The Preacher's Daughter by Patricia Johns

Author:Patricia Johns [Johns, Patricia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Zebra Books
Published: 2021-03-22T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

The next morning Solomon was quiet over breakfast, but Elizabeth felt his sock foot touch her bare toes under the table. It was a casual touch, but he didn’t move away either. She looked up at him over her bowl of oatmeal and he gave her a small smile.

His kiss wasn’t quite so forgettable as she’d hoped. She shouldn’t be playing with this . . . even if he wasn’t pushing for more, those searing kisses were enough. His arms, his hands, the way his dark gaze could pin her to the spot.

“Did you get the stain out?” Elizabeth asked.

“Yah,” Solomon replied. “My shirt is on the line outside.”

“A stain?” Bridget asked, coming back to the table with a plate of toast. “What stain?”

“I got some shoe polish on my shirt,” he said.

“I can take care of that for you,” Bridget said. “You could have left it.”

“I’m not leaving extra work for my mammi,” Solomon said, shooting his grandmother a smile. “I scrubbed it out.”

“Easy as that?” Bridget asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No, Elizabeth gave me some pointers,” he replied.

Bridget turned her gaze to Elizabeth, her expression prim. She didn’t look away either, and for a couple of beats Elizabeth felt the heat rise in her face.

“I . . . helped him,” Elizabeth said.

“Ah. Well, let’s finish eating and you two can get the produce set up. If you two can handle it alone for a few hours, I have some housework I want to finish up.”

Elizabeth helped Bridget clear the table when they were done eating, and then they all turned their energy to getting the produce ready for the stand once more. Elizabeth had seen two police cruisers drive slowly down their road already, so maybe Seth had said something. Unruly Englishers were a danger to more than just the Lantz home.

Elizabeth and Bridget carried a plastic tub of produce up from the cool basement between them, and Solomon carried another one. They worked quickly, but no one spoke much.

“So, if we see them, we call the police?” Elizabeth asked as they deposited the tub on the kitchen floor and she rubbed her hands.

“Yah, I think so,” Bridget said.

Elizabeth looked toward Solomon, who looked more sober than she’d seen him before, and her stomach sank. If Solomon was scared, she should be, too.

“It’ll be fine,” he said when he seemed to sense her eyes on him.

“And this is the phone,” Bridget said, handing it over. It felt strange to have something like this. Some farmers in other communities had cell phones they kept in their barn in case of emergencies, but their community hadn’t crossed that line, and she’d never seen one close up before.

Solomon picked up a tub of produce and headed for the side door, bumping the screen open ahead of himself and disappearing outside.

“Could you put the last tub on the porch for Sol?” Bridget asked. “Then come inside. I wanted to talk to you about something.”

It was about her father, no doubt. Bridget knew he was returning and, very likely, she’d been thinking that over.

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