steps. She slid him the butter and jam from across the table, and then lit two tapered candles and poured water from a frosty pitcher. By the time she finished her duties and backed out the way she came, he had finished half the basket of rolls.
"If you eat many more of those, you’ll pay the piper. Yeast breads bloat the stomach."
He beamed up at Miss Vee crossing the room with a serving dish. "I’ll take the risk. Who makes these? They’re the best I’ve ever tasted."
She nodded over her shoulder at Miss Bell. "This little thing, that’s who. Mariah’s the finest cook in Mississippi state."
"Don’t believe her, Mr. McRae. My dear departed mother held that honor." Blushing a pretty shade of pink, Miss Bell placed a steaming bowl of corn within Tiller’s reach. "I place a distant second to her."
Smiling, Tiller held up one of the rolls. "Not in my opinion." He sobered and cleared his throat. "Though I mean no disrespect to your mama."
Miss Bell seemed pleased. "Of course you don’t. I thank you for the compliment. Now eat up, Mr. McRae, before your food gets cold."
"Tiller."
She raised one brow. "Sorry?"
He shot her a winsome grin. "Call me Tiller, if you don’t mind."
Mariah stiffened.
You’d like that, wouldn’t you?
The man was entirely too forward. Each time she softened the slightest bit toward him, he made a reckless blunder that pulled her guard up again.
Most likely, Dicey had him rightly pegged. Hungry or not, no man was foolish enough to go plundering about where he had no right. Was he?
Flustered, she got busy carving the roast, lowering her lashes to shield herself from his toothy smile.
"Tiller it is," Miss Vee crowed, evidently forgetting herself.
Irritation laced through Mariah. The woman became a simpering girl around this man.
Another roll in one hand, a forkful of roast in the other, Tiller stilled. "Wait a minute. Why am I eating alone? Aren’t you gals hungry?"
Miss Vee giggled. "Don’t worry about us. We’ll have a bite when you’re done."
He stood and pulled out a nearby chair. "No time like the present, I say." He made a sweeping gesture. "Please join me."
She blinked at him then raised her brows at Mariah. "Well, I guess it couldn’t hurt."
Narrowing her eyes at Miss Vee, Mariah slapped a second hunk of beef in front of him. "Thank you, but we don’t take meals with our guests."
Miss Vee propped her fist on her hip. "We certainly do."
Mariah cleared her throat. "An occasional breakfast, but never lunch or supper."
Tiller frowned. "Well, you should, if you don’t mind my saying. It’s a pitiful waste of this nice, long table."
She opened her mouth to firmly decline, but he held up his hand.
"Miss Bell, I insist." The sugarloaf smile again. "It ain’t fittin’ for a man to eat alone."
Miss Vee snatched two china plates from the mahogany hutch and plopped one on each side of Tiller McRae. "He’s right, Mariah. It’s bad for his digestion." Seating herself, she reached for the basket of rolls. "You wouldn’t want to be responsible for this poor boy’s discomfort, would you?"
Outmatched, Mariah wiped her hands on her apron then tugged on the strings and pulled it off. Handing it to Dicey with a grimace, she walked around the table and perched at the edge of a chair. "This is highly unusual, but I suppose a quick bite won’t hurt." She turned her brightest smile on her cunning boarder and shook out her napkin. "Now the stomachache you’re certain to have can rightly be blamed on all those rolls."
He raised one in the air, drenched in butter. "Like I said before … some things are worth it." He dragged the bread through his gravy, leaving streaks of strawberry jam behind.
Mariah cringed.
Miss Vee beamed at her from across the table, nodding and winking as if his words held special meaning. "You’re not the first man willing to take the risk. Men around these parts make utter fools of themselves for a taste of Mariah’s cooking."
Playing along with
"If you eat many more of those, you’ll pay the piper. Yeast breads bloat the stomach."
He beamed up at Miss Vee crossing the room with a serving dish. "I’ll take the risk. Who makes these? They’re the best I’ve ever tasted."
She nodded over her shoulder at Miss Bell. "This little thing, that’s who. Mariah’s the finest cook in Mississippi state."
"Don’t believe her, Mr. McRae. My dear departed mother held that honor." Blushing a pretty shade of pink, Miss Bell placed a steaming bowl of corn within Tiller’s reach. "I place a distant second to her."
Smiling, Tiller held up one of the rolls. "Not in my opinion." He sobered and cleared his throat. "Though I mean no disrespect to your mama."
Miss Bell seemed pleased. "Of course you don’t. I thank you for the compliment. Now eat up, Mr. McRae, before your food gets cold."
"Tiller."
She raised one brow. "Sorry?"
He shot her a winsome grin. "Call me Tiller, if you don’t mind."
Mariah stiffened.
You’d like that, wouldn’t you?
The man was entirely too forward. Each time she softened the slightest bit toward him, he made a reckless blunder that pulled her guard up again.
Most likely, Dicey had him rightly pegged. Hungry or not, no man was foolish enough to go plundering about where he had no right. Was he?
Flustered, she got busy carving the roast, lowering her lashes to shield herself from his toothy smile.
"Tiller it is," Miss Vee crowed, evidently forgetting herself.
Irritation laced through Mariah. The woman became a simpering girl around this man.
Another roll in one hand, a forkful of roast in the other, Tiller stilled. "Wait a minute. Why am I eating alone? Aren’t you gals hungry?"
Miss Vee giggled. "Don’t worry about us. We’ll have a bite when you’re done."
He stood and pulled out a nearby chair. "No time like the present, I say." He made a sweeping gesture. "Please join me."
She blinked at him then raised her brows at Mariah. "Well, I guess it couldn’t hurt."
Narrowing her eyes at Miss Vee, Mariah slapped a second hunk of beef in front of him. "Thank you, but we don’t take meals with our guests."
Miss Vee propped her fist on her hip. "We certainly do."
Mariah cleared her throat. "An occasional breakfast, but never lunch or supper."
Tiller frowned. "Well, you should, if you don’t mind my saying. It’s a pitiful waste of this nice, long table."
She opened her mouth to firmly decline, but he held up his hand.
"Miss Bell, I insist." The sugarloaf smile again. "It ain’t fittin’ for a man to eat alone."
Miss Vee snatched two china plates from the mahogany hutch and plopped one on each side of Tiller McRae. "He’s right, Mariah. It’s bad for his digestion." Seating herself, she reached for the basket of rolls. "You wouldn’t want to be responsible for this poor boy’s discomfort, would you?"
Outmatched, Mariah wiped her hands on her apron then tugged on the strings and pulled it off. Handing it to Dicey with a grimace, she walked around the table and perched at the edge of a chair. "This is highly unusual, but I suppose a quick bite won’t hurt." She turned her brightest smile on her cunning boarder and shook out her napkin. "Now the stomachache you’re certain to have can rightly be blamed on all those rolls."
He raised one in the air, drenched in butter. "Like I said before … some things are worth it." He dragged the bread through his gravy, leaving streaks of strawberry jam behind.
Mariah cringed.
Miss Vee beamed at her from across the table, nodding and winking as if his words held special meaning. "You’re not the first man willing to take the risk. Men around these parts make utter fools of themselves for a taste of Mariah’s cooking."
Playing along with
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