Storybook Hero (Dorado, Texas 2) by Carroll-Bradd Linda

Author:Carroll-Bradd, Linda [Carroll-Bradd, Linda]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Inked Figments
Published: 2016-01-06T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Four

On the walk back to the main house, Clari kept her chin tucked close to her chest, partly to keep her neck warm but mostly, because she didn’t want to meet the housekeeper’s gaze. Making that last statement had been bold and forward. For a single second, she cringed to think of the repercussions if the words she’d spoken got back to Aunt Alda.

But then Clari let her heart acknowledge the strong feelings she had for her handsome rescuer. That’s how she’d always think of Trevor. I acted like Cassandra Morgeson and spoke of what was in my heart. Now, there would be no mistake about her admiration the next time she and Trevor met. For good or for bad.

Once inside the warm kitchen filled with wonderful scents and laughter, Clari shook off any foreboding and enjoyed being in the company of friendly women. Both ladies dashed around the kitchen, putting last-minute touches on the meal of roast beef, mashed potatoes, brown gravy, and home-canned peas.

“I insist on pitching in. What can I do?” Clari looked around for a task.

Mrs. Hawksen brushed strawberry-blonde wisps of hair off her forehead and pointed. “Under those clothes be loaves of fresh bread. Will ye slice them and stack them on a plate?”

Easy enough. She washed her hands at the sink and set to her task. As she worked, the door kept opening as first Mr. Hawksen and the boys entered, and then an older man she hadn’t met. Knowing she was being silly, she still hoped each time the door opened that Trevor would join the group.

The men crowded the sink to wash up.

So, she carried the heaping plates to the table then slid into a chair, out of the way.

The younger boy climbed into the chair beside her and gawked with light green eyes. “Who be you?”

So cute, he sounds just like his mama. “My name’s Clari. What’s yours?”

“Daffin.”

“No, little buddy, that’s Davin.” Mr. Hawksen scooped up the little boy and tickled his tummy. “Let’s get those hands washed.”

Like a well-practiced routine, the women set platters and bowls of food in the center of the table, added a few little plates of butter mounds, and then set small glasses of milk in front of the boys.

“Y’all better eat. It’s not getting any hotter.” Mrs. MacElroy stood near the stove, pouring coffee from the metal pot into cups arranged on a tray.

A moment was spared for a brief grace, spoken to deities that Clari hadn’t heard of before, but her interest was piqued.

Mrs. Hawksen dished up food on her sons’ plates. “Ye’ve met some of the hands at the mercantile, right?”

Clari glanced around the table, nodded at those she knew, and stopped her gaze at the older man. “I’m Clari Rochester, niece of the Othmanns. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Pleasure, ma’am. I’m Tully, the foreman here.”

“And my husband, don’t be forgetting that important fact.” Myrna nudged his shoulder with her hip as she passed out the coffee.

The conversation settled into requests for food to be passed and then faded as hungry people enjoyed the bounty before them.

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