Page 22 of Montana Bride By Christmas
“You’re worried about him?” Hugh’s softly spoken words drew her attention. His kindly expression caused her throat to tighten.
“I suppose I am,” she murmured, not wanting to disturb her grandfather. “He isn’t as active as he was last winter.” She told him how things had been a year ago. Her throat tightened. “I can’t bear to think of losing him.” Her voice broke, and she ducked her head.
“It hurts to lose those we love. Sometimes...” He paused, and she clung to that moment of silence, hoping for something that would help her know how to deal with loss—other than to pull the edges of herself closed.
He continued. “Sometimes I wonder if it takes a special person to cope with a profound loss.” He looked away—past her, his gaze on something beyond the walls of the house. She wondered if he still talked about her and Grandfather or if he referred to his own life.
How deeply had he loved Bernice? Had her loss left him empty and hurting?
His attention shifted to Evan.
Perhaps, she thought with startling clarity, he wondered about his son, wondered if the poor child would recover from his loss and mistreatment. A fierceness filled her.
“We must never give up on him. We must believe the best for him and secure the best for him.”
His look was somewhat startled, and then he smiled. His smile gave way to a chuckle. “And if a Marshall decrees it, it will be so?” He sobered so suddenly it left her dizzy. “I hope I can live up to that standard. That I don’t fail my son.”
“Failure is not in my vocabulary,” she said with so much conviction that his eyebrows headed for his hairline. She rose, her intention to go to the stove and finish supper preparations.
“That’s an ominous thought.”
She turned and faced him. Would he understand that she meant to prove her worth? That it was in the best interests of him and his son? And her, of course. He seemed to have thoughther words carried a warning. “When I set my mind to something, I generally manage to do it.”
Grandfather jerked awake in time to hear her words. “The Marshalls are a stubborn bunch,” he said.
“Not stubborn,” she corrected. “Determined, strong-minded...” And then the perfect word came to mind. “Committed.” Feeling she’d made herself clear, she continued with supper preparations.
Not until she turned to set the table did she see that Hugh watched her. She wished she could say he looked thoughtful. Even grateful that a woman with such strong ideals was willing to be his helpmate. The look in his eyes could best be described as bleak.
Her insides faltered, though she determined she wouldn’t reveal it. Did he find the prospect of sharing his life with her so unappealing? Was there something wrong with her? Was that why Rudy had left? Her confidence wavered, then she lifted her chin and reminded herself she could out-bake, out-clean, out-take-care-of anyone near or far. And she had four weeks to prove it to him.
She served up a meal that would have made her brothers express gratitude—mounds of creamy mashed potatoes, smooth rich gravy, tender roast beef from the supply of meat in the woodshed, and a colorful array of carrots and winter turnips. Hugh ate distractedly as if the food meant nothing to him.
Huh. Wait until she served the chocolate pudding she’d made. A recipe handed down from her mother. Mama said her own mother had taught her to make it. She dished out servings of the pudding to everyone. Again, Hugh ate without comment, almost without conscious thought of what filled his spoon. Little Evan, at least, gave a barely audible sigh of pleasure.
Grandfather pushed away his clean bowl. “Thank you for the great meal.”
“You’re welcome.”
She vowed she would not look at Hugh or expect a comment from him.
He sucked in air and sat up like a man waking from a dream. “Yes, thank you. A lovely meal.”
She smiled. “You’re welcome.”
He leaned back in his chair and stared into the distance as she cleaned up.
Grandfather moved to his chair, a book open on his lap. She expected he’d doze again, but his eyes were open, and he watched Hugh and then looked at Annie.
She knew him well enough to see the warning in his gaze and wondered what he meant. However, she wouldn’t ask because she had no intention of changing her mind.
Hugh stirred himself. “It’s time for bed.” He tipped his head to indicate he meant for Evan. Perhaps the prospect of the scene that would ensue explained his contemplative silence.
Annie sat at the table with the storybook and spoke to Evan. “It’s time for a bedtime story. Do you want to hear about the bear or the fox?”
He stared at the wall.
“The bear?” She paused, allowing him time to indicate his preference.
