with stories about my mother and he can't seem to stop himself."
"Or censor himself," Miles added dryly, chewing on a bite of tough roast.
"It's all right. I'm glad to know you had a loving marriage, John." Maggie blushed, a little uncomfortable. This was not a topic of conversation she was used to in polite company, but she understood what the older man was trying to say. "You had the real thing. True love."
"Yes, I did, missy." John blinked again, not looking up even after he sawed the last green bean in two. "That's the kind of happiness I wish for you."
"Enough on this topic," Miles said as he continued to chew. "There are things I don't want to know about Grandmother, and that's one of them, Pops."
"Now your grandmother knew how to cook." John cleared his throat and reached for his wine glass. "She could make a roast that would melt in your mouth. Don't know how she did it."
"I know." Maggie couldn’t help but speak up. How could she keep quiet and let these men keep eating atrocious pieces of meat whenever a housekeeper got married? "Try coating the top of the roast with butter, cover it and check on it every half hour. Try using more salt and pepper and take it out of the oven before it turns black."
"That's some good advice," John said, perking up, and he took a sip of wine. "I ought to write that down so I remember."
"I'll do it for you," Maggie volunteered. Oh, this was certainly a dire situation, and she was determined to rescue them. She'd been chewing the same piece of beef for at least fifty bites and she'd had no effect on it. It was still as tough as it had been when she'd popped it into her mouth. "I'll write down some recipes for you. My grandmother taught us how to cook when we lived with her. In fact, she would roll over in her grave if she knew I left here without sharing her cooking secrets."
"Well, that's a relief," Winston spoke up, taking up his knife and fork again, contemplating the badly cooked food on his plate. "Maybe we won't have to keep eating like this while we wait for the next housekeeper to come along, although I keep hoping you'll stay and save us, Maggie."
"Well, I—" It was tempting, but she'd come here to find love before it was too late. And while she needed a job, she wasn't sure she should try finding another husband through the newspaper. Maybe it was a sign she wasn't meant to marry or have children. Maybe it wasn't her destiny to have a family or to discover the joys of the marriage bed. And perhaps Chester's words had dug a little too deep—okay maybe a lot. She was desperate, and that had made her blind to a man and his lies. Maybe she was too emotional about the situation to make a good decision. "I really do want to go home."
"Well, now, I can't blame you for that." John's tone grew gentle with understanding as he spread butter on the potatoes steaming on his plate. "But would you consider letting us hire you to fill in until we get someone hired? We'd pay you well in the meantime and likely you'd be able to get home to your family in say, two or three weeks. Plus, you'd be helping us out too. What do you say, Maggie?"
"
No,"
Miles answered, booming like a thunderclap, leaving no doubt about his feelings. "We're not hiring her."
"Oh, Miles is right. I couldn't work here." Maggie studied him across the table—the invincible line of his shoulders, the stubborn, powerful clench of his square jaw. He looked formidable and fierce, but he wasn't angry. She could feel the force of his pain. His heart had been truly decimated and he'd never gotten over it. That touched her, it really did. The last thing she wanted was to cause him pain—even if she did like the job offer.
"Forget Miles," John said, waving one hand at Miles like he didn't matter. Twinkles of amusement brightened his hazel gaze. "Think of me. I wouldn't have to cook."
"Think of me," Winston chimed in warmly. "You'd be saving my stomach. We'd love to hire you, Maggie."
"And I would love that too."
"Or censor himself," Miles added dryly, chewing on a bite of tough roast.
"It's all right. I'm glad to know you had a loving marriage, John." Maggie blushed, a little uncomfortable. This was not a topic of conversation she was used to in polite company, but she understood what the older man was trying to say. "You had the real thing. True love."
"Yes, I did, missy." John blinked again, not looking up even after he sawed the last green bean in two. "That's the kind of happiness I wish for you."
"Enough on this topic," Miles said as he continued to chew. "There are things I don't want to know about Grandmother, and that's one of them, Pops."
"Now your grandmother knew how to cook." John cleared his throat and reached for his wine glass. "She could make a roast that would melt in your mouth. Don't know how she did it."
"I know." Maggie couldn’t help but speak up. How could she keep quiet and let these men keep eating atrocious pieces of meat whenever a housekeeper got married? "Try coating the top of the roast with butter, cover it and check on it every half hour. Try using more salt and pepper and take it out of the oven before it turns black."
"That's some good advice," John said, perking up, and he took a sip of wine. "I ought to write that down so I remember."
"I'll do it for you," Maggie volunteered. Oh, this was certainly a dire situation, and she was determined to rescue them. She'd been chewing the same piece of beef for at least fifty bites and she'd had no effect on it. It was still as tough as it had been when she'd popped it into her mouth. "I'll write down some recipes for you. My grandmother taught us how to cook when we lived with her. In fact, she would roll over in her grave if she knew I left here without sharing her cooking secrets."
"Well, that's a relief," Winston spoke up, taking up his knife and fork again, contemplating the badly cooked food on his plate. "Maybe we won't have to keep eating like this while we wait for the next housekeeper to come along, although I keep hoping you'll stay and save us, Maggie."
"Well, I—" It was tempting, but she'd come here to find love before it was too late. And while she needed a job, she wasn't sure she should try finding another husband through the newspaper. Maybe it was a sign she wasn't meant to marry or have children. Maybe it wasn't her destiny to have a family or to discover the joys of the marriage bed. And perhaps Chester's words had dug a little too deep—okay maybe a lot. She was desperate, and that had made her blind to a man and his lies. Maybe she was too emotional about the situation to make a good decision. "I really do want to go home."
"Well, now, I can't blame you for that." John's tone grew gentle with understanding as he spread butter on the potatoes steaming on his plate. "But would you consider letting us hire you to fill in until we get someone hired? We'd pay you well in the meantime and likely you'd be able to get home to your family in say, two or three weeks. Plus, you'd be helping us out too. What do you say, Maggie?"
"
No,"
Miles answered, booming like a thunderclap, leaving no doubt about his feelings. "We're not hiring her."
"Oh, Miles is right. I couldn't work here." Maggie studied him across the table—the invincible line of his shoulders, the stubborn, powerful clench of his square jaw. He looked formidable and fierce, but he wasn't angry. She could feel the force of his pain. His heart had been truly decimated and he'd never gotten over it. That touched her, it really did. The last thing she wanted was to cause him pain—even if she did like the job offer.
"Forget Miles," John said, waving one hand at Miles like he didn't matter. Twinkles of amusement brightened his hazel gaze. "Think of me. I wouldn't have to cook."
"Think of me," Winston chimed in warmly. "You'd be saving my stomach. We'd love to hire you, Maggie."
"And I would love that too."
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