A Family for the Rugged Rancher / Soldier on Her Doorstep: A Family for the Rugged Rancher / Soldier on Her Doorstep

He took her silence as assent. “And I need someone to look after the house. It doesn’t make sense for you to pay to stay somewhere else, and days are long here. The deal was room and board, so that’s what you’ll get. How much trouble can one boy be, anyway?”

CHAPTER TWO

LUKE TRIED TO keep his body relaxed as he held open the screen door, but Emily Northcott was making it difficult. Whatever she had put on for perfume that morning teased his nostrils. It was light and pretty, just like her. Her short hair was the color of mink and curled haphazardly around her face, like the hair cover models had that was meant to look deliberately casual. And she had the biggest brown eyes he’d ever seen, fringed with thick dark lashes.

When he’d first advertised for a housekeeper, Emily was not what he’d had in mind. He’d figured on someone local, someone, well, older to answer his ad. A motherly figure with graying hair, definitely not someone who looked like Emily. Someone who lived nearby who could arrive in the morning and leave again at dinnertime. But when his local ads had gone unanswered week after week, he’d put Cait on the job. She’d been getting so clucky and meddling as her pregnancy progressed. He’d thought it would be a good project for her and would keep her out of his hair. It was only the promise of getting outside help that had ceased her constant baking and fussing over the house. Not that he didn’t need the help. He did, desperately. But having Cait underfoot all the time had been driving him crazy.

Maid on Demand had seemed like the perfect solution, anonymous and impersonal. Except now he’d ended up worse off than ever—with a beautiful woman with a family of her own, 24/7.

He should have said no, flat-out.

He’d be a bald-faced liar if he said Emily Northcott wasn’t the prettiest woman to pass through his door in months. Just the scent of her put him on alert. Not that he was in the market for a girlfriend. But he was human, after all.

But what could he say? No, you can’t stay because you’re too pretty? Because you’re too young? She couldn’t be more than thirty. And then there was her son. How could he turn her away for that reason either? He’d have to be cold-hearted to use that against her. So far the boy had hardly made a peep. And it was only for a few months, after all. Once things wound down later in the fall, he’d be better able to handle things on his own.

“Have a look around,” he suggested, as the screen door slapped shut behind them. “I’m going to wash up. I’ve had my hands inside the baler for the better part of the afternoon. Then I’ll give you the nickel tour.”

He left her standing in the entry hall while he went to the kitchen and turned on the tap. The whole idea of hiring help was to make his summer easier, not add more responsibility to it. But that was exactly how it felt. If she stayed, it meant two extra bodies to provide for over the next few months. Twice as many mouths to feed than he’d expected. And having that sort of responsibility—whether real or implied—was something he never wanted to do again. He liked his life plain, simple and uncomplicated. Or at least as uncomplicated as it could be considering his family circumstances.

He scrubbed the grease from his hands with the pumice paste, taking a nail brush and relentlessly applying it to his nails. The plain truth was that not one soul had applied for the job—not even a teenager looking for summer work. Cait had put the listing with the agency nearly three weeks ago. Things were in full swing now and he needed the help. Luke was already working sun-up to sundown. The housework was falling behind, and he was tired of eating a dry sandwich when he came in at the end of the day. He was barely keeping up with the laundry, putting a load in when he was falling-down tired at night.

They could stay as long as it meant they stayed out of his way. He didn’t have time for babysitting along with everything else.

When he returned from the kitchen, Emily was in the living room on the right, her fingertips running over the top of an old radio and record player that had long ceased to work and that now held a selection of family photos on its wooden cover. His heart contracted briefly, seeing her gentle hands on the heirloom, but he pushed the feeling aside and cleared his throat. “You ready?”

“This is beautiful. And very old.”

He nodded. “It was my grandparents'. They used to play records on it. Some of the LPs are still inside, but the player doesn’t work anymore.”

“And this is your family?”

