familiar one.
He leaned back and looked at her, his chair squeaking beneath his weight. He grinned again and toyed with the pencil in his fingers.
“Well—I finally got it all figured out. You’re in a little boardinghouse room. Right?”
Christine, perplexed, nodded slowly.
“And I’ve got this great big house.”
She had no idea where this conversation was heading. She simply stared back at him.
“And you’re a good cook. Great cook.”
She sat, mute, her cheeks warming with embarrassment.
“And I’ve been living on bacon fat and strong coffee.”
He waited expectantly. She had no idea what to say. What to think.
He leaned forward again, the chair groaning in protest.
“Don’t you see? It’s a perfect match.”
Christine shook her head. “I’m ... I’m afraid I don’t ... I’m not following you, sir.”
“Hey—I thought we got rid of that ‘sir’ stuff long ago,” he chided. “Makes me feel as old as Methuselah.” He shifted again and looked over at her. “It’s simple. Don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner. You move in with me.”
Christine was beyond shock. She was sure she had misunderstood.
His beefy hand slapped down on his desk. “As cook,” he said.
“But—”
His words spilled over her attempt to protest. “I’ve got all this room. You’re paying room and board. You can take a room upstairs. Any room. You can have your pick of the bunch. There were five of ‘em up there last time I counted. ’Course one is Boyd’s. But you can have any others you want. You get your room and board in exchange for fixing my suppers.”
Christine felt as if her body had turned to ice. What on earth—
“I’ll pay the bills,” he hurried on, as though to assure her that the arrangement would indeed be to her benefit. “All the bills.”
“I ... I don’t ...” she faltered. “It’s ...”
“It makes complete sense,” he argued, sounding frustrated at her hesitance. “Why should you be shelling out money? Why should I be living on bacon and eggs? It’s a perfect solution.”
Christine was relieved she was sitting down. She tried to think. What could she say and not jeopardize her job? She had just been invited to share one of the most beautiful and auspicious dwellings in the entire city of Edmonton. But the circumstances ... She was sure her mother and father would say, “Absolutely not!”
“I’ll ... I’ll have to think about it.” She clamped her lips on the “sir” that nearly slipped out. “What’s to think about? I can send Jesse round to pick up your things this evening. We can get right to it.”
“But ... how will folks ... what will they think?”
He waved the pencil. “Who cares what they think?”
“I care ... sir.”
The man’s face grew serious, as though he was actually trying to look at this through Christine’s eyes. He studied her carefully for a few minutes. “Okay,” he said at last, leaning forward and tapping his pencil on the wooden desk. “I see I went too fast. Let’s go over this again.”
He leaned back.
“I thought you liked to cook.”
Christine nodded. She did enjoy the kitchen.
“You’re paying for your little room.”
She nodded again.
“But you don’t like big houses?”
“Your house is ...” Christine could not think of how to describe such an awesome dwelling. “It’s lovely,” she finally said lamely.
“So it’s not the house?”
“Not at all, I just—”
“Is it me?”
“Sir, young women simply do not move in ... move in with bachelor men,” she managed, her tone growing more determined with each word.
At his frown, she hurried on. “It would be different—quite different if you had a wife.”
“If I had a wife, I wouldn’t need a cook,” he growled.
Christine flushed.
“So what is your solution?” he demanded.
“I ... I’ve no solution. I haven’t even considered—”
“Well, consider it now.”
“I’ll ... I’ll have to think about it—pray about