in many ways.
Mirror, mirror on the wall, would Gabe still think her fair at all?
Would he even recognize her? What would he say? What would she? Would he be the shocking flirt she recalled, or would he be filled with contrition?
Telling herself she was a fool for wasting so much as a thought on him, she went back to the bed and dabbed some antiseptic to the cut on Gabe’s face.
As she tended to his needs, her mind turned to Caleb’s ambivalent feelings about his brother’s return. She could relate to them only too well. Like Caleb, and even though she knew that not to pardon Gabe jeopardized her own forgiveness, she couldn’t imagine any scenario that would make her feel differently about the man who had taken everything she had to give and walked away as if it meant nothing to him.
Then why are you having such contradictory thoughts about him?
She had no answer for that.
Satisfied that he was fine for the moment, she went to the kitchen, rekindled the fire in the stove and filled the coffeepot. While she waited for the stove to get hot enough to start breakfast, she opened her Bible. Instead of reading, she flipped the pages until she found the pressed petunia she’d placed there. A gift from Gabe, plucked from Mrs. Abernathy’s flower bed and tucked behind Rachel’s ear when they’d returned from a walk. “A memento of this evening.”
She could picture the half-light of dusk, could almost hear the sounds of children playing and smell the sweet scent of the petunias dancing in the breeze. Felt again the light brush of his lips against hers. A small, impromptu gesture was so like him. She planned. Gabe lived for the moment.
Impatient with her unruly thoughts, she slammed her Bible shut and began to slice the bacon, placing the strips into the cold cast-iron skillet. Gathering the ingredients for buttermilk biscuits, she measured and mixed flour, salt and leavening and started working the lard into the flour with her fingertips, finding comfort in the simplicity of the everyday task.
Seeing that the stove was hot, she set the skillet of bacon over the heat. After adding just the right amount of buttermilk, she pinched off a biscuit-size piece of dough and deftly rolled the edges under to make it reasonably smooth and round. Placing it into the greased pan, she made a dimple in the center with her knuckle.
Danny, his dark hair standing on end and covering a yawn, came into the kitchen as she was filling the slight indentations with a small dollop of extra lard, just the way her mama had done.
“Good morning,” she said, sliding the pan into the oven.
“Morning.”
She wiped her hands on a wet cloth and sighed as she watched him pour a splash of coffee into a tin cup and fill it to the brim with milk and two spoons full of sugar. He’d started having morning “coffee milk,” as he called it, when Edward had started sharing his own sweetened brew. When she’d questioned the wisdom of the action, Edward had assured her that it was more milk than anything else and maintained it was fine; it hadn’t hurt her, had it?
Grandparents! she thought, lifting the crispy strips of bacon onto a platter. If she didn’t remain vigilant, no telling how Edward would spoil Danny. But how could she deny him his little indulgences when he had taken on a very special role in Danny’s life? Not only was he the child’s grandfather, he’d been the closest thing to a father as he was ever likely to know.
Until now.
With her father’s words ringing through her mind, Rachel searched her son’s face for anything that might give away his paternity. He definitely had Gabe’s long, lush eyelashes, as well as the slant of his eyebrows. The dimple in Danny’s chin would be a dead giveaway as he grew closer to manhood and his jawline firmed the way his father’s had.
His father. Rachel stifled a groan. How could she not think of him when he lay just down the hall? Resolutely, she opened a jar of red plum jam one of her patients had given her in lieu of payment for stitching up a nasty cut.
“Are you excited about going to the Gentrys’ tomorrow?” she asked Danny as she smoothed down the recalcitrant “rooster tail” sticking up from the crown of his dark head.
He nodded, his eyes bright. “I made a present for baby Eli.”
“Really? What did you make?”
“Roland gave me some old cedar shingles and helped me drill some holes on one edge so I could put some leather laces through them. I painted Ben’s, Betsy’s and Laura’s names on them with different colors. I made one for Eli yesterday. I thought Miss Abby could hang it on the end of his cradle.”
“That was very sweet of you, Danny.”
“I made some for the Carruthers kids, too,” he said. “I thought they could hang them on the wall above their beds.”
“I’m sure everyone will love them,” she said, marveling as she often did at what a thoughtful child he was.
Feeling blessed to have him, she peeked at the biscuits. “Almost done,” she announced. “How many eggs do you want?”
“Two,” he said promptly. “Soft.”
“I’ll have two, myself,” Edward said from the doorway.
“Coming right up,” Rachel said, reaching for the brown crockery bowl that held the eggs she bought from a lady in town.
“I’ve been thinking about tomorrow,” she said, cracking the first egg into the sizzling bacon grease.
As they had the previous year, the Stones had planned to have their Christmas meal with the Gentrys and Caleb’s former in-laws, the Emersons. “Why don’t I stay here with Gabe and you and Danny go to Abby and Caleb’s?”
“Absolutely not!” Edward told her. “You and Danny go, and I’ll stay here with Gabe. You can bring me back a plate.”
“It will be stone cold in this weather,” she argued.
“Then we’ll warm it up in the oven. Really, Rachel, you go. It’s a special day for Danny, and it’s seldom you get much uninterrupted time with him. Besides, it will give you the opportunity to check on Abby and the baby.”
He had a point. Rachel put the first two eggs onto a plate and set it in front of him. The hot biscuits and a bowl of fresh-churned butter were placed on the table next to a platter of bacon. She looked from the determination in her father’s eyes to the hopeful expression in Danny’s. “If you’re sure...” she said. “We’ll be gone most of the day.”
“I’m sure. Gabe is stable, and I think I can handle anything that comes up during that short time. Besides—” he shot a smile toward Danny “—I can read that new book on Italy you’re giving me for Christmas.”
“Edward Stone!” Rachel cried, her eyes widening in disbelief. “How do you know you got a book about Italy?”
Edward’s eyes twinkled. “Never tell an eight-year-old anything you don’t want repeated.”
Rachel pinned her son with a familiar, narrow-eyed look. “You little rascal!” she said. “Christmas presents are supposed to be a secret.”
“I