Luke stepped forward and looked at the assortment of photos. There were three graduation pictures—him and his sisters when they’d each completed twelfth grade. Cait’s and Liz’s wedding pictures were there as well, and baby pictures of Liz’s children. Soon Cait’s new baby would be featured there, too. There was a picture of three children all together, taken one golden autumn several years earlier, and in the middle sat a picture of his parents, his dad sitting down and his mom’s hand on his shoulder as they smiled for the camera. The last two pictures were difficult to look at. That had been the year that everything had changed. First his mom, and then his dad.

“My sister’s doing. Our parents always had pictures on here and she keeps it stocked.”

He saw a wrinkle form between her eyebrows and his jaw tightened. He wasn’t all that fond of the gallery of reminders, but Cait had insisted. He’d never been able to deny her anything, and he knew to take the pictures down would mean hurting Cait, and Liz, too, and he couldn’t do it.

“Your dad looks very handsome. You look like him. In the jaw and the shape of your mouth.”

Luke swallowed. He could correct her, but he knew in reality the handsome bit no longer applied to his father. Time and illness had leached it from his body, bit by painful bit. Luke didn’t want to be like him. Not that way. Not ever. The fact that he might not have a choice was something he dealt with every single day.

“I have work to do, Ms. Northcott. Do you think we can continue the tour now?”

She turned away from the family gallery and smiled at him. He’d done his best not to encourage friendliness, so why on earth was she beaming at him? It was like a ray of sunshine warming the room when she smiled at him like that. “I’d love to,” she replied.

Luke didn’t answer, just turned away from the radio with a coldness that he could see succeeded in wiping the smile from her face. “Let’s get a move on, then,” he said over his shoulder. “So I can get back to work.”

Emily scowled at his departing back. She had her work cut out for her, then. To her mind, Luke Evans had lived alone too long. His interpersonal skills certainly needed some polishing. Granted, her life hadn’t been all sunshine and flowers lately, but she at least could be pleasant. She refused to let his sour attitude ruin her day.

“Do you mind if I turn the TV on for Sam? That way we can get through faster. I don’t want to hold you up.” After his comment about Sam being a distraction, Emily figured this was the easiest way. After Evans was gone to the barn, she’d enlist Sam’s help and they’d work together. Make it fun.

As they started up the stairs, Luke turned around and paused, his hand on the banister. “I apologize for the sorry state of the house,” he said. “My sister hasn’t been by in a few weeks and with haying time and the new calves.”

“Isn’t that why I’m here?”

“I don’t want to scare you off,” he said, starting up the stairs once more. Gruff or not, Emily got the feeling that he was relieved she was there. Or at least relieved someone was there to do the job he required.

She followed him up, unable to avoid the sight of his bottom in the faded jeans. Two identical wear spots lightened the pockets. As he took her through the house she realized he hadn’t been exaggerating. The spare rooms had a fine film of dust on the furniture. The rugs were in desperate need of a vacuuming and he’d left his shaving gear and towel on the bathroom vanity this morning, along with whiskers dotting the white porcelain of the sink. The linen closet was a jumbled mess of pillows, blankets and sheets arranged in no particular order, and the laundry basket was filled to overflowing.

The tour continued and Emily tried to be positive through it all. “The floors are gorgeous,” she tried, hoping to put them on more of an even footing. “They look like the original hardwood.”

“They are. And they have the scratches to prove it.”

She bit back a sigh and tried again. “Scratches just add character. And the doors are solid wood rather than those hollow imitations in stores these days. Such a great color of stain.”

“They need refinishing.”

Emily gave up for the time being; her attempts at anything positive were completely ineffectual. She simply followed him down the hall. The smallest bedroom was painted a pale green and had one wall on a slant with a charming oval window looking over the fields. She fell in love with it immediately. A second room was painted pink and one wall had rosebud wallpaper. A third door remained closed—she presumed it was his room. But when he opened the door to the final room she caught her breath. It must have been his parents’ room, all gleaming dark wood and an ivory chenille spread. It was like stepping back in time—hooked rugs on the floor and dainty Priscilla curtains at the windows.

“What a beautiful room.” She looked up at Luke and saw a muscle tick in his jaw. It was almost as if seeing it caused him pain, but why?

“It belonged to my parents,” he answered, and shut the door before she could say any more.

