Margaret Daley - A Mother for Cindy

“Do you think Boswell will come back?” Nate asked after Jesse said the prayer. He bit down on his hamburger, managing to stuff a third of it into his mouth.

“Young man, this isn’t a race to see who finishes first.” Jesse passed the baked beans to Gramps.

Her son stopped chewing for a few seconds, then swallowed his food, making a gulping sound. Jesse rolled her eyes and hoped she didn’t run out of patience.

Nate slurped some of his milk, leaving a white mustache on his face. “Sorry, Mom.”

She unfolded his napkin and gave it to him. “Please wipe your mouth.”

“Jesse, he’s doing fine. He’s just being a boy.”

Jesse resisted the urge to nudge her grandfather in the side to keep him quiet. Instead, she sent him a narrowed look. She loved Gramps, but he wasn’t the best role model for her son. Thankfully he wasn’t cussing like he used to. When he’d first come to live with them three years before, she remembered having to cover her son’s ears on more than one occasion.

“Mr. Blackburn, do you think Boswell will be coming back?” Nate asked again after wiping the napkin across his mouth. Her son took a smaller bite of his hamburger this time.

“He rarely passes up a meal he doesn’t have to cook.”

“Boswell cooks?” Nate screwed his face into an expression of disbelief. “Gramps wouldn’t be caught dead in the kitchen.”

“He does more than cook. He takes care of Cindy and me.”

A frown creased Nate’s forehead. “He’s a maid?”

Nick leaned forward. “I wouldn’t say that too loud. He doesn’t like to be referred to as a maid.”

“But that’s what he is,” Gramps cut in between bites of his baked beans.

This time Jesse did nudge her grandfather in the side.

He grunted. “Well, child, if he cleans up the house, he’s doing the work of a maid. If he ain’t proud of his job, then he shouldn’t do it.”

“I’m very proud of my vocation,” Boswell said from the steps that led up onto the deck.

Gramps shot him a suspicious glance. “I wouldn’t be hanging around down there too long. No telling when Fred will—”

“Gramps! You know Fred isn’t that bad. Don’t scare Cindy.”

Her grandfather mumbled something under his breath and resumed eating.

“I’m not scared,” Cindy announced to the silent table of people.

Boswell sat next to Susan Reed and smiled at her as he placed his napkin in his lap. “I must say the aroma coming from here would entice anyone to crash this party.”

“I love your British accent. How long have you been in this country?” Susan asked, her whole face lit with a smile.

Gramps muttered something else, just low enough that no one else could hear. Jesse was thinking about stomping on his foot to keep him quiet, but decided nothing would keep her grandfather quiet if he chose otherwise.

“Twenty years.”

“Then you’re practically an American.”

Boswell looked shocked at even the thought of not being considered English. He tightened his mouth while his hand clutched his fork, his knuckles white.

“This is the best—” her grandfather paused, groping for the right words to say with children listening “—country in the world,” he interjected in the conversation between Boswell and Susan.

Boswell’s face turned beet-red. His knuckles whitened even more around the fork still clenched in his hand.

Jesse knew the Revolutionary War was about to be fought again on her deck. She shot to her feet, her napkin floating to the bench. “Gramps, will you help me with the dessert?”

“I’m not through yet. Besides, what can be so hard about carrying a tray of cookies?”

“I—” She couldn’t think of anything to say.

“I’ll help you.” Nick stood, walked by Boswell and leaned down to whisper something in the man’s ear.

Jesse followed Nick into the kitchen. “I don’t know if it’s wise to leave my grandfather and Boswell out there together. When Gramps gets going—” She let the implied threat trail off into silence.

Nick’s chuckle was low. “I believe Boswell can hold his own. I reminded him that Cindy and Nate were listening.”

“I wish that would work with my grandfather. He told me when he turned seventy a few years back that he had earned the privilege of speaking his mind whenever he wanted. I’ve gotten him to tone down his language, but even that was a battle. I love my grandfather, but he isn’t always the best male example for my son.” She peered out the window at the group left on the deck. “Well, I guess what you said worked. The two men are still seated and I don’t hear any shouting.”

“That’s a good sign.”

“I really don’t need your help. I was just trying to get Gramps away from the table.”

“Really?” One of his dark eyebrows quirked.

“And as usual, it didn’t work.” Jesse walked to the refrigerator to retrieve the gallon of homemade peach ice cream she and Nate had made earlier that day. “If you want, you can get the bowls from the cabinet and some spoons from that drawer.” She gestured toward the one next to the dishwasher.

She slid a glance toward him as he opened the cabinet. They were alone. This was her chance to see about the kitten for Cindy and set her plan in motion for him to meet Felicia. She noticed the sure way he executed his task as though he was very familiar with her kitchen. This man seemed at home anywhere—even when Fred was attacking him yesterday morning. His well-built body—whoa! That wasn’t what she was supposed to be doing, ogling her guest, a guest she was planning to fix up with Felicia.

Jesse tore her gaze away from him and asked, “Have you made up your mind about the kitten for Cindy?” There she was back on track with her plan—Felicia and Nick.

“I don’t think I have much choice.” Nick placed the bowls and spoons on the counter.

“You always have a choice. I’ve got a feeling you’re never backed into a corner that you don’t want to be in.” Jesse cradled the ice-cream container against her chest while retrieving the tray of chocolate chip cookies. The cold felt good against her. It seemed to be unusually hot in the kitchen.

“True, especially in business. But this is personal and it involves my daughter. She wants a pet bad. I suppose a kitten is better than a dog, snake or gerbil, and Boswell agreed with me.”

“Then you’ll get Cindy a kitten?”

“Yes. You said you knew where I could get one.”

She nodded. “We can go tomorrow afternoon. I’ll call Felicia and arrange it.”

Nick opened the back door and let Jesse go first. “Don’t say anything yet to Cindy. I want it to be a surprise. I don’t think she would get a wink of sleep if she knew she was going to pick out a kitten tomorrow.”

“My lips are sealed.” Jesse pressed them together to emphasize her point, but it was hard for her to contain her happiness. Her plan was back on track. Tomorrow he would meet Felicia and be impressed with her knack for organization. Her home was spotless.

Okay, so maybe Felicia was just a little bit too organized and obsessed with having a clean house, Jesse thought. The sound of the sofa cover crunching beneath her when she sat on Felicia’s couch punctuated the silence with that declaration. The plastic stuck to the backs of Jesse’s legs and made her conscious of her every move.

The simple act of crossing her ankles and smoothing her shorts down drew Nick’s attention. One corner of his mouth lifted. For a few seconds his gaze ensnared hers, and she felt as though they were the only two people in the room. His way of drawing a person’s focus to him must be a valuable tool in the business world. In her world, it was disconcerting, Jesse decided.