mother moved to offer any assistance. Since Eleanor didn’t seem to notice the omission, he assumedthis must be another example of how she “earned her keep.”
As Eleanor disappeared into the kitchen, Anabel caught Luke’s eye. Her smile was pure invitation, too old for her sixteen years. Luke was surprised by his own lack of interest. Perhaps Anabel read something of that lack in his expression because her soft, pink Cupid’s-bow mouth tightened momentarily and something cold and hard flickered in her baby blue eyes.
Just like that mule Pa owned, Luke thought again. Remembering the mule’s tendency to bite when riled, he had to restrain the urge to shift his chair a little farther away from Anabel’s. But he underestimated her intelligence. Anabel knew exactly who was to blame for his indifference.
Eleanor carried in a pie and Luke’s mouth watered at the pungent, sweet smell of warm cherries. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had cherry pie. And if her pie was anywhere near as good as her biscuits…
“That smells mighty good, Miss Eleanor,” he said, enjoying the flush of pleasure that brought a sparkle to her eyes.
“Serve our guest first, Eleanor,” Dorinda Williams said, with the air of a queen giving out favors.
Still flushed, Eleanor set the pie down next to her aunt and used a narrow spatula to lift an already cut slice onto one of the small china plates that sat ready to receive it. It had never occurred to Luke that a woman could look graceful doing something as simple as serving a piece of pie, but there was a quick grace about everything she did and he found himself thinking that it wouldn’t be a hardship to watch her around the house.
Eleanor moved down the table and reached between him and Anabel to set the plate down in front of him. Luke was looking at the pie but out of the corner of his eye he caught a quick movement from Anabel. Eleanor gasped as her arm was jogged. The plate tilted and Luke’s white shirtfront was suddenly decorated with cherry pie.
There was a moment’s stunned silence as everyone at the table stared at the bright red cherries splattered across his chest.
“I’m so sorry. I don’t know how—”
“Eleanor, you clumsy little idiot!” Dorinda’s sharp voice cut off her niece’s breathless apology. “Can’t you do anything right?”
“It’s all right, Mrs. Williams,” Luke said.
“It’s kind of you to say so,” Zeb put in, his long face drawn in tight lines of disapproval. “Naturally, Eleanor will see to the cleaning of yourclothing or its replacement. Tell Mr. McLain you’re sorry, Eleanor.”
“She’s already apologized.” Luke spoke before Eleanor could say anything. She’d set down the plate and grabbed Luke’s napkin and was dabbing at the stain on his shirtfront. He closed his fingers around hers, stopping her futile attempts to repair the damage. “I’m just glad the pie wasn’t hot,” he said, glancing up at her with a smile.
Her mouth curved, but the lower lip quivered and her eyes were bright with unshed tears. Luke found himself wanting to bang her aunt’s and uncle’s heads together. He still held Eleanor’s hand and he could feel her pulse jumping erratically under his touch.
“If I could have a towel?” he suggested gently.
“Get Mr. McLain a towel, Eleanor,” her aunt snapped immediately.
There was an awkward silence when Eleanor had vanished into the kitchen. Luke found himself wondering why his mother’s lessons on etiquette had never covered what a man should say when he found himself wearing a slice of pie and knowing that the cause of the disaster was sitting right next to him looking as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.
“I can’t tell you how sorry I am that this happened, Mr. McLain.” Dorinda’s voice was heavy with mortification.
“No need to apologize, Mrs. Williams. Accidents can happen.” He let his gaze settle on Anabel, who looked back at him without the smallest trace of
As Eleanor disappeared into the kitchen, Anabel caught Luke’s eye. Her smile was pure invitation, too old for her sixteen years. Luke was surprised by his own lack of interest. Perhaps Anabel read something of that lack in his expression because her soft, pink Cupid’s-bow mouth tightened momentarily and something cold and hard flickered in her baby blue eyes.
Just like that mule Pa owned, Luke thought again. Remembering the mule’s tendency to bite when riled, he had to restrain the urge to shift his chair a little farther away from Anabel’s. But he underestimated her intelligence. Anabel knew exactly who was to blame for his indifference.
Eleanor carried in a pie and Luke’s mouth watered at the pungent, sweet smell of warm cherries. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had cherry pie. And if her pie was anywhere near as good as her biscuits…
“That smells mighty good, Miss Eleanor,” he said, enjoying the flush of pleasure that brought a sparkle to her eyes.
“Serve our guest first, Eleanor,” Dorinda Williams said, with the air of a queen giving out favors.
Still flushed, Eleanor set the pie down next to her aunt and used a narrow spatula to lift an already cut slice onto one of the small china plates that sat ready to receive it. It had never occurred to Luke that a woman could look graceful doing something as simple as serving a piece of pie, but there was a quick grace about everything she did and he found himself thinking that it wouldn’t be a hardship to watch her around the house.
Eleanor moved down the table and reached between him and Anabel to set the plate down in front of him. Luke was looking at the pie but out of the corner of his eye he caught a quick movement from Anabel. Eleanor gasped as her arm was jogged. The plate tilted and Luke’s white shirtfront was suddenly decorated with cherry pie.
There was a moment’s stunned silence as everyone at the table stared at the bright red cherries splattered across his chest.
“I’m so sorry. I don’t know how—”
“Eleanor, you clumsy little idiot!” Dorinda’s sharp voice cut off her niece’s breathless apology. “Can’t you do anything right?”
“It’s all right, Mrs. Williams,” Luke said.
“It’s kind of you to say so,” Zeb put in, his long face drawn in tight lines of disapproval. “Naturally, Eleanor will see to the cleaning of yourclothing or its replacement. Tell Mr. McLain you’re sorry, Eleanor.”
“She’s already apologized.” Luke spoke before Eleanor could say anything. She’d set down the plate and grabbed Luke’s napkin and was dabbing at the stain on his shirtfront. He closed his fingers around hers, stopping her futile attempts to repair the damage. “I’m just glad the pie wasn’t hot,” he said, glancing up at her with a smile.
Her mouth curved, but the lower lip quivered and her eyes were bright with unshed tears. Luke found himself wanting to bang her aunt’s and uncle’s heads together. He still held Eleanor’s hand and he could feel her pulse jumping erratically under his touch.
“If I could have a towel?” he suggested gently.
“Get Mr. McLain a towel, Eleanor,” her aunt snapped immediately.
There was an awkward silence when Eleanor had vanished into the kitchen. Luke found himself wondering why his mother’s lessons on etiquette had never covered what a man should say when he found himself wearing a slice of pie and knowing that the cause of the disaster was sitting right next to him looking as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.
“I can’t tell you how sorry I am that this happened, Mr. McLain.” Dorinda’s voice was heavy with mortification.
“No need to apologize, Mrs. Williams. Accidents can happen.” He let his gaze settle on Anabel, who looked back at him without the smallest trace of
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