Back in the kitchen the clean dishes were piled in the drying rack, the teetering pile a masterpiece of domestic engineering. In the partner sink, dirty dishes formed a smaller, stickier pile. The kitchen cupboards were sturdy solid oak, and Emily knew a washing with oil soap would make them gleam again. The fridge needed a good wiping down. She paused a moment to glance at the magnetic notepad stuck to the fridge door. It was simply a list of phone numbers. She frowned as she read the names Cait and Liz, wondering why he didn’t simply have his sister’s numbers memorized. After his brusqueness, there was no way on earth she’d ask.

Overall, the house was a throwback to what felt like a happier, simpler time. “All it needs is some love and polish, Mr. Evans. You have a beautiful home.”

The tour finished, Luke cleared his throat, his feet shifting from side to side. “I really need to get back to fixing the baler. This weather isn’t going to hold and I have help coming tomorrow. The job is yours, Ms. Northcott.”

She grinned at him, ready to tackle the dust and cobwebs and bring the house back to its former glory “You’ve got a deal.”

“Shouldn’t we talk salary?”

A shadow dimmed her excitement, but only for a moment. “I thought that was all taken care of through the agency. Unless you’ve made a change regarding …” She paused, glancing down at Sam.

“One boy won’t eat much. The wage stands, if it’s acceptable to you.”

“Agreed.”

“You’ll be okay to get settled then?”

“Oh, we’ll be fine. Does it matter which rooms we take?”

“One of the two smaller ones at the end of the hall would probably be best for your son,” he replied. “My sister Liz’s pink room probably wouldn’t suit him. The other is still a bit girly, but at least it’s not pink. You can take the one on the other side.” The master bedroom, the one that had been his parents.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to take the pink room? The other is …” she paused. She remembered the look on his face when he’d opened the door, but had no idea how to ask why it hurt him so much. “The other is so big,” she said.

Luke tried not to think of Emily in his parents’ room, covered with the ivory chenille spread that had been on the bed as long as he could remember. He had never been able to bring himself to change rooms, instead staying in the one he’d had since childhood. Nor did he want Sam there. But Emily … somehow she fit. She’d be caring and respectful.

“The room has been empty a long time. You may as well use it. The other is so small. It’s just a room, Emily. No reason why you shouldn’t sleep in it.”

But it wasn’t “just a room”, and as he looked down into her dark gaze, he got the idea she understood even without the details.

“Mr. Evans, I don’t know how to thank you. This means a lot to me … to us.”

Her eyes were so earnest, and he wondered what was behind them. Clearly she was a single mom and things had to be bad if she accepted a short-term position like his and was so obviously happy about it. She hadn’t even attempted to negotiate salary.

“What brought you here? I mean … you’re obviously a single mother.” No husband to be found and insistent on the Ms. instead of Mrs. No wedding ring either, but he saw the slight indentation on her finger where one had lived. “Recently divorced?”

The pleasant smile he’d enjoyed suddenly disappeared from her mouth. “Does it matter if I’m divorced?”

He stepped back. “Not at all. I was just curious.”

“You don’t strike me as the curious type.”

He hoped he didn’t blush. She had him dead to rights and she knew it. He had always been the stay-out-of-others'-business-and-they’ll-stay-out-of-yours type.

“Pardon me,” he replied coolly.

But her lack of answers only served to make him wonder more what had truly brought her here. What circumstances had led Emily Northcott and her son to his doorstep?

“Yes,” she relented, “I’m divorced. Sam’s father is living in British Columbia. I’m just trying to make a living and raise my son, Mr. Evans.”

She was a mom. She had baggage, if the white line around her finger and the set of her lips were any indication. It all screamed off limits to him. He should just nod and be on his way. Instead he found himself holding out his hand, scrubbed clean of the earlier grease, with only a telltale smidge remaining in his cuticles.

“Luke. Call me Luke.”

The air in the room seemed to hold for a fraction of a second as she slid her hand out of her pocket and towards his. Then he folded the slim fingers within his, the connection hitting him square in the gut. Two dots of color appeared on Emily’s cheeks, and it looked as though she bit the inside of her lip.

Not just him then. As if things weren’t complicated enough.

