Lily George - Once More A Family

“I’m Loretta Holcomb, but you can call me Mrs. H. or Betty. My daughter here is Maggie. We’ve been working for the Burnetts since the first Mrs. Burnett passed. All her servants went back to Charleston.”

“I see.” So both women had come on board when Jack’s life had been utter chaos and confusion—dealing with his wife’s death, losing his child, having to placate his father-in-law. No small wonder, then, that they had been allowed to do such a poor job. Perhaps they even thought they were doing credible work. After all, Jack was a widower and spent most of his time, in all likelihood, outdoors.

That was going to change.

“It’s very nice to meet you both. I am not from Texas, so I am sure I shall rely on you to help me as I learn what life is like out here.” Now that she had introduced herself and found out more about the women, it was time to get to work. “Mrs. H., are you the cook, primarily?”

“Yes.” Her posture relaxed somewhat, though her arms remained crossed over her chest.

“Very good. Well, I need you to make a good dinner for us tonight, to be served in the dining room.” She turned to Maggie. “And I will require your help on cleaning the dining room. Bachelor living, you know.” It was as close as she could reasonably come to pointing out the disastrous condition of the house. She needed these women to stay, and she needed the assistance of even more servants. She would accomplish nothing by using heavy-handed tactics.

“Mr. Burnett usually takes a plate and goes to the barn,” Mrs. H. replied, looking distinctly mulish.

“How appalling.” The words slipped out before she could check herself. She must not offend the two women who could help her in this bizarre arrangement. “Dining in that fashion certainly does your cooking no credit, Mrs. H. We shall rectify that. What are we having for supper?”

The older woman hesitated a moment. “I was just going to make him a sandwich.” She shifted uncomfortably. “Seeing as how you’re here, though—”

“Actually, a sandwich platter sounds delightful. Nice and cool on such a hot day. Do we have any vegetables to go with?”

Mrs. H. nodded slowly. “Yes. Early cucumbers and green tomatoes. I picked some in the garden this morning.”

“Perfect.” Ada gave her an encouraging smile. “Let’s go with that for tonight. Perhaps tomorrow we can begin making up a menu for the week. Come, Maggie, let’s see what we can do with the dining room.”

Ada strode back toward the house, with Maggie trotting along behind her.

No one could say she wasn’t holding up her end of the bargain. Jack Burnett was going to eat dinner at a proper table instead of in a barn.

* * *

Jack sat in his chair in the dining room. It was hard not to feel rusty and stiff, at least when surrounded by such grandeur. Mrs. H. came bustling in, bearing a large china tray of small sandwiches, cut into triangles. Behind her, Maggie trailed along, carrying a large bowl of some kind.

Ada thanked both women, who bowed awkwardly.

“We’ll come check on you in a few minutes,” Mrs. H. remarked.

“Just a moment. Mrs. H., have you had your supper yet? Has Maggie?” Ada looked over at both women, her eyebrows drawing together.

“No, ma’am. We were getting yours ready.” Mrs. H. sounded a little self-righteous about that. Jack stifled a grin. How would Ada handle that kind of tone?

“Do go ahead and eat. I’ll ring the bell when the dishes are ready to be cleared.” Ada waved to indicate a small silver bell sitting on a nearby table. As she moved, Jack caught a glimpse of a bandage wound tightly around her hand. “There’s no need for you two to have to wait on your meal just because of us.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Burnett.” Mrs. H. curtsied awkwardly and then prodded Maggie’s shoulder, forcing her to follow suit. They left the dining room, closing the door behind them.

He was impressed. Ada didn’t allow herself to be needled into an argument, and she showed concern for others. Both of those were good qualities in a woman.

Ada picked up the bowl. “Would you care for cucumber and tomato salad?”

“Sure.” He brushed against her as he reached for the bowl, and a shock went through his arm at the unexpected contact. He drew back sharply. It was not acceptable to have any kind of attraction to Miss Westmore—nope, she was Mrs. Burnett now—for she was here for one purpose only. If she felt the same way, she kept her composure, merely leaning forward to help him. He caught a glimpse of her bandaged hand again as she spooned the salad onto his plate. “What happened there?”

She snatched her hand back, the color rising in her cheeks. “I had a bit of a run-in with a glass candy dish.”

He expected her, if injured, to cry and carry on or, at the very least, grow faint. Instead, she seemed downright embarrassed by the situation. “You going to be all right?”

“Of course, Mr. Burnett.” She gave him a crisp smile. “Sandwiches?”

“You can call me Jack,” he reminded her as he piled several sandwiches on his plate. “I’ve already been calling you Ada. At least, in my mind I have.”

“Oh, yes.” The flush in her cheeks deepened. “I am so sorry. I am tired, and I keep making foolish mistakes.”

“That’s understandable.” He took a bite of the sandwich. “This is pretty nice, I’ve got to say.”

Ada cleared her throat. “Jack, we haven’t said grace yet.”

He stopped chewing for a moment. “Grace?”

“Yes. Of course. Will you do the honors? I’d rather not.” He tried to speak casually, like tossing a horseshoe. But, as with a horseshoe, his words landed with a thunk.

Ada shrugged. “Very well. Then I shall do so.” She nodded at him.

“For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful,” Ada intoned. “Amen.”

He muttered his “amen,” even though he was every inch the hypocrite to do so. Men who didn’t believe in God shouldn’t pray as though they did.

Ada helped herself to sandwiches and then began eating. He ate, too, gazing around the room in wonder. It looked different. Brighter, somehow. It smelled like lemons, too.

“Looks good in here,” he said. “I guess you’ve been putting those gals to work.”

Ada tilted her head to one side, as though thinking things over. “I don’t know. I don’t think they’re lazy. I think they just have no direction. Plus, if you’ve been eating in a barn, they don’t have much motivation to make the house look pretty.”

The chicken sandwiches were tasty, and so was this cucumber-tomato concoction. It was a good thing, too, because it put him in a better mood. He could go toe-to-toe with Ada Burnett if he was well fed and in a nice kind of environment. “Look, a cowboy has to take care of his horses. I learned this way of life when I was a kid. It’s a hard habit to break. Besides which, it would be silly to sit in here and eat alone.” It was lonely, too. He’d tried it once and felt miserable for days afterward.

Ada ate a bite of the cucumber salad. “I suppose I could understand that.”

He nodded, satisfied. It was pleasant here, with the breeze blowing in through the open windows. Ada looked nice, too. She had changed at some point and was wearing a dress that was less stiff and severe. Her hair had been redone, too. She was very pretty, sitting there, and her presence and the cleanliness of the house made him feel better. Not that it mattered what she looked like, since she was here to serve one purpose: bringing Laura home.

Still and all, it was mighty enjoyable to be dining in the company of a good-looking girl again, and in such a fresh, sparkling room. The food was better than Mrs. H.’s usual fare, too.