The Bitter and the Sweet (Kansas Crossroads Book 9) by Amelia C. Adams

Author:Amelia C. Adams [Adams, Amelia C.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2016-02-26T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Denver, Colorado

1875

Stephen pulled the nightshirt over his head and down into place, then laid his clothing over a chair near the bed. He smiled as he looked around—this was very much the bedroom of three small boys. A shelf with books stood against one wall, and the top held toy sailboats and trains and carved wooden ducks. It wasn’t an elaborate room, by any means, but it was the perfect place to spend a childhood. These were very loved children.

He climbed into the bed and exhaled into the fresh pillowcase. He’d been raised by governesses and nurses, taught all the proper manners, was sent to the best schools. Both he and Gilbert were expected to do great things with their lives and contribute to the prestige of the family name. He knew he’d been very fortunate to have the upbringing he did, but he couldn’t stop wondering what it would have been like to be raised in a house like this, with hand-stitched pictures on the walls and pirate stories told by firelight before bed.

Pirate stories. He smiled in the darkness, thinking about Miss Palmer. She certainly knew how to gain an audience. The boys were so full of questions, she hadn’t been able to tell a full story at all, but what she did say was fascinating. He wanted to ask her what book she’d read to know so much about Blackbeard. He wanted to ask her where she learned to cook. He wanted to ask her so many things . . . As he drifted off to sleep, he realized, he didn’t care what he asked her. He just wanted to spend time with her . . . doing absolutely anything.

Stephen was awakened the next morning by bright sunlight streaming in through the little window high in the wall across from his bed. At first, he couldn’t remember where he was. Then he sprang out of bed and dressed, eager to see what was going on in the rest of the household. Eager for some breakfast. Eager to see if Miss Palmer was the one who had made it.

He paused at the thought midway through putting on his shoes. Miss Palmer. She’d been his last thought when he drifted off, and she was present on his mind nearly as soon as he awoke. That must mean something . . . or maybe he was just hungry. Being hungry would always make a person more appreciative of the cook.

No, she was so much more than a cook, and he was a fool if he tried to talk himself out of feeling the way he did. There was something about her—something that very much spoke to him. Something that felt more like family than anything he’d ever had before, and he liked it. It was as though his soul craved it, that sense of belonging.

He wanted what these little boys had.

After tidying up the room and making sure he’d left nothing of his behind, Stephen went downstairs and found Sarah in the kitchen, mixing eggs in a large bowl.

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