breaking up some of these rotted timbers."
Wes nodded, hiding his smile as he slung his saddle over the corral's top rail. It looked as if he was going to get his opportunity to snoop sooner than he had expected.
Hooking his thumbs over his gun belt, he strolled up the drive, whistling as he went. Although his stride was long and leisurely, his gaze darted into every shadow, registering information about his new employers. He deduced from the struggling magnolia, with its freshly spread and watered fertilizer, that someone cared a great deal for the tree.
He noticed the clattering tin-can sentinels around the vegetable garden and the fresh nibble marks of the rabbits that had apparently overcome their fear of the noise. He suspected Aurora was waging a losing battle.
A busted chain hung from the porch roof, where the fallen swing must have swung. Wes wondered if the wood shavings that had been swept so neatly behind the cane seat had been hidden or simply forgotten by the small-footed person who had left a print there.
When the fluttering of clothes on a rope caught his eye, he noticed several junior-sized shirts and trousers, but nothing that suggested a man lived and worked there, except, perhaps, for the colorful quilt with its wedding-ring design. Boudreau's, he wondered, or Aurora's?
Once again, Wes found his curiosity piqued by the anomaly that was Aurora. She had admitted to having a husband. So where was the man? Had he run off or passed on?
Forcing his thoughts back to his work, he found the ax exactly as Shae had described it. However, Wes was far more interested in the aroma of something sweet wafting from somewhere inside the house. A sweetness like pecan pie, to be exact. Now when had Aurora had time to bake a pie?
An unbidden vision of Aurora, flushed and dusted with flour, appealed to him almost as much as the prospect of filling his belly with a hot, fresh slab of his favorite treat. He tossed a sideways glance at Shae. The boy was watching him like a hawk. Wes's contrary side surfaced, and he grinned, waving gaily. Turning the corner, he disappeared from Shae's sight.
With the instincts of a bloodhound, he sniffed out those pecans, tracking them to an open window with fluttery white muslin curtains. He wasn't disappointed. Four heavenly pies lay cooling on the sill. Only Aurora wasn't guarding them. Instead, a formidable-looking black woman stood by the window, a rolling pin held primed and ready in her fist. Wes recognized her as the woman who'd herded the children into the storm cellar the day before.
He edged another step closer and flashed his most engaging smile. " 'Morning, ma'am."
The woman looked him up and down. A bit on the short side for her ample girth, she was, nevertheless, a faded beauty with two keen brown eyes sharp enough to bore through a man. Wes thought she resembled Shae with her high cheekbones and long-fingered hands, but since she was at least thirty-five years the boy's senior, she was less likely to be Shae's mother than his grandmother.
"I take it you're Rawlins?" she said.
He tipped his hat. "Yes, ma'am. Pleased to meet you, ma'am."
"Humph. More likely you're pleased to meet my pie. Was that you I heard out there caterwauling about men's drawers?"
He chuckled. "Aw, I didn't sound as bad as all that, did I?"
"Like a burro with a head cold."
His grin turned lopsided. Aunt Lally used to tell him the same thing.
"Well, you know what they say, ma'am. Practice makes perfect. Want me to sing another verse to get it right?"
"You trying to scare me, son?"
"Naw. But I sure would be pleased to have you call me Wes, ma'am."
"Wes, huh?" Amusement began to twinkle in her cagey eyes. "And where did a scapegrace like you learn good manners?"
"From my Aunt Lally, I reckon. She always taught me to treat ladies real fine, 'cause she said each and every one was a heaven-sent angel."
"An angel, eh?"
"Yes, ma'am. Don't you agree?"
A smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "This
Wes nodded, hiding his smile as he slung his saddle over the corral's top rail. It looked as if he was going to get his opportunity to snoop sooner than he had expected.
Hooking his thumbs over his gun belt, he strolled up the drive, whistling as he went. Although his stride was long and leisurely, his gaze darted into every shadow, registering information about his new employers. He deduced from the struggling magnolia, with its freshly spread and watered fertilizer, that someone cared a great deal for the tree.
He noticed the clattering tin-can sentinels around the vegetable garden and the fresh nibble marks of the rabbits that had apparently overcome their fear of the noise. He suspected Aurora was waging a losing battle.
A busted chain hung from the porch roof, where the fallen swing must have swung. Wes wondered if the wood shavings that had been swept so neatly behind the cane seat had been hidden or simply forgotten by the small-footed person who had left a print there.
When the fluttering of clothes on a rope caught his eye, he noticed several junior-sized shirts and trousers, but nothing that suggested a man lived and worked there, except, perhaps, for the colorful quilt with its wedding-ring design. Boudreau's, he wondered, or Aurora's?
Once again, Wes found his curiosity piqued by the anomaly that was Aurora. She had admitted to having a husband. So where was the man? Had he run off or passed on?
Forcing his thoughts back to his work, he found the ax exactly as Shae had described it. However, Wes was far more interested in the aroma of something sweet wafting from somewhere inside the house. A sweetness like pecan pie, to be exact. Now when had Aurora had time to bake a pie?
An unbidden vision of Aurora, flushed and dusted with flour, appealed to him almost as much as the prospect of filling his belly with a hot, fresh slab of his favorite treat. He tossed a sideways glance at Shae. The boy was watching him like a hawk. Wes's contrary side surfaced, and he grinned, waving gaily. Turning the corner, he disappeared from Shae's sight.
With the instincts of a bloodhound, he sniffed out those pecans, tracking them to an open window with fluttery white muslin curtains. He wasn't disappointed. Four heavenly pies lay cooling on the sill. Only Aurora wasn't guarding them. Instead, a formidable-looking black woman stood by the window, a rolling pin held primed and ready in her fist. Wes recognized her as the woman who'd herded the children into the storm cellar the day before.
He edged another step closer and flashed his most engaging smile. " 'Morning, ma'am."
The woman looked him up and down. A bit on the short side for her ample girth, she was, nevertheless, a faded beauty with two keen brown eyes sharp enough to bore through a man. Wes thought she resembled Shae with her high cheekbones and long-fingered hands, but since she was at least thirty-five years the boy's senior, she was less likely to be Shae's mother than his grandmother.
"I take it you're Rawlins?" she said.
He tipped his hat. "Yes, ma'am. Pleased to meet you, ma'am."
"Humph. More likely you're pleased to meet my pie. Was that you I heard out there caterwauling about men's drawers?"
He chuckled. "Aw, I didn't sound as bad as all that, did I?"
"Like a burro with a head cold."
His grin turned lopsided. Aunt Lally used to tell him the same thing.
"Well, you know what they say, ma'am. Practice makes perfect. Want me to sing another verse to get it right?"
"You trying to scare me, son?"
"Naw. But I sure would be pleased to have you call me Wes, ma'am."
"Wes, huh?" Amusement began to twinkle in her cagey eyes. "And where did a scapegrace like you learn good manners?"
"From my Aunt Lally, I reckon. She always taught me to treat ladies real fine, 'cause she said each and every one was a heaven-sent angel."
"An angel, eh?"
"Yes, ma'am. Don't you agree?"
A smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "This
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