her baking.
“Tom.” Varying emotions surged and waned in her shadowed eyes. She dusted flour from her apron. “I wasn’t expecting you today.” She looked beyond his shoulder to where Clara was crouched in the grass, picking dandelions. “Is everything okay?”
Of course it wasn’t. He was overwhelmed with the massive task of setting the farm to rights while trying to keep an eye on Clara, not to mention taking time out to prepare meals. He hadn’t even addressed the issue of Clara’s new wardrobe yet.
“Do you have a minute?”
Draping the towel over her shoulder, she opened the door wider. “Sure. Come on in.”
Inside the main living area of her family’s two-story cabin, the tempting aroma of apples and cinnamon curled around him. The low-ceilinged rectangular room looked pretty much the same as he remembered it—a stacked-stone fireplace dominated one wall. Oval-backed chairs surrounded one long chocolate-brown settee and a yellow-gold fainting couch. Sewing baskets, fabrics and supplies occupied a low table in the far corner. A cramped dining space led to the kitchen.
“Smells amazing in here.”
“I’m working on a stack cake for Hattie Williams’s wedding tomorrow. Do you mind if I give Clara a treat?”
“She’d enjoy that.”
He followed her to the kitchen, attention on her hair and her exposed nape. She’d nearly caught up with him in the height department, the crown of her head about even with his nose. The twins were tall and slender like their eldest sister, Juliana, and shared the same flame-colored hair.
Being in her kitchen was like being in the bowels of a bakery. The pie safe’s doors were open, the shelves crowded with baked goods. A five-pound sack of flour, containers of sugar and fresh butter occupied one end of her work surface, while bowls and spoons of various sizes fanned out around the stack cake in the middle. Even the table had been put to use. Spice bags and a crate of eggs lined the nearest edge.
“Where’s Jessica?” Tom propped a hip against the counter, wishing he could have a taste of the towering confection.
“At the mercantile. I ran out of vanilla extract.” Removing the covering on a large plate, she counted out four ginger cookies the size of his palm.
“Are all of those for Clara?”
Humor played about her generous mouth, and she started to replace the top two. “I thought you might like to indulge your sweet tooth, but if you’d rather not...”
For a moment, he was struck dumb by her almost smile, the first true glimpse of the lighthearted girl he used to know. One long stride had him at her side. Chuckling, he swiped them from her hand and took a huge bite. “Mmm. You, Janie girl, are the best baker in the state. Maybe even in the east.”
Her green gaze clung to his, something akin to fascination in the mysterious depths, as if she was loath to look away from his enjoyment of her creation. Clearing her throat, she moved away to pour milk into a pair of mason jars.
“I’ll be right back.”
His mouth full of cookie, he watched as she carried the jar and a small plate out to the front porch. Clara came running. Jane bent to her level, a full-fledged smile transforming her face into something so pure and lovely he nearly choked as he fought to catch his breath.
She had to agree to his request. Her affection for Clara had surely grown greater than her reasons for refusing him the first time.
Taking up her spot behind the waist-high work space, she resumed her work, carefully slathering apple butter across the top layer. “What did you wish to see me about?”
“You’ve seen my kitchen.”
“Yes.”
“It’s not as large as yours, but it has everything you’d need to do your baking there. Jessica, too.”
Slowly lowering the spoon, she stared at him. “What are you suggesting, Tom?”
“I’m asking you to reconsider watching Clara for me. I understand it would be a bit of an inconvenience for Jessica to have to come to my home every afternoon, but I’m willing to pay her what I can.”
“I don’t know—”
He lifted a hand. “Please, hear me out. Clara’s had a rough year. After Jenny died, Charles and I couldn’t make her understand why her ma wasn’t coming back. We struggled to console her during those first weeks.”
“I’m sorry.” Her voice dropped to an almost whisper. “I can’t imagine how hard that must’ve been for you.”
He recalled the many sleepless nights. In the beginning, they’d taken turns comforting her after yet another bad dream. “Months passed, and she started improving. Charles, on the other hand, got worse. He and Jenny, they shared a love few people get to experience. He was furious with God for taking her. Couldn’t handle the loss, so he started drinking. I tried to stop him.”
And had gotten a handful of black eyes in the process. Knowing the depth of his brother’s despair, Tom hadn’t had the heart to put up much of a fight. He’d merely wanted Charles to snap out of it.
“Charles disappeared. I waited for him to return. Had the sheriff contact nearby towns looking for him. I have no idea if he’s alive or dead.”
“Oh, Tom.” Coming around to his side, she clutched his forearm. Sympathy rendered her eyes the color of the dusk-darkened forest.
“I didn’t tell you this to guilt you into agreeing. The fact is, I don’t want just anyone to be her caretaker. I want you.” Ignoring her quiet gasp, he continued. “I trust you. And she does, too. You’re the first woman she’s taken a shine to since her ma passed. You’d be good for her, Jane. Please say yes.”
She stepped away, shoulders slumping a little. “I can’t.”
Disappointment swirled in his chest. Jane might not be as outspoken as her sisters, but she had the O’Malley stubborn streak. There’d be no changing her mind. If only she’d tell him why. She’d given him the impression she’d forgiven him for demanding Josh’s silence. Holding a grudge wasn’t in her nature, but it was the only valid reason he could come up with.
“I can’t say that I understand, but I respect your decision. I won’t ask again.” Heading for the exit, he forced his voice to remain upbeat. “Thanks for the cookie. Good luck with the cake. Hattie will no doubt love it.”
“Wait.”
Foolishly, hope surged as he pivoted in the doorway.
“There’s an elderly widow in town. You may remember her. Lorraine Drummond?”
Swallowing hard, he nodded. This wasn’t going the way he’d envisioned.
“She’s been saying recently how lonely she gets now that her husband is gone and her children have moved away. She’d be the perfect caretaker for Clara.”
“Thanks, Jane. I’ll look into it.” He hooked a thumb at the door. “I’ll
