to take Mrs. Carter home, she could clear the dining table quickly, make short work of the dishes and plan what she’d serve for breakfast.
“If there’s time, lovely Lila, I’ll give you a bath. It doesn’t look like you’ve had one in ages.” She kissed each of the baby’s cheeks and held her close for a minute, savoring the incredible sweetness of having a little one to care for. At ten months, Lila was her youngest charge ever—and so pretty.
The baby had her father’s striking eyes—the brilliant blue of an alpine lake—as well as his golden hair. Luke, on the other hand, must take after his mother, although the brown-haired, brown-eyed boy did have Mr. Abbott’s broad forehead and strong jaw. If he ended up half as handsome as his father, he’d be a fine-looking man one day.
“What am I doing woolgathering when I have work to do?” She set Lila on a blanket in the corner of the kitchen. The little girl banged her blocks together while making sounds resembling speech. At this rate she’d be adding words to her vocabulary in no time.
Lila held out a block to Tess. “Papa.”
“No, sweetheart. I’m not your papa, but he’ll be home soon.” She left the baby attempting to build a tower and attacked the dishes.
What would Mr. Abbott have to say when he talked with her after his return? Perhaps she’d been hasty in her handling of Luke, but if he was allowed to get away with bad behavior, he could turn out like Charlie. Although the boy from her orphanage days was bright, he’d become a bully and a troublemaker. She wouldn’t let that happen to her young charge.
By the time Mr. Abbott and Luke returned, the kitchen was clean, the next day’s breakfast was planned, and Lila was bathed and ready for bed. Tess didn’t relish the tug-of-war sure to take place if Mr. Abbott expected her to put Luke down for the night. Something told her the boy would raise a ruckus. After her travel and hard work, along with the pressure to please, her bed at the hotel was calling her name. By the time she walked the mile back to town, she’d have to force herself to stay awake long enough to complete her toilette.
She went out front with Lila resting against her chest. “I’m glad you’re back. She’s about to nod off.”
“He has.” Mr. Abbott pointed to Luke, asleep on the wagon seat next to him, his head in his father’s lap. “I’ll see if I can get him upstairs without waking him.”
With slow, steady movements, Mr. Abbott extricated himself, gathered Luke in his arms and mounted the stairs. “Come with me please, Miss Grimsby.”
She complied.
Luke didn’t stir as his father carried him to his room and put him to bed. Mr. Abbott rummaged under the rumpled bedding, pulled out a crib-size quilt and laid it next to his sleeping son. “Good night, my boy. May God bless your slumber.” He placed a kiss on Luke’s brow, a gesture so tender that Tess’s lips trembled.
She couldn’t remember anyone ever tucking her in or praying a blessing over her like that. Mr. Abbott might have a serious mien, but he was a caring father.
“Come to Papa, princess.” He took his daughter from Tess and, with a tilt of his head, beckoned her to follow him to Lila’s room.
Mr. Abbott repeated the bedtime routine and launched into a lullaby, his beautiful baritone filling the room. Tess, who loved music but was about as melodic as a mule, marveled at the gift given him. If anyone had told her the stoic stationmaster sang to his children, she wouldn’t have believed it. What a surprising man. She looked forward to learning more about him.
Lila was asleep before her father reached the last verse. He smoothed the sheet over her and placed a small quilt by her side, as he’d done with Luke.
“Your wife’s handiwork I presume?”
“It was the last thing she made. She’d planned to make a quilt for us, too, but...” He released a ragged breath. Tess had a sudden urge to place a comforting hand on his shoulder as he gazed at his daughter but stopped herself just in time.
He cast a lingering look at the sleeping girl and turned to Tess, all business once again. “I’ll see to the horses while you’re still here to watch the children. Give me ten minutes, and meet me on the porch.”
“Yes, sir.” He left, and she sank into the cozy rocking chair where Mrs. Abbott had likely nursed the baby. Tess spent a good five minutes listening to the rhythm of the rockers on the wooden floor and drinking in the sight of Lila’s cherubic lips parted as she drew in measured breaths. Lord, if it’s Your plan for me to care for these children, I’d be grateful.
Tess forced herself to leave the nursery. She paused in the doorway of Luke’s room. The sheet Mr. Abbott had spread over his son had become tangled in the short time he’d been in bed. Even in slumber the boy was active.
Luke’s room was strewn with toys, whereas Lila’s was devoid of clutter. Tess would help him clean his, so it would be a pleasant place to play. Not that she could picture him spending much time indoors. He was a boy who needed to get outside and expend some of his abundant energy.
She heaved a wistful sigh, made her way downstairs and busied herself in the kitchen. The parlor clock chimed. A quarter to eight already.
The time had come. She must face Mr. Abbott and find out if her hard work had secured her the position. He’d appreciated the meal. That was clear. But was he willing to welcome another woman into his home and entrust his children to her care—even a competent one such as she?
Tess located him on the porch, his hands resting on the railing, his gaze fixed on some distant point. She’d seen that look on the face of every man she’d worked for, the look of a man surveying his territory, be it his business, his house or his land.
She stood beside him, got a glimpse of his face and fought a wave of nausea. If Mr. Abbott’s scowl was an indication of his thoughts, she’d be on her way back to Sacramento City tomorrow. She didn’t know which would hurt worse—being denied the opportunity to care for adventurous Luke and his adorable baby sister or saying goodbye to their intriguing father.
Mr. Abbott spun to face Tess. He caught her staring at his soiled front, where Luke had splatted him with a tomato. “It looks like I’ll be hauling out the washtub after you leave.”
“You’re going to wash your shirt now? Tonight?”
His intention to see to the task himself surprised Tess, but not as much as her desire to tend to it for him. If she did, she’d have another half hour’s work before she could leave and would have to arrive early enough the next day to iron the shirt before he headed to the railway station.
He leaned against the porch railing with his arms and ankles crossed, looking quite appealing—aside from the red splotch in the middle of his chest. She couldn’t keep from smiling.
“Since this was my last clean shirt, I don’t have a choice.” He swept a hand toward the unsightly spot and gave a hollow laugh, but his attempt to lighten the mood couldn’t mask the embarrassment that had left his neck flushed.
The admission hadn’t been an easy one for him. Somehow she’d have to summon the strength needed, because she wasn’t about to let