“Luke,” she echoed softly, and a warning curled through him at the sound of her voice. He had to keep his distance. This was probably a huge mistake. But where would they go if he denied her the job? What were they running from? He wanted to know everything but knew that asking would only mean getting closer. And getting close—to anyone—was not an option. Not for him.

He was already in over his head. The fields and barns were the place for him, and he would let Emily Northcott sort out her own family. She could just get on with doing her job.

He had enough to handle with his own.

CHAPTER THREE

THE REST OF the day passed in a blur. Emily began her cleaning upstairs in the rooms that she and Sam would occupy. Sam helped as best as a five-year-old boy could, helping change the sheets, dusting and Emily put him to work putting his clothes in the empty dresser while she moved on to her room. It was late afternoon when she was done and continued on to the kitchen, putting the dry dishes away before tackling the new dirty ones and searching the freezer for something to make for supper. The baked pork chops, rice and vegetables were ready for six o’clock; she held the meal until six-thirty and finally ate with Sam while Luke remained conspicuously absent. It wasn’t until she and Sam were picking at the blueberry cobbler she’d baked for dessert that Luke returned.

He took one look at the dirty supper dishes and his face hardened.

Emily clenched her teeth. What did he expect? They couldn’t wait all night, and she’d held it as long as was prudent. As it was, the vegetables had been a little mushy and the cream of mushroom sauce on the chops had baked down too far.

“We didn’t know how long you’d be,” she said quietly, getting up to move the dirty dishes and to fix Luke a plate. “We decided to go ahead.”

“You didn’t need to wait for me at all.” He went to the sink to wash his hands.

Emily bit the inside of her lip. Granted, dinnertime with the surly Luke Evans wasn’t all that appealing, but it seemed rude to discount having a civil meal together at all. Still she was new here and the last thing she wanted was to get off on the wrong foot. She picked up a clean plate, filled it with food and popped it into the microwave. In her peripheral vision she could see Sam picking at his cobbler, staring into his bowl. He could sense the tension, and it made Emily even more annoyed. He’d had enough of that when things had got bad between her and Rob. The last thing she wanted was to have him in a less-than-friendly situation again.

“Eating together is a civil thing to do,” she replied as the microwave beeped. “Plus the food is best when it’s fresh and hot.”

“You don’t need to go to any bother,” he replied, taking the plate and sitting down at the table. Sam’s gaze darted up and then down again. Was he not even going to acknowledge her son?

Perhaps what Luke Evans needed was a refresher course in manners and common courtesy.

She resumed her seat, picked up her fork and calmly said, “I wasn’t planning on running a short-order kitchen.”

“I didn’t realize I was nailed down to a specific dinner time. I am running a farm here, you know.”

Sam’s eyes were wide and he held his spoon with a purple puddle of blueberries halfway between the bowl and his mouth. Emily spared him a glance and let out a slow breath.

“Of course you are, and I did hold the meal for over half an hour. Maybe we should have simply communicated it better. Set a basic time and if you’re going to be later, you can let me know.”

“I’m not used to a schedule.”

Emily looked at Sam and smiled. “You’re excused, Sam. Why don’t you go upstairs and put on your pajamas?”

Obediently Sam pushed out his chair and headed for the stairs.

Luke paused in his eating. “He listens to you well.”

Now that Sam was gone Emily wasn’t feeling so generous. “He has been taught some manners,” she replied, the earlier softness gone from her voice. “Eating together is the civilized thing to do. Respecting that I may have gone to the trouble to cook a nice meal would go a long way. And acknowledging my son when you sit at the table would be polite, rather than acting as though he doesn’t exist.”

Luke’s fork hit his plate. “I hired you to be a housekeeper, not Miss Manners.”

“I’m big on courtesy and respect, Mr. Evans. No matter who or what the age. If you don’t want to eat with us, say so now. I’ll plan for Sam and I to eat by ourselves and you can reheat your meal whenever it suits you. But I’d prefer if we settled it now so we don’t have any more confusion.”

For several seconds the dining room was quiet, and then Luke replied, “As long as you understand there may be times when I’m in the middle of something, I will make every attempt to observe a regular dinner hour.”

“I appreciate it.”

