come?”
Kaitlin glanced at Tripp as he sat down between them. “The time’s not right for me to marry yet.”
“Have you got a papa?”
“My papa died a long time ago, so did my mother.” Kaitlin smiled, warming at the memories. “She was a great stage actress. That’s how they met. She was with a touring company, and when he saw her on stage, it was instant love.”
“Well, how come—”
“Eat your breakfast, Charlie.” Tripp scooped eggs and bacon onto the boy’s plate, then passed the platter to Kailin. “You, too.”
“Yes, dear,” Kaitlin said, and gave him a sickly sweet smile. She took a bite. “You’re a good cook.”
“Papa makes the bestest cookies.” Charlie wiped his chin with the back of his hand. “Papa can do anything.”
“Is that so?” Kaitlin smiled across the table at Tripp.
“Uh-huh. Papa builded this table, and that chair.” Charlie pointed to the rocker in the corner.
Kaitlin gave the table a little shake; much more sturdy than the rickety thing left behind by Mr. Finch. “So that’s your trade? You’re a carpenter?”
“No, I just build things when they need building,” Tripp said. “I’m a farmer.”
“You abandoned your farm to come here?”
Tripp shifted in his chair. “Not exactly.”
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