in.”
Tess peered through the small window inset in the door. Mr. Abbott sat at a desk in a painfully clean office with a ledger spread before him and his head in hands. Like Mr. Drake, who had a shock of wiry gray hair, Mr. Abbott had a full head of hair, as well, although his was the color of ripe rye at sunset. Unlike his ticket clerk, who had a ready smile, Mr. Abbott sported a frown, as he had earlier. Not a promising sign.
She knocked.
“Enter.”
She stilled her trembling hand and opened the door. He jumped to his feet.
“Miss Grimsby. Please, have a seat.” He held out a hand toward the bentwood chair facing his desk.
“Thank you, sir.” She sat, folded her hands in her lap and drew a calming breath. “I trust you received all the documents I sent.”
“I did.” He remained standing, resting his hands on the windowsill with his back to her. Several seconds passed before he spoke. “You’re not what I expected.”
Her nervousness fled. She didn’t appreciate being challenged at the outset, but she wouldn’t let him fluster her. “Neither are you, but I can do the job, I assure you.” She’d worked for some prominent families in Sacramento City, the last one having a name anybody in the state would recognize. The wife of the widely respected banker had written her a letter of recommendation, albeit reluctantly. Not that Tess could blame her. The woman’s husband had found Tess’s direct manner problematic.
Mr. Abbott sat on the corner of his desk with his long legs draped over the side, forcing her to look up. She caught a flicker of feeling in his eyes. Curiosity perhaps? Or was it concern?
“Why would you come to a small town when you’re used to living among the elite? I lead a simple life, and I don’t want my children exposed to any newfangled notions.”
His manner and tone rankled. If she were to work for him, she’d have to show him she wouldn’t tolerate his high-handedness. “I’m a simple person myself, eager to leave the bustle of the city behind. I was most recently employed by a family of means, true, but I hail from humble circumstances.”
Please, don’t let him ask me to explain. She had no intention of educating him about her past. Humble circumstances didn’t begin to describe her miserable childhood.
“Your circumstances don’t concern me. But your methods do. I contacted your most recent employer. He said you have a tendency to speak your mind. Is that true?”
That was a more tactful description of her supposed failings than the domineering man had used when he dismissed her. “I have opinions, but doesn’t everyone?”
His blond brows rose, and he pressed a fist to his mouth. She thought she saw his lips twitch, and it gave her hope, but when he pulled his hand away, the frown was there as before. “Can you cook?
Mr. Abbott’s abrupt change of subject took her aback. “I assume you mean can I cook well, and the answer is yes. I can keep house, do laundry, sew, garden and care for animals, too. But the most important thing is that I’ll do all I can to help your children through this difficult time.” The Lord had used her to minister to countless youngsters who’d lost their parents, and she could put that experience to good use—provided Mr. Abbott hired her.
He folded his arms and took his time studying her, as though she were a horse or a milk cow. Well, two could play that game. She tilted her chin and let her gaze rove over his fine features, drinking her fill.
At length he nodded. “I’ll give you one week.”
A week? Her previous employers had offered a one-month trial period. Torn between a desire to laugh or shout, Tess gave an unladylike snort, which she covered with a cough.
In her experience overbearing men like Spencer Abbott responded to a show of force. She couldn’t resist the urge to slip in a hint of sarcasm, too. “How generous—but entirely unnecessary. I’ll prove my worth to you in a day.”
Spencer wasn’t one to refuse a challenge. If Miss Grimsby was bold enough to claim that she could impress him in a day rather than asking for a month as he’d expected, she deserved the opportunity to try. The sooner he found out if her assertion was valid, the sooner he’d know if his search for a housekeeper was over.
As much as he detested the thought of a woman he didn’t know helping raise his children, Peter’s wife had vouched for Miss Grimsby. Polly had never steered him wrong.
While Spencer was certain Miss Grimsby could fix better meals than those he’d eaten lately, how would she deal with Luke? The poor tyke had taken to misbehaving. Having a different woman watching him every few days didn’t help matters.
Miss Grimsby seemed to have the strength of character necessary to tame his spirited offspring. Not that Lila would pose a problem. She’d not even begun to walk. Ever since Trudy’s dea— Ever since the service his little girl had been content to play quietly with her blocks.
“You may start now. I’ll run you out to the house and return at suppertime. Mrs. Carter, an elderly widow from church, is with the children now. She’ll show you around.”
She gave a decisive nod. “That would suit me just fine.”
Spencer stopped his wagon beside Miss Grimsby a few minutes later and hopped down to help her onto the seat. She climbed aboard before he reached her. Her independent streak didn’t surprise him, but her agility did. He wouldn’t have expected a woman that tall wearing boots with three-inch heels to move as quickly or gracefully. But there she sat looking as composed as any woman of leisure, the smooth plane of her neck exposed as she peered over her shoulder at the shops across the street from the depot.
“I noticed a general store earlier. Would you mind if I run inside for a moment before we get underway?”
Spencer groaned inwardly. “No, but make it quick. I’ve got work to do.”
“I’ll be back in a trice.”
He slipped his gold watch out of his waistcoat pocket. He’d give her five minutes. If she wasn’t back by then, he’d hitch his team to the post and tend to some paperwork. Waiting on a woman wasn’t something he had time for. He closed his eyes to block the bright summer sun and made a mental list of all he had to accomplish that afternoon.
The wagon rocked as Miss Grimsby climbed aboard. “I’m sorry I took so long, but someone was ahead of me.”
Three minutes wasn’t long. Three minutes was astonishing. Unsure what to say, he grunted an acknowledgment. He pocketed his watch, took the reins and started the one-mile trek to his spread.
With each clop of the horses’ hooves, the stabbing pain he experienced every time he saw the place intensified. Memories abounded, as sour as they were sweet. He and Trudy had worked hard to make the house a home. Although she was gone, he could see her everywhere. Why, he fancied he could even smell the rosewater she’d favored.
“What was she like?”
“Huh?”
“Your
