Broken Promises by Terri Reid Page A

out the bag and handing it to Becca. “So, I placed them on my medications list and have been saving them for you for a few months.”
    Becca was astonished. “You knew…you saw?”
    Mami smiled at her and patted her hand. “I saw a woman protecting her child,” she said. “That’s all.”
    “What? What do you know about us?” Becca asked.
    “I know that you and Clarissa are not who you seem and that you are running away from someone who threatens to take her away from you.”
    Becca shook her head and stuffed the pills into her purse. “I’m very thankful for the pills,” she said, her voice shaking. “And I can never thank you enough for what you did for me, for us, today. But, we have to go now.”
    “But, Mommy, Mami Nadja was going to help us,” Clarissa protested. “She knew we were running away and hiding.”
    Becca’s eyes widened. “Please, I beg of you, don’t tell him,” she said, fear evident in her voice.
    “Oh, no, I wasn’t going to tell…,” Mami began.
    Becca gripped Clarissa’s hand and pulled her across the room. “We have to go,” she said firmly.
    “But, I was going to…,” Mami paused and sighed when the two slipped out of the room and her door was pulled firmly closed behind them. “Ah, Nadja, you dinlo, you spoke too soon and frightened them.”
     
     
     

Chapter Ten
    Ian walked down the stairs in the early morning, pulling his sweatshirt over his head. As he neared the kitchen he could smell the aroma of blueberry muffins. “Is our Rosie already here?” he asked, as his head popped out of the neckline.
    “Excuse me, Rosie is not the only one who can cook around here,” Mary replied, from her position behind the kitchen counter.
    The mixer was filled with buttery-colored batter with large plump blueberries throughout it. But the counter, sink and Mary’s body also had their share of batter covering them.
    “Was there a war then?” Ian asked casually, as he picked up a dish towel and wiped some of the batter off Mary’s nose.
    “No,” she sighed. “I just didn’t realize how powerful the “High” setting was on the mixer. It was like jet propulsion, batter flying everywhere.”
    She pushed back her hair, only to find a glob of batter hanging from it. “Gross!”
    “And how did the survivors turn out?” he asked as he reached over and picked up a cooked muffin from a basket at the end of the counter, unwrapped it and took a very small tentative bite.
    “Oh, that was rude,” Mary said. “It’s not going to kill you.”
    He grinned and took a bigger bite. “Well, what a pleasant surprise, these are quite good,” he said.
    “Well, if there was ever something known as Scottish charm, it skipped a generation with you,” Mary said.
    Ian grabbed another muffin. “Ach, no, it’s not the Scottish who are charming,” he said. “We’re the warriors. We let the Irish be the charming ones.”
    “How lucky for the Scottish women,” Mary replied acerbically.
    Winking at her, Ian laughed. “Oh, darling, women much prefer fine braw warriors to warm them at night.”
    He bit into the second muffin with enthusiasm.
    “So, how are they?” Mary asked.
    His filled mouth prevented him from answering directly, and he took a moment to really observe Mary. She will still dressed in her sweats, her favorite pajamas, and was wearing an apron. Her hair was still sleep mussed and she looked worried.
    “They are the finest examples of blueberry muffins I’ve ever eaten,” he replied and watched the rosy glow spread across her face. “And, as long as you promise not to tell, I’d say there were better than Rosie’s.”
    Her beaming smile was reward enough for his slight white lie. “And how long have you been working to perfect this wee morsel of delight?” he asked.
    Drooping her shoulders, she let out a weary sigh. “That’s the third try,” she confessed. “I kept leaving things out or doing things wrong. Who would have thought baking was so