For the Sake of Warwick Mountain (Harlequin Heartwarming) by Charlotte Douglas

hallway—in front of Granny’s room.
    The thought of her grandmother calmed Becca’s galloping pulse and allowed her to ignore the glimmer in his eyes.
    She took a deep breath to steady herself. “Supper in ten minutes.”
    She pivoted and fled to the kitchen.
    She yanked leftovers from the refrigerator, turned on the stove beneath the pot of black-eyed peas, shoved a dish of collard greens into the microwave to heat and began making biscuits.
    Emily, face still damp from scrubbing, came in and climbed onto the stool beside the counter where Becca rolled out dough.
    “You mad, Mommy?”
    “Of course not, sweetie,” she lied. She was mad, though—at herself. How could she allow Matt Tyler to affect her, especially after all the painful lessons her attraction to Grady had taught her? “What makes you say that?”
    “Your face looks mad.”
    Becca forced her expression to relax and vowed not to take her frustrations out on her daughter. “I’m just in a hurry. Will you put the butter on the table, please?”
    Minutes later, Matt appeared on the threshold. Becca tried not to notice how fantastic he looked, his tall frame almost filling the door, his head scant inches from the lintel.
    “What’s that incredible smell?” he asked.
    “Mommy’s baking biscuits,” Emily said.
    He inhaled deeply with obvious appreciation, then stepped into the room. “ Homemade biscuits? Rebecca Warwick, will you marry me?”
    As hard as she fought against it, she found his humor infectious.
    “Cheaper to hire a cook,” she said with a laugh. “Besides, don’t go jumping to conclusions. You haven’t tasted my cooking yet.”
    She motioned him to a chair at the table, and he settled beside Emily. She placed the dish of black-eyed peas between the platter of sugar-cured ham and the bowl of collard greens and added a relish dish filled with Granny’s chowchow, the last she’d canned before she died. “Help yourself.”
    He didn’t need a second invitation and began filling his plate as if he hadn’t eaten for a week. “If everything tastes half as good as it smells, I’ll stand by my original offer.”
    “If you marry Mommy,” Emily said, “would that make you my daddy?”
    Matt spread butter on a hot biscuit. “That’s right.” He took a bite of biscuit and closed his eyes as if in a trance. “Best biscuit I ever tasted.”
    “You’d make a nice daddy,” Emily said.
    “Emily!” Becca slid into her place at the table. “Matt is only kidding.”
    “Oh.” The little girl’s expression relayed her disappointment. “But I want a daddy. Everybody else has one.”
    Becca felt a spasm of guilt, but this was not a conversation to have with Emily in front of a stranger.
    “Not everybody has a daddy,” Matt said with a gentleness that scored more points with Becca. “My daddy died when I was younger than you are now, and my mother and I got along fine, just the two of us, like you and your mother.”
    Emily set her fork down and gazed at her mother. “Did my daddy die?”
    Matt flicked his eyes toward Becca, obviously curious, but she wouldn’t be forced into a discussion Emily wasn’t ready for. The subject was too complex for a four-and-a-half-year-old’s comprehension.
    “What did you and Lizzie do this afternoon?” she asked.
    “Watched Mrs. McClain peel peaches.”
    Matt cocked an eyebrow and grinned at Becca. “Is that the local equivalent of watching paint dry?”
    “It’s canning time,” she explained. “She’s getting ready to put up preserves.”
    “Miss Habersham came to visit her,” Emily added. “They talked a lot.”
    “I don’t doubt it. The Habersham sisters are our resident gossips,” Becca explained to Matt. “Warwick Mountain doesn’t need a newspaper. Everyone hears all they need to know from one of the Habershams.”
    “One?” Matt helped himself to more ham from the platter she passed him and slid a slice inside a biscuit. “How many are there?”
    “Four,” Becca