Year of Jubilee by Peggy Trotter Page A

and hung it on
the peg near the window.
    The table was a simple trestle with two
bench seats on either side. Rafe chose the one against the wall in
front of the only glass pane. Jubilee fidgeted nervously by the
stove.
    “Okay if I sit here?” He gestured.
    She nodded and shrugged one shoulder. The
man owned the place yet asked her where to sit. She snatched up a
fork, a knife, and a clean cloth napkin to lay them on the table
close to the lone plate.
    He sat and stared at her. “Is this my plate
or yours?”
    She cleared her throat. “Yours.”
    He glanced around the table before spreading
his search to the kitchen area. “Where’s yours?”
    “I…thought I’d eat later. This way I can get
you anything you need and such…” She gnawed her lip and looked away
from him, but not before she caught the half-smile that crossed
Rafe’s face.
    “So you’re just gonna stand and fetch while
I eat?”
    Jubilee made the mistake of letting her gaze
wander back to his. There he sat with that quirky grin, eyebrows
lifted, humor lighting his eyes.
    “I…”
    And she could think of nothing, absolutely
nothing to say. All she could concentrate on was the way the early
morning sunlight lit the blond highlights in his hair. Holy
moley .
    * * *
    Rafe shook his head. If the woman thought
she’d pretend to be his servant, she had another thing coming. He
stood, retrieved a plate from the shelf, and laid it directly
opposite of his. He collected a fork, knife, and napkin, and
arranged them next to the empty dish. He went to the stove and
picked up another egg.
    “What are you doing?” Her question came in a
rush.
    He turned to face her, still gripping the
oval shell.
    “Jubilee, I’m not gonna eat alone while you
wait on me hand and foot like some lowly servant. Let’s both sit
down and have breakfast. It’ll be a great time for us to discuss
business. We’re partners on this farm and we’ve got to work
together to make a go.”
    With that he stepped up to the stove and
cracked the egg into the pan, and it immediately began to
sizzle.
    * * *
    He could fry an egg? She stared, opening her
mouth in disbelief as he scooped it out and plopped the finished
product onto her plate. She’d never seen a man cook. He held out
his hand toward the bench, indicating she should sit. She did so,
eyeing him the whole time. He immediately bowed and said a simple
prayer of thanks so quick Jubilee hadn’t even collected her wits
enough to bow her head. Then he peered at her, eye to eye. He
seemed very close.
    “I’ll switch ya eggs if you don’t like my
cooking.” A rumble echoed from his chest as he laughed at his own
joke.
    Jubilee’s hands sweated. She wiped them on
her skirt. “No, this is fine.”
    “Could you pass the biscuits?” he asked.
    Jubilee reached for the basket and
remembered some were overdone. Perhaps by chance he’d reach in and
get a good one. As luck would have it, a black-bottom one filled
his hand. She held her breath. He picked up the knife and sliced
the biscuit in half. The utensil clattered to the table and banged
on the bench beside him before clanging across the floor.
    * * *
    Jubilee’s reaction to his accidental
dropping of the knife reminded Rafe of a small, crisp leaf whipped
by a rush of wind. She leaped up, literally jumped over the bench,
and knocked it to the floor. In a flurry of skirts, she darted
across the room. He barely had time to stand before she hovered at
the back door, shaking like a frightened rabbit.
    “Jubilee? What’s going on?”
    She shook her head vigorously. “I didn’t
mean to burn them. It was…an accident. I’ll be more…careful next
time, I promise. I think I had the stove too hot or…”
    Rafe slowly stepped towards her, and she
flinched. Her eyes were huge, muddied pools.
    “Jubilee, listen to me. I accidentally
dropped the knife. I’m not mad about the biscuits. They’re fine.
I’ll just cut off the bottom. My sister Sarah used to do this every
time she made