

“Yes, dear,” Kaitlin said, and gave him a sickly sweet smile. She took a bite. “You’re a good cook.”

“Papa makes the bestest cookies.” Charlie wiped his chin with the back of his hand. “Papa can do anything.”

“Is that so?” Kaitlin smiled across the table at Tripp.

“Uh-huh. Papa builded this table, and that chair.” Charlie pointed to the rocker in the corner.

Kaitlin gave the table a little shake; much more sturdy than the rickety thing left behind by Mr. Finch. “So that’s your trade? You’re a carpenter?”

“No, I just build things when they need building,” Tripp said. “I’m a farmer.”

“You abandoned your farm to come here?”

Tripp shifted in his chair. “Not exactly.”

“We lived with a whole bunch of people,” Charlie said around a mouthful of biscuit. “They had lots of kids.”