is your work?” she asked.
“I’m—I was a youth pastor.” He could almost feel her draw back when he said the word pastor. “I, ah, needed a break.”
“I see.” Maddie’s face tightened into a mask. She abruptly turned her focus on Noah. “Get ready for bed, please.”
“Eight o’clock is bedtime,” Noah explained with a sigh. “It’s the rule.” He hesitated. “Will I see you again, Jesse?”
“I hope so, Ark Man. I intend to apply for a job at Wranglers Ranch. That’s right next door, your mom says.” He smiled at the boy, but Noah was deep in thought.
“You’re a minister,” he said quietly, then glanced up. “Like my dad was?”
“Not anymore.” Jesse felt funny saying that, as if God had somehow rescinded the call He’d made on his life so many years ago. “For now I’m going to try being a ranch hand.” Until I figure out what God’s doing and what I’m supposed to do.
“My dad said that when you work for God you can’t quit,” Noah said firmly. “He said that God wouldn’t let him quit. He said it was a pastor’s rule.”
“For him, sweetie. It was a rule for him.” Maddie nudged his thin shoulder. “Now thank Jesse for showing us how to make the treats.”
Noah obediently thanked him, but it was clear that though he left without further protest, the question of Jesse’s unemployment was not settled.
“I should get going, too,” he said.
“Please stay and share a cup of tea, maybe a sandwich?” Maddie stood at the counter, hands knotted as if she was nervous. Her black cap of hair gleamed under the lights. “I’m no cook, but I owe you at least that much.”
“You don’t owe me anything. But I wouldn’t say no to a cup of tea. Or a sandwich,” he added, when his stomach complained again.
“I can do a sandwich.” Maddie’s face looked like the sun had come out, so brilliant was her smile. She put the kettle on, then pulled open the fridge. “What would you like?”
“Anything is fine. Thank you.” He hoped she’d offer a thick slice of roast beef with hot mustard on fresh French bread. Or maybe—
“Is peanut butter okay?” Maddie stood in front of her fridge, clutching an almost empty jar of peanut butter, the same wimpy brand Noah preferred. “I could mix it with honey,” she offered.
“Great.” Jesse sat at the counter and accepted the sandwich when she served it, biting into it with relish, smiling and nodding as he chewed. “It’s good.”
“I should have made you something nice. I wish I could. You deserve it.” She sat one stool away from him, elbows propped on the counter, inhaling the steam from her tea. “Here I have this designer kitchen that most women dream of, and I’m a useless cook.”
That sounded like something someone had called her.
“Why don’t you take cooking lessons?” he asked, after swallowing the sticky mass. “Gran made my mom take them.”
“Really?” Maddie looked as if she’d never heard of such a thing.
“Sure. When my parents lived here there was a cooking school called Alberto’s Mama. That’s where my mom went to learn to cook before she had me.” He grinned. “Gran insisted it was a necessity and my dad was happy to pay when he started tasting Alberto’s Mama’s recipes. Was your husband a cook?” He pretended to ask out of idle curiosity.
Immediately, Maddie went tense. Her fingers tightened around her cup and her cheeks lost the delightful pink that had bloomed there. “Gourmet,” she murmured.
And that only made you feel worse.
Jesse’s heart hurt at the wounded look on her face. “I’m sure you have talents in other areas.”
She laughed, head thrown back, throat bare. It was the way Maddie should always laugh—full-bodied and freely expressing her emotions, Jesse thought. Not like that timid, fearful mouse he’d glimpsed a few moments ago.
“I don’t have many talents, but I can make a pretty good quilt,” she agreed with a cheeky grin, then quickly sobered. “Though some say that’s a pointless and dying art.”
“Since when is giving comfort pointless?” Jesse was angry that someone had so cruelly disparaged her gift. “When I was a kid I used to go with Gran to take her quilts to the cancer ward and to the homeless shelters. People loved her gifts because the quilts made them feel special and cherished, as if they mattered. That feeling is an amazing gift to give someone. It takes real talent. Cooking is just following directions.”
Jesse hadn’t meant to sound off, but when he noticed Maddie’s spine straighten he was glad he had, now certain of his original assessment that someone hadn’t properly valued this woman. He got caught up in speculating who that was, but his thoughts were interrupted by a call from the bedroom.
“Excuse me.” Maddie disappeared into Noah’s room with a smile, but when she emerged moments later her green eyes swirled with uneasiness.
“Everything okay with the Ark Man?” he asked.
“Noah’s fine.” Maddie frowned. “Why do you call him that?”
“Ark Man?” He shrugged. “Noah seems all about formalism, rules, that kind of thing. I’ve found—I used to find,” he corrected, “—that sometimes a nickname helps break through the mask most overly responsible kids wear. I can stop if you want.”
“Please don’t.” There was something about Maddie now—a tightness that echoed the tension on her pretty face. “Noah likes that nickname.”
Jesse couldn’t define the vibe he was getting, but that openness he’d so admired about her earlier had disappeared. He had the impression it had to do with him having been a minister—like her husband.
“Noah would like to speak to you for a minute.”
“Sure.” He walked toward the room Maddie indicated, and stepped inside, surprised by the plain simplicity of it. No superhero posters, no toys scattered around, no video games or computer. No distractions. Just one small bedside photo of a man with dark hair graying at the temples and a severe-looking face. Noah’s father, Jesse guessed. “Hey. Ready for bed, huh?”
“Yes.” Noah lay tucked in his bed, covered to his chin in a gorgeous gray quilt with puffy, silver-white clouds delicately dotting the surface. Somehow Jesse knew Maddie had made it. “Thank you for helping my mom and me make the treats, Jesse.”
“You’re very welcome. I hope you enjoy them.” Jesse could tell the boy wanted to ask something, so even though Maddie stood behind him, ready to escort him out, he waited.
“Sometime...” Noah paused, glanced at his mother, then let the words spill out. “If it’s not too much trouble, could you maybe show me your tent and campfire and—everything?”
“Sure.” There was such a longing in the boy’s
