Page 47 of Mail-Order Bride Runaway
The aromaof coffee and the clatter of pots on the stove woke Andy from a deep sleep. He yawned, stretched, and scratched his beard. Time to shave. He bolted from his bed, found clean clothes to wear, grabbed his boots, and tiptoed from the room.
“Morning.” Only Mrs. B was in the kitchen.
“Morning.” He glanced out the window. “Looks like a nice day.” He sat on the nearest chair to tug on his boots.
Mrs. B barely spared him a glance as she scooped bacon fat into a frying pan. “Hot water’s ready for you. ‘Twouldn’t hurt for you to clean up some.”
Laughing, he took the water to the far corner of the kitchen where a washstand stood. He lathered up his shaving soap and covered his beard with the lather. With sure, steady strokes, he drew the straight blade over his whiskers. He was almost finished when he heard Della enter the room. His hand jerked. He stopped before he sliced his throat open. A splash of warm water, a pat with the towel and he felt ready to face her.
Turning slowly, he was about to say good morning when his tongue failed him. She’d brushed her hair back and fixed it in a braid that hung down her back. Her face glowed from washing. She wore a dark blue dress that brought out the color of her eyes, making the contrast of the navy rim of her irises even more striking than he’d noticed before. He heard himself swallow and wondered if everyone else noticed.
Her bright smile faded as he stared.
“Good morning,” he choked out.
She repeated the greeting.
“Did you sleep well?”
Her laughter, soft and sweet as bird song, tickled his ears. “It’s wonderful to sleep on a soft bed. I trust you slept well.”
He heard the hesitation in her words. Had she been aware of his restless pacing? Understood the awkwardness of this situation?
“I slept like a baby.”
Mrs. B chuckled. “You do know that babies wake up many times in the night demanding to be fed.”
Della grinned widely. “At least he didn’t cry and expect someone to take care of feeding him.”
Andy couldn’t tear his gaze away from the glow in Della’s expression.
“Do either of you want coffee while I finish breakfast?” Mrs. B asked.
“I do.” He jerked toward the table and dropped to the chair he normally occupied then, realizing Della stood motionless, he jumped to his feet and pulled out a chair for her.
Mrs. B placed a cup of coffee before each of them.
Della took a sip and sighed. “Nice to have a cup ofgoodcoffee.”
“I object. I made coffee.” He infused the sound of hurt into his voice.
“Coffee, you call it? Some would call it black poison.” Her words were but a murmur, meant for his ears alone. Her smile informed him that she teased.
He burnt his tongue on the sip he gulped.
She laughed softly at the way he fanned his mouth, her eyes flashing a mix of amusement and concern. The latter she showed by patting his hand, which made him almost choke.
Mrs. B brought breakfast to the table and joined them, and Andy’s reactions settled down.
He bowed his head and said grace then offered the food to Della.
For a few minutes, the only sound was forks on plates and cups being set on the table.
Della released a long sigh. “The food is excellent, Mrs. Bennet. Thank you.”
“’Tis a pleasure to cook. I always have enjoyed it. In the past, I’ve run boarding houses. Always headed west.” She glanced beyond Della to the window and her gaze lingered there as if seeking escape in that direction.
Andy lowered his fork. “Are you getting restless? Thinking of leaving?” He’d hired her because he didn’t like coming home and having to make his own meals. Although he could have gone to any of his brothers, been welcomed and fed—and often had—he didn’t like being the odd man out. There had been a time Wally prepared meals for them, but he complained he wasn’t a cook. He was a cowboy and liked it that way.