“And I didn’t mean to ignore your son.”

“He has feelings, too, Mr. Evans. And since his father left, it is easy for him to feel slighted.”

Luke picked at the mound of rice on his plate. “I didn’t think of that.”

“You don’t know us yet,” Emily responded, feeling her annoyance drain away. Luke looked suitably chastised, and she couldn’t help the smile that she tried to hide. She’d seen that look on Sam’s face on occasion, and it melted her anger.

“Look, I put in an effort for our first dinner here. I might have gotten a bit annoyed that you weren’t here to eat it.”

Luke lifted his head and met her eyes. Her heart did a weird thump, twisting and then settling down to a slightly faster rhythm, it seemed.

“I have lived alone a long time,” he admitted. “I’m sorry I didn’t think of it. You might need to be patient with me.”

“Maybe we all need to be patient,” she replied, and he smiled at her. A genuine smile, not the tense tight one from this afternoon. The twist in her heart went for another leap again and she swallowed.

“There’s cobbler,” she said, a peace offering.

“Thank you, Emily,” he answered.

She went to the kitchen to get it, hearing the way he said her name echoing around in her brain. She’d fought her battle and won. So why did she feel as if she was in a lot of trouble?

After the supper mess was cleaned up, Luke went out to the barns and Emily put Sam to bed, following him in short order. She was exhausted. She vaguely heard the phone ringing once, but Luke answered it and the sound of the peepers and the breeze through the window lulled her back to sleep.

But the early night meant early to rise, and Emily heard Luke get up as the first pale streaks of sunlight filtered through the curtains. The floorboards creaked by the stairs and she checked her watch … did people really get up this early? She crept out of bed and tiptoed down the hall, looking in on Sam.

He looked so much younger—more innocent, if that were possible—in slumber. He wasn’t a baby any longer, but it didn’t change the tender feeling that rushed through her looking at his dark eyelashes and curls. He was so good, so loving. So trusting. She didn’t want what had happened with his father to change that about him. It was up to her to make sure he had a good life. A happy life. She was determined. He would never doubt how much she loved him. He would always know that she would be there for him.

Back in her room, she slid into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, moving as quietly as possible. She wanted to get an early start. Make a decent breakfast and get a load of laundry going so she could hang it out on the clothesline. The very idea was exciting, and she laughed a little at herself. Who knew something as simple as fresh-smelling clothes off the line would give her such pleasure? Despite Luke’s reticence, despite getting off on the wrong foot last night at dinner, she was more convinced than ever that she’d done the right thing. She’d taken him on and he hadn’t given her the boot. She’d be the best housekeeper Luke Evans ever had. And when she got her feet beneath her, it would be time to start thinking about the future.

She was beating pancake batter in a bowl when Luke returned from the barn, leaving his boots on the mat and coming into the kitchen in his stocking feet. Emily had found a cast-iron pan and it was already heating on the burner. He stopped and stared at her for a moment, long enough that she began to feel uncomfortable and her spoon moved even faster through the milky batter.

“I didn’t think you’d be up yet.”

“I heard you leave a while ago. I wanted to get an early start.” She dropped a little butter in the pan and ladled a perfectly round pancake in the middle of it. “You’re just in time for the first pancakes.” She was glad he was here. Now he’d get them fresh and hot from the pan, better proof of her cooking abilities than the reheated dinner of last evening. She wasn’t opposed to hard work, and it felt good having a purpose, something to do. It was just a taste of how it would feel when she got a permanent job and could provide for herself and for Sam.

“Lately I’ve been grabbing a bowl of cereal. Pancakes are a treat. Thank you, Emily.”

His polite words nearly made her blush as she remembered how she’d taken him to task for his manners at their last meal. She focused on turning the pancake, the top perfectly golden brown. “I’m glad you get to enjoy them fresh, rather than warmed up, like last night’s supper.” She flipped the pancake onto a plate and began frying another. “Besides, when you sleep in you miss the best part of the day, I think.”

She wanted to ask him if this was his regular breakfast time but held back, not wanting to harp on a dead topic. Still, she felt as if she should already know, which was ridiculous. How could she possibly know his routine, his preferences?