it’s not pink. You can take the one on the other side.” The master bedroom, the one that had been his parents.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to take the pink room? The other is …” she paused. She remembered the look on his face when he’d opened the door, but had no idea how to ask why it hurt him so much. “The other is so big,” she said.
Luke tried not to think of Emily in his parents’ room, covered with the ivory chenille spread that had been on the bed as long as he could remember. He had never been able to bring himself to change rooms, instead staying in the one he’d had since childhood. Nor did he want Sam there. But Emily … somehow she fit. She’d be caring and respectful.
“The room has been empty a long time. You may as well use it. The other is so small. It’s just a room, Emily. No reason why you shouldn’t sleep in it.”
But it wasn’t “just a room”, and as he looked down into her dark gaze, he got the idea she understood even without the details.
“Mr. Evans, I don’t know how to thank you. This means a lot to me … to us.”
Her eyes were so earnest, and he wondered what was behind them. Clearly she was a single mom and things had to be bad if she accepted a short-term position like his and was so obviously happy about it. She hadn’t even attempted to negotiate salary.
“What brought you here? I mean … you’re obviously a single mother.” No husband to be found and insistent on the Ms. instead of Mrs. No wedding ring either, but he saw the slight indentation on her finger where one had lived. “Recently divorced?”
The pleasant smile he’d enjoyed suddenly disappeared from her mouth. “Does it matter if I’m divorced?”
He stepped back. “Not at all. I was just curious.”
“You don’t strike me as the curious type.”
He hoped he didn’t blush. She had him dead to rights and she knew it. He had always been the stay-out-of-others'-business-and-they’ll-stay-out-of-yours type.
“Pardon me,” he replied coolly.
But her lack of answers only served to make him wonder more what had truly brought her here. What circumstances had led Emily Northcott and her son to his doorstep?
“Yes,” she relented, “I’m divorced. Sam’s father is living in British Columbia. I’m just trying to make a living and raise my son, Mr. Evans.”
She was a mom. She had baggage, if the white line around her finger and the set of her lips were any indication. It all screamed off limits to him. He should just nod and be on his way. Instead he found himself holding out his hand, scrubbed clean of the earlier grease, with only a telltale smidge remaining in his cuticles.
“Luke. Call me Luke.”
The air in the room seemed to hold for a fraction of a second as she slid her hand out of her pocket and towards his. Then he folded the slim fingers within his, the connection hitting him square in the gut. Two dots of color appeared on Emily’s cheeks, and it looked as though she bit the inside of her lip.
Not just him then. As if things weren’t complicated enough.
“Luke,” she echoed softly, and a warning curled through him at the sound of her voice. He had to keep his distance. This was probably a huge mistake. But where would they go if he denied her the job? What were they running from? He wanted to know everything but knew that asking would only mean getting closer. And getting close—to anyone—was not an option. Not for him.
He was already in over his head. The fields and barns were the place for him, and he would let Emily Northcott sort out her own family. She could just get on with doing her job.
He had enough to handle with his own.
CHAPTER THREE
THE REST OF the day passed in a blur. Emily began her cleaning upstairs in the rooms that she and Sam would occupy. Sam helped as best as a five-year-old boy could, helping change the sheets, dusting and Emily put him to work putting his clothes in the empty dresser while she moved on to her room. It was late afternoon when she was done and continued on to the kitchen, putting the dry dishes away before tackling the new dirty ones and searching the freezer for something to make for supper. The baked pork chops, rice and vegetables were ready for six o’clock; she held the meal until six-thirty and finally ate with Sam while Luke remained conspicuously absent. It wasn’t until she and Sam were picking at the blueberry cobbler she’d baked for dessert that Luke returned.
He took one look at the dirty supper dishes and his face hardened.
Emily clenched her teeth. What did he expect? They couldn’t wait all night, and she’d held it as long as was prudent. As it was, the vegetables had been a little mushy and the cream of mushroom sauce on the chops had baked down too far.
“We didn’t know how long you’d be,” she said quietly, getting up to move the dirty dishes and to fix Luke a plate. “We decided to go ahead.”
“You didn’t need to wait for me at all.” He went to the sink to wash his hands.
Emily bit the inside of her lip. Granted, dinnertime with the surly Luke Evans wasn’t all that appealing, but it seemed rude to discount having a civil meal together at all. Still she was new here and the last thing she wanted was to get off on the wrong foot. She picked up a clean plate, filled it with food and popped it into the microwave. In her peripheral vision she could see Sam picking at his cobbler, staring into his bowl. He could sense the tension, and it made Emily even more annoyed. He’d had enough of that when things had got bad between her and Rob. The last thing she wanted was to have him in a less-than-friendly situation again.
“Eating together is a civil thing to do,” she replied as the microwave beeped. “Plus the food is best when it’s fresh and hot.”
“You don’t need to go to any bother,” he replied, taking the plate and sitting down at the table. Sam’s gaze darted up and then down again. Was he not even going to acknowledge her son?
Perhaps what Luke Evans needed was a refresher course in manners and common courtesy.
She resumed her seat, picked up her fork and calmly said, “I wasn’t planning on running a short-order kitchen.”
“I didn’t realize I was nailed down to a specific dinner time. I am running a farm here, you know.”
Sam’s eyes were wide and he held his spoon with a purple puddle of blueberries halfway between the bowl and his mouth. Emily spared him a glance and let out a slow breath.
“Of course you are, and I did hold the meal for over half an hour. Maybe we should have simply communicated it better. Set a basic time and if you’re going to be later, you can let me know.”
“I’m not used to a schedule.”
Emily looked at Sam and smiled. “You’re excused, Sam. Why don’t you go upstairs and put on your pajamas?”
Obediently Sam pushed out his chair and headed for the stairs.
Luke paused in his eating. “He listens to you well.”
Now
