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 Don t do us any favors, Connor muttered.
 Just make the stew, Livvie snapped.  I ll do the biscuits.
Some kind of look settled on his face. It seemed the kind of look
you d give to someone who d just proclaimed they intended to swim
the entire length of the Ohio. Livvie didn t like it one bit.
She stood undecided for a moment, trying to remember what
Glory had done when she d made biscuits. Livvie d sat in the kitchen
often enough, her body perched on a stool kept there just for her,
Buckskins and Brocade 53
leaning over the table as Glory worked. Livvie chatted about her day,
her lessons, her interests, her fights with her brother and sister,
keeping the old woman company while she whipped up wonderful
meals.
Glory s husband Rob often lingered nearby, shucking peas or
chopping vegetables, listening in his quiet way as they talked. Livvie
had always enjoyed the old woman s company as much as she d
loved the smells and tastes in the kitchen at Riverbend. She wished
Glory was here with her now.
She went through the motions she remembered. Connor glanced at
her from time to time but finished the stew preparations quietly and
finally set the pot on the stove to cook. With one final, almost
condemning, look at her floured hands and the mess she d made on
the table, he shook his head and stepped toward the kitchen door.
 Give it a stir every now and then. I ll be busy for awhile.
She nodded curtly and pushed tendrils of hair away from her
forehead with the back of her hand.
 You ll be sorry you said I m spoiled, Connor McBride.
* * * *
Dusk had begun to settle over their new homestead. She knew that
because she d been forced to light a few of the lamps and had looked
out the window a hundred times. She d watched the sky darken from
shades of blue and lavender to indigo. Finally the door in the kitchen
opened, and she heard the sound of boots clomping on the hardwood
floor.
In the parlor, Livvie leapt to her feet and quickly tucked the book
she d been holding back onto the shelf. She hadn t read a word and
had no idea of the title. She d simply flipped through the pages,
watched the clock and wondered where Connor had gone and where
Desmond had been. It seemed important for her peace of mind that
she occupy herself in a more constructive way than pacing. She d
54 Amber Carlton
spent a good twenty minutes doing that after her biscuits were ready
for the oven.
She careened through the dining room and shoved open the
swinging door, catching herself on the doorjamb. The men stood at
the sink, pumping water. They both glanced toward her. She
straightened up, adjusted her apron, and darted forward when the
swinging door nearly clipped her shoulder.
 I ll get the biscuits in the oven, she said.
Desmond gave Connor a funny look. Connor returned it with one
of his own then went to the stove. He lifted the lid and peeked into the
pot. A cloud of steam and smoke filled the corner of the kitchen. He
jerked back and grabbed a wooden spoon from a nearby Mason jar.
He began to scrape the inside of the pot.
 Um, Liv, how often did you stir this?
She whirled around with the tray of biscuits in her hand.  Oops.
Desmond filled a jar with water and poured into the pot. Connor
stirred the concoction like a witch at a cauldron and Livvie wondered
if they had some kind of psychic connection. Desmond tossed himself
into one of the chairs, stretching out his long legs, blocking her path.
She stood there for a moment but Desmond didn t move.
 Excuse me. She stepped over his legs and moved toward the
stove where Connor blocked the oven door.  Excuse me.
When he didn t move, she nudged her hip against him. Connor
lurched backward like he d been scalded. Juices from the spoon
splattered on the floor.
 Damn it! Connor said.
While he grabbed a towel to clean up the mess Livvie slid her tray
of biscuits into the oven. After slamming the oven door, she plopped
into a chair and folded her hands on the table. Desmond nodded
toward the stove.
 Aren t you going to adjust the heat?
 Do what? Livvie slowly rose her feet.  Of course I m going to
adjust the heat. She swished her skirts around the other edge of the
Buckskins and Brocade 55
table, avoiding his legs entirely, and marched to the stove. Then she
just stood there, staring at the oven door. Desmond burst out laughing.
 I ll do it, Connor said, putting the lid on his pot.  Sit down.
Heat enveloped her face, and though the stove gave off plenty of
heat, it certainly wasn t the cause of the blush she knew stained her
face. She shoved her hands into the apron pockets and watched as
Connor did something with the stove. She d never remember it.
She turned to Desmond with a smile.  There s pie for dessert.
Apple or cherry. I m not sure where it came from but it s in the pie
safe. Connor and I had peach pie this afternoon at the hotel and some
of the most delicious coffee I ve ever had. Glory makes excellent
coffee but there was something really tasty about the coffee at the
Brandywine and 
Desmond stared at her as though all of her words had been in a
foreign language. He drummed his fingers on the table.
She tilted her head and stood still, though her hands clenched
inside the pockets.  What?
Desmond cast a quick glance toward Connor, who leaned against
the sink.  So& you and Connor had fun today?
 Well, of course, we did. Her face pivoted toward Connor. She
felt like she d been pushed through the looking glass like Alice in a
story she d once read. Everything seemed like it had turned upside
down.  We did have fun, didn t we?
Connor nodded.  Sure.
Her heart started to hammer. She did not understand any of this.
Neither man had smiled since they walked through the door. She
knew she lacked domestic skills. And, okay, maybe she d been
spoiled, but it certainly wasn t her fault, and she hadn t asked to be
spoiled. And she was trying, damn it. She thought she should at least
get some credit for that.
She wanted a drink of water but Connor blocked her way to the
sink. Damn these men. They seemed to be everywhere. She d never
felt so trapped in her entire life. And they wouldn t even smile at her.
56 Amber Carlton
 The Brandywine has a nice restaurant. She busied herself
walking back and forth to the pantry to collect bowls, plates, and
spoons, talking to anyone who wanted to listen.  I looked at their
daily menu and they had some very appealing items beef roast, ham
steaks, chops, all kinds of things. They even have ice cream on
occasion though the owner, Mr. Mercer, couldn t guarantee when that
would be. I thought maybe when we go into town for my meeting
with Anna we could spend the afternoon, do some shopping, and have
dinner there. My treat, of course. And  [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]