LITMIR.BIZ

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You that we can gather around the table to enjoy this unexpected treat. Be with us as we partake. In Christ’s name. Amen.”

      Miss Grimsby plopped some potatoes on her plate and averted her gaze, for which he was grateful. The only sound was the clink of silverware on porcelain as they filled their plates.

      Spencer dipped his spoon into the soup. Despite the strange name, the little strips of vegetables swimming in broth were tastier than he’d expected. Crisp, not mushy—just the way he liked them.

      How strange it was to be in the dining room. They hadn’t eaten there since Trudy’s dea— in months. The shirts he’d slung over the chairs were gone, the tabletop gleamed and his wife’s cherished vase overflowed with a massive bouquet. “Those flowers. Where did they come from?”

      “We picked them, Papa. Me and her.” Luke pointed to Mrs. Carter.

      “They’re from the beds out front, aren’t they?” He hadn’t meant for his question to come out with such force, but—

      “They are.” Miss Grimsby eyed him warily. “I thought they would brighten the table and fill the air with a pleasant aroma. Is there a problem?”

      “My wife planted them. They were her pride and joy.”

      “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t know.”

      There was no way she could have. The vase was so full of colorful blooms that there couldn’t be many left out front. But there would be more. In time. “It’s all right.”

      Miss Grimsby’s fine features relaxed, although he detected pity in the glance she sent him. Sympathy was bad enough, but he wanted no part of pity.

      Conversation had ceased following his heated question. Not that he could blame the others for being quiet. The same thing often happened at the rail station when his feelings got the better of him, which happened far too often these days. He must regain control.

      His normally unobtrusive daughter wriggled and whimpered. His prospective housekeeper had her hands full holding Lila while trying to eat. The baby’s flailing fist sent Miss Grimsby’s spoon sailing. Then his little girl flung her arms open wide and said “Papa” as clear as you please. Her first word ever, and she’d said it for him.

      “It would appear she wants you, sir.”

      “So it does. Would you mind bringing her to me?”

      Miss Grimsby did so and promptly returned to her seat. He caressed Lila’s cheek. She gave him a dimple-producing smile, showing off her first four teeth. It was hard to believe she was already ten months old and had been without a mother three of them.

      It soon became clear he wouldn’t be able to get much eating done with his squirming daughter in his lap. Trudy had always been the one to hold Lila during meals. A woman seemed to have a knack for juggling a baby while eating that he lacked.

      “Would you mind bringing your plate down here, Miss Grimsby, and sitting beside me so you can help with Lila?” He inclined his head toward the chair on his right.

      “Certainly.” She quickly obliged.

      “No!” Luke shrieked. “She can’t sit there. That’s Mama’s chair.”

      “What do you think you’re doing, son? You know better than to yell at the supper table.”

      “Make her get up.”

      “She’s sitting there, and that’s that.” Spencer could understand how difficult it must be for Luke to see another woman in Trudy’s place, but the sooner he accepted the new order of things, the better. Miss Grimsby had already managed to lift the gloom that had settled in on that dark April day when he’d lost Trudy after her unfortunate accident in the garden. The house wasn’t just clean. It felt welcoming for the first time in months.

      Lila fussed again, and Spencer turned to comfort her. Something cool and wet hit his cheek and fell to the floor. He hadn’t even figured out what it was when another of the sticky projectiles pelted him in the chest, leaving a round, red spot on his white shirt before sliding beneath his waistcoat. Luke must be lobbing tomato slices at him.

      Sure enough, a third slab sailed across the table and landed in his lap. “Lucas Mark Abbott, you stop that this minute, or I’ll—”

      “I can handle this, sir. Here.” Miss Grimsby handed Lila to him once again, grabbed Luke by the hand and forced him to follow her. “You’re coming with me, young man.”

      Taken unaware, Luke didn’t have time to protest. He shot a pleading look at Spencer, who inclined his head toward Miss Grimsby. “Go.”

      Because the attack had taken him by surprise, he’d forgotten his plan to have Miss Grimsby handle any needed discipline and had been ready to take his son to task. She’d taken charge of the situation before Spencer had time to act—a bold but admirable choice. He was curious to see what she’d do.

      As much as he detested the thought of leaving the care of his children to a virtual stranger, he had no choice. He’d know soon what type of disciplinarian she was and if she could be trusted with his children.

      Mrs. Carter paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. “That young woman is just what you been needin’, Mr. Abbott. You’d be a fool to let her get away.” She went right on eating, which suited Spencer, since he couldn’t think of a suitable response.

      Lila poked his cheek with a pudgy finger. “Papa.” That one word meant more to him than he’d thought possible. It seemed like only yesterday Luke had said it for the first time.

      “Yes, my sweet. I’m your papa. And you’re my little princess.” He kissed her forehead, letting his lips linger a moment. Trudy used to say nothing was as soft or sweet as a baby’s skin, and she was right.

      But she was gone, and this precious girl would have no memories of her mother. The all-too-familiar ache squeezed his chest.

      Spencer strained to hear what was taking place in the parlor, but other than the murmur of voices, he couldn’t make out anything. No screaming. No crying. No spanking. The higher pitch indicated Miss Grimsby was doing most of the talking. He’d like to be privy to that conversation.

      A good two minutes went by with Lila gnawing on a potato chunk, Mrs. Carter shoveling in her salmon and Spencer doing his best to clean up the aftermath of Luke’s assault while balancing Lila on one knee. If Miss Grimsby and Luke didn’t return soon, Spencer would have no choice but to intervene.

      Moments later Miss Grimsby and Luke appeared in the dining room doorway. Rather than the defiant stance Spencer expected, Luke’s shoulders slumped. He scuffed the toe of his shoe over the wooden floor, his eyes downcast, and mumbled something.

      Miss Grimbsy leaned over and spoke softly beside Luke’s ear. “Remember what I said. Look at your papa and say it loudly enough for him to hear.”

      “She said I gotta tell you I’m sorry. So, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you sad.”

      “I’m not sad, son. I’m disappointed. Throwing things is not the way a gentleman deals with his anger. You must be punished for this.”

      “He will be, sir.” Miss Grimsby picked up Luke’s plate. “Right now he’s going to finish his meal at the kitchen table. Alone. And tomorrow he’s going to scrub your shirt until the tomato stain is gone.”

      With Luke exiled and Lila back in Miss Grimsby’s lap, Spencer was free to enjoy the meal, one of the best he’d been served in a long time. The food rivaled that prepared at the restaurants in Sacramento City’s finest hotels.

      Miss Grimsby chatted with Mrs. Carter about the town, the weather and numerous other topics. Spencer made no effort to join in. He was content to enjoy his supper and the fact that—should his conversation with Miss Grimsby afterward prove satisfactory—he’d be having many more like it in the days to come. The prospect of coming home and finding the good-looking woman in his kitchen lifted his spirits

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