was remaining on the ranch. “I left her first week’s pay in an envelope for her.” He handed Larry a white envelope. “Give it to her at the end of the week.”
“What’s her name?”
“Maggie. Good name, solid.”
“Yeah. What did your dad say?”
“Nothing. He didn’t seem to care. I hope I’m doing the right thing.”
Larry leaned over and slapped him on the shoulder. “I’m sure you are. When is she coming?”
“Tomorrow, but I’ll be up and out of here before she arrives. I left a note for her. Keep an eye on Dad for me.”
“Will do.”
Maggie Woodward pulled up in front of a nice ranch house with an old-fashioned broad porch. Tim could play out there no matter what the weather. She turned her car motor off and looked at the little boy still sleeping in the back seat.
She breathed a sigh of relief. She’d taken this job for Timmy’s sake. She wanted him to have a country childhood like she had had.
Maggie had missed ranch life, but she’d gladly become a city girl when her husband took a job in Denver. She’d stayed home with Timmy, but after Derek’s death, she’d gotten a secretarial job in Denver to support herself and her son and moved in with her aunt.
As she gazed around at her surroundings, Maggie wondered if her new employer would allow her to invite Kate to visit. She missed the older woman already and Timmy had cried this morning when they’d told Kate goodbye. So had Maggie.
With a sigh, she opened the car door and got out to take her son inside. It was late July, the hottest time in Colorado. She slid his little body toward her. He was sturdily built.
“Mommy?” the little boy muttered as he turned towards her body.
“It’s all right, sweetie. Finish your nap.” She climbed the steps to the back door, hoping no one would mind that she entered the house that way.
She heard something behind her and turned to see a young man hurrying out of the barn in her direction. She stood there in the afternoon sun, watching his approach.
“Howdy, ma’am. Are you Maggie?”
She smiled in relief. “Yes, I am, Mr. Brownlee.”
“No ma’am. I’m not the owner. He’s not here. He asked me to make you feel at…home. Who’s he?” Larry asked, gesturing to the bundle of little boy in her arms.
“He’s my son. May I take him in where it’s cool? He’s getting a little heavy.”
“I’ll take him.” She shook her head so he stepped around her and held open the back door. “Did you mention to Hank that you’d be bringing him?”
She came to an abrupt halt in the kitchen and turned around. “Yes, I told him. Is there a problem?”
“I guess not,” Larry muttered. “Uh, your bedroom is through here.” He led her to the room behind the kitchen. After looking at the room, he said, “I guess Hank didn’t have time to fix it up much,” he muttered.
“That’s all right,” Maggie told him. The welcome hadn’t quite been what she was hoping for, but she could handle it.
Larry pulled down the grimy coverlet and discovered there were no sheets on the mattress.
“Can you find a sheet or quilt I can lay Timmy on?” Maggie quietly asked.
“Uh, yeah, sure.” Larry had no idea where those things were. He found Mr. Brownlee sitting in his usual place in the living room. “Sir, where are the sheets?”
At first there was no change of expression. It was as if Carl Brownlee hadn’t heard him. Then he frowned. “In the hall closet.”
Larry hurried there and found a folded sheet. He grabbed it and headed for the back bedroom.
Carl actually came out of the living room. “You don’t need to stay with me, Larry.”
Larry turned around and backed toward the bedroom. “No, sir. This is for the housekeeper.” Then he ducked into the room and laid the folded sheet on the bed.
Maggie, whose arms were aching with the weight of her son, breathed a sign of relief. “Thank you. If you’ll just unfold it a little.”
Larry did so and she laid her son down and gently covered him with part of the sheet.
“Who’s that?”
She whirled around to see a frail old man leaning against the door frame. “That’s my son, Timmy. I’ll try to keep him out of your way.”
“I like kids.”
Maggie smiled, unaware of the effect of that smile. “I’m so glad to hear that.”
Carl nodded slowly.
“Want me to help you carry your stuff in?” Larry offered.
“That would be nice if you have the time, but I can manage if you have work to do.”
“Nothing that can’t keep.”
“I’ll watch the child,” Carl said, his gaze never leaving the little boy.
After she and Larry reached her car, she asked, “Is he okay?”
“I think Hank told you in his letter. His dad’s been sad—I mean, depressed, since his wife died.”
“When did she die?”
“A year ago last May.”
“And part of my job is to take care of him?”
“Hank thought—I mean, he’s not much of a cook. And he thought you could make Carl feel better.”
Maggie flashed that beautiful smile again. “I understand, and I’ll do my best.”
By the time Larry left the house, after a well-cooked supper in a kitchen that already looked better, he was sure Hank had done the right thing. He didn’t know why Hank had changed his mind about hiring a widow for his father, but the woman was a beauty and kind, too. And boy, could she cook.
She’d asked Carl what he liked to eat. His response had been his usual response, namely “nothing.” But Maggie had told him what Timmy liked. The little boy asked for cookies, cake, hamburgers, all the things children like. To Larry’s surprise, Carl had agreed with him.
Things were going well.
The bed in the room behind the kitchen was a single with an old mattress. Though Maggie longed for her queen-size bed in Kate’s house, the smaller bed suited Timmy just fine. He’d fallen asleep soon after she’d put him down.
She returned to the kitchen to find Carl still sitting at the table.
“I’m
