world knew about the precious baby she carried.
“I need the work,” she stated baldly. “I happen to enjoy cooking for people. It’s a rare occurrence to find a paid position doing what you love. I’d like to keep it.”
“You’re a recent widow, I understand. My condolences.”
Ellie stammered out something unintelligible, her tongue suddenly tied. It was his first mention of her loss. She’d gotten the impression he expected her to burst into tears if he broached the subject. He’d be wrong.
Her marriage to Nolan Jameson had been fraught with difficulty and failed to be the loving union she’d hoped for. She had mourned his sudden passing but rejoiced at this unforeseen chance to finally be a mother, to have a child of her own to raise. Her last two pregnancies had ended in tragedy. She’d beseeched God morning, noon and night on behalf of this baby, praying this time would be different.
“Tell me, do you have someone in mind for the changes you’ve mentioned?”
“I’m a decent seamstress. I’d be happy to do it.”
His dark brows lifted. “Will you have time?”
Ellie’s days were long and arduous. Six days a week, she woke before dawn in order to be at the café by five to start breakfast. The morning serving hours were from seven to ten. After a brief coffee break, she and Flo prepared the noon meal, available between the hours of noon and two. The afternoon break was longer, as supper didn’t begin until six o’clock. By closing time at nine, her energy was at its lowest point.
“I’ll make time,” she told him. “I can utilize my afternoons. Flo may be willing to take over the desserts for a week.”
“I’m not sure the customers will thank me for that.” He shot her a dry look. “Very well. I’ll inform Mr. Darling to expect you at the mercantile. Put the supplies on my account.”
“Don’t you want to approve the fabric choice?”
“I trust your judgment.” He made to walk past her and paused. “I’ll pay you extra wages, of course. Expect it with your next earnings.”
Overjoyed, for she would need yarn and thread to crochet blankets, and fabric to sew clothes for the baby, Ellie seized his hand and cradled it between hers. “Thank you, sir. You’re a godsend. First the cooking position, which I relish, and now this...” Her throat grew thick. “You can’t know what a blessing you’ve been to me.”
The roughness of his palm registered, as did the nicks and fine scars across the top expanse. She’d expected the slippery smoothness of a businessman’s hands. Without thinking, she traced the faded pink lines intersecting his skin. “You hurt yourself,” she murmured.
Alexander’s lips parted. Then his jaw hardened to stone. Yanking free, he glowered at her like a bear whose honey supply had been disturbed.
“It’s an old wound,” he gritted out.
Cheeks stinging, she sucked in air as an alarming bout of nausea assailed her. She knew how standoffish he was. This was one of the longest conversations they’d shared. He barely tolerated her presence, and here she’d been caressing his skin. How could she have been so forward?
“I apologize. I—I didn’t mean to...” Act with an absolute lack of professionalism? Make them both uncomfortable?
“It’s already forgotten.”
Striding from the room, his steps continued past the office and storage room and into the kitchen. The rear door slammed. Cringing, her stomach revolted and, hurrying to reach an empty pitcher on the hutch, she thanked the Lord no one was around to witness her humiliation—most of all, Alexander Copeland.
Chapter Two
He’d nearly come undone at an innocent display of gratitude. His overreaction had caused the young widow a great deal of embarrassment. Her pained expression had remained with him throughout the day, despite his best efforts to put it from his mind. Hiking through the forest at a brisk pace hadn’t done the trick; nor had sitting on the riverbank waiting in vain for the fish to bite. Alexander was convinced his brother and sister wouldn’t recognize him either by his appearance or his actions.
A deep sigh escaped his lips as he passed the almost indiscernible outlines of the vegetable garden and modest barn behind the café. He met Flo Olufsen on the kitchen stoop. The jolly sixty-year-old had come with the purchase of the café. A jill-of-all-trades, Flo’s tasks varied from day to day depending on what Ellie required of her. While she didn’t pester him, she didn’t spare him from her dry wit.
A circle of light spilled from her lantern. Frizzed corkscrew curls sprouted in all directions, faded strawberry mixed with gray, and her carpet-like eyebrows rested above twinkling blue eyes.
“Evening, boss.” She grinned, revealing a missing front tooth. “The kitchen’s tidied and ready for another day of business tomorrow.”
“Thank you. Good night.”
His fingers had closed over the knob when her voice stopped him. “Oh, you should know Ellie’s asleep at the table. Poor thing’s all tuckered out. Said she was going to rest for but a minute before heading home. Next thing I knew she was sound asleep.”
Alexander stared. “Why didn’t you wake her?”
“I saw you coming along the trail. My Eugene is waiting for me. He gets out of sorts if I’m too late getting home.” Waggling her fingers in the air, she bustled around the corner and disappeared into the alleyway.
Wonderful.
His steps measured, he entered the darkened kitchen. Spanning the entire width of the building, the room was divided by a natural walkway to the hallway smack in the middle of the far wall. The cooking was accomplished on a pair of cast-iron stoves to his right. A square table was situated nearby for food preparation. Opposite the stoves, a waist-high counter affixed to the wall held a dry sink, carving and bread knives, spoons and other utensils. An ice cabinet sat beneath the alley window. On the left side, stairs tucked against the wall led to his living quarters. Beyond that, another, larger table was situated before a pie safe and floor-to-ceiling shelving holding cooking and serving dishes. It was at that table where he discovered his cook.
Slumped over the surface, her face was hidden in the crook of her elbow. A single wall lamp flickered beside the hallway entrance. Her dark hair spilled in an unruly waterfall over her shoulder. Her even breathing suggested she was in the throes of sleep.
Alexander propped his fishing pole against the table.
“Mrs. Jameson?”
No response.
Frowning, he propped one hand on the chair and bent closer. “Ellie? It’s time to go home.”
Making a protesting warble in her throat, she turned her head so that he was afforded a view of her milk-white cheek and pert nose. She looked extremely fragile to him in that moment, nothing like her usual energetic, upbeat self. Annoyance flared. He wasn’t supposed to be making personal observations about his hired staff.
Giving her shoulder a firm shake, he repeated her name once more.
“Hmm?”
