that she bit back a laugh.
Juliette had always had an easy laugh. Thinking back, he remembered that she had never used it to smirk or deride, only to express humor.
“Oh.” Cora accepted the pencil, set it on the table with a quiet click. “I reckon I’ve never made so many apologies in such a short time. I’m sorry, and welcome, Mr. Culverson.”
“I accept your apologies, Miss McAllister. I hope you’ll be ready for class to begin in two days. We’ll be starting rehearsal for a Christmas pageant first thing.”
Cora clapped her hands. “I can’t remember the last time we had one of those!”
The idea of the pageant had been brewing in his mind for a while now. It seemed a good way to get to know the students and give them a chance to shine in front of their parents. Making their children sparkle was a good way to win them over. If he didn’t manage to win over the parents, he might as well go back to frying chicken, since he’d be out of a job by the new year.
Watching Juliette while she smiled down at her daughter, tapping the child’s button-like nose with her long, slender finger, well—he knew he did not want to leave here. And for more reasons than his need to make amends for past wrongs.
“I add my welcome, Mr. Culverson.” Rose hurried across the room, her hand extended in greeting. An interesting and familiar blend of scents floated around her. Vanilla and fried food overlaid with coffee was his guess. “And you ought to know that, in spite of Cora’s frankness, she is dedicated to her studies.”
“Devoted to them,” Cora declared. “Quite faithful, in fact. I’d rather learn than do most anything.”
“That’s admirable, Cora,” he said.
“Practical, I’d say more than that. One day we women will have the right to vote, and I don’t want to make foolish decisions.”
One day women would vote, and that would be a fine thing, but for now he suspected little Miss Cora needed to learn to have some fun along the way.
“The babies are sleeping, Rose,” Juliette said. “I can take over now. Why don’t you and Cora go on home.”
“I’ll be back first thing in the morning. I reckon you’ll be busy at the hotel. The gossip is that Elvira Pugley is leaving town tomorrow. She says if she spends one more day next door to that Ephraim Culver—” She shot Trea a suddenly sheepish glance. “I’m sorry—I plumb forgot that the man is your father.”
“Don’t trouble yourself over it. That’s a fact I wouldn’t mind forgetting, myself.”
Rose took off her apron while Cora gathered up her book and her pencil.
At the doorway, Cora turned back and shot him a sober glance. “Mr. Culverson, I, for one, do not think you are the devil come home to roost and I’ll say so to anyone.”
* * *
The devil come home to roost!
Even after five minutes Cora’s innocent declaration of the town’s attitude toward Trea Culverson put Juliette on edge. Things had not changed in that respect over the years.
It did not matter who he had become; all some people would ever see was the reckless son of Ephraim.
Glancing through the portal window between the kitchen and the dining room, she watched Trea while she prepared his meal.
He lifted Lena in his arms, jiggled her, then smiled when she giggled.
“You letting a stranger hold my granddaughter?” Warren asked from his chair beside the stove.
“He is not a stranger, Father Lindor.”
“You sure? I don’t know him.”
That was one good thing about her father-in-law’s fading memory. Years ago, his voice had risen over the others in maligning Trea.
Still, her father-in-law’s mental decline worried her. Some folks forgot everyone, in time, even themselves. She only hoped this did not happen to Steven’s father.
He was not an easy man to care for, but she was his only living relative and she meant to do her best for him.
“He used to live here a long time ago. He was a friend of Thomas’s. He’s come back to teach school.”
“All right, then, I suppose he can hold the baby if you don’t have the time.”
Juliette slid a steak out of the frying pan with a spatula then eased it onto a plate. She ladled a large mound of mashed potatoes beside the meat and topped it off with gravy.
Given the bad news she was about to deliver, she added more gravy. Not that it would help overmuch, but she did make delicious gravy. It was her late father’s recipe and it always brought her comfort to serve it.
Coming from the kitchen to the dining room, she set the plate on the table in front of Trea, then reached for Lena. It did not escape her notice—or her heart—that he nuzzled her baby’s round pink cheek before handing her over.
Given that he was the devil come home to roost, he was quite doting.
Laying her daughter over her shoulder, Juliette sat down across from Trea. She patted Lena’s small back and breathed in the intoxicating scent so unique to infants.
“I think the Christmas pageant is a grand idea, Trea. Our town needs something like that. Beaumont Spur has become such a hopeless place. Good families are threatening to leave. I hope something like gathering to hear their children sing will make them reconsider.”
“It seems to me there ought to be a bit of fun along with learning arithmetic and the ABCs. I don’t recall that we had that.”
“You don’t recall it because we didn’t. It’s a good idea, though.”
Juliette was glad there were no late evening customers tonight. It was cozy in the dining room with the snow falling gently past the windows and the fire snapping in the hearth.
For just an instant, she thought how lovely it would be to have a home, complete with a father for her babies.
She did not let the dream linger for longer than an instant, though. The reality was that her family consisted of her babies and her father-in-law.
She was content with that. Yes, she most surely was.
Still, it was nice to look across the table and see her childhood friend—well, for honesty’s sake, she would have to admit he was her handsome childhood friend—smiling at her.
“This has been nice, Juliette. I reckon I’ll be back in the morning for breakfast.” Trea scooped up the last bit of gravy with a spoon. “But I’d better get on my way before the snow gets any worse. I’m anxious to see the place I bought.”
“Yes—well, about that. There was a fire last week. It burned your house—half of it, anyway.”
