Read Online Linda Ford by Dreams Of Hannah Williams - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Dreams Of Hannah Williams
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chuckled. “I’m afraid Otto bit off more than he could chew when he got me in the bargain. I’d sooner be less comfortable and more independent.”
“Independence carries a price—responsibility.”
In the dim light her eyes looked dark and bottomless. He could feel her thoughts reach out to him and dig deep into his heart as if trying to fathom his meaning. For a moment, he thought she would acknowledge the truth in his words, but she only chuckled. “Comfort can carry a price, too. Especially if it means being controlled by another’s desires. I’ll take the alternative.”
Disappointed by her stubbornness, Jake swiped his plate clean and leaned back. All sorts of arguments crowded his mind, proofs she was wrong, but at the set of her mouth he guessed she didn’t care much about proof.
She went to the cupboard and pulled some cookies from a tin, placed them on a plate, and put them on the table. “The boys were so tired tonight they didn’t even stop for cookies. I’ll have to be sure they get some before they go out tomorrow.”
He jerked forward. “I suppose Mother wore herself out, too?”
Hannah smiled. Her eyes twinkled. “She seemed glad enough to go to her room.”
He glanced at the ceiling, wondering if he should check on her.
“I’m sure she’s sound asleep by now,” Hannah said.
He pulled his attention back to her. Why did she grin so widely? Just looking at her made him smile in response. He liked the way her eyes crinkled at the corners. He wanted to pick out the flecks of wallpaper peppering her hair but guessed she might object to such a bold move.
She blinked before his stare. “Tell me about your father.” Her voice sounded husky. “Your mother said he had an accident.”
“Yeah. Gored by a bull.”
Her eyes widened. She sucked in her breath in a quick little motion then didn’t seem to be able to let it out. She scrubbed her lips together two, three times, and then air escaped her lungs like a hot wind off the dry plains. “How awful.”
“It wasn’t pretty.”
“I’m sorry. And you were still young.”
“I don’t remember being young.” He had grown up really fast after his father’s accident. “My father died inch by inch in agony, but he never stopped being in charge. And in the months he lived, he taught me everything I’d need to know to take over.” He’d learned long ago to speak of it without feeing anything, to think of his father’s death with emotional detachment. A man had to move on from such things, concentrate on his responsibilities. There wasn’t room for weakness. His father had taught him well.
“Does it seem strange to you that your father’s death gave you more independence and responsibility than you wanted and my father’s death deprived me of mine?”
“It’s not more’n I can handle.”
“Of course not.” Her eyes carried unspoken disagreement.
He wanted to prove her wrong. It had never been more than he could handle. He would never falter in his responsibilities. “And you’ve bitten off more than you can chew.” He circled his head, indicating the hotel.
She fiddled with her napkin a moment then fixed him with a solid stare. “As you said, it’s not more than I can handle.”
He didn’t want to agree. In fact, the more he got to know Hannah, the more he wanted to protest. But somewhere between the fried potatoes and the last crumb of cookie, things between them had shifted. And he didn’t want to spoil this new feeling—like the moment a horse stops bucking and realizes it can either fight or cooperate. Bad example. Yet somehow it fit. He and Hannah had somehow, somewhere in the discussion, silently, mutually, he hoped, agreed they could be friends. Not wanting to spoil that flush of understanding or whatever he decided to call it, he refrained from saying anything about the hotel.
He pushed his plate aside. “That was good. Thank you.” He rubbed his hands over his thighs.
She narrowed her eyes.
“Independence carries a price—responsibility.”
In the dim light her eyes looked dark and bottomless. He could feel her thoughts reach out to him and dig deep into his heart as if trying to fathom his meaning. For a moment, he thought she would acknowledge the truth in his words, but she only chuckled. “Comfort can carry a price, too. Especially if it means being controlled by another’s desires. I’ll take the alternative.”
Disappointed by her stubbornness, Jake swiped his plate clean and leaned back. All sorts of arguments crowded his mind, proofs she was wrong, but at the set of her mouth he guessed she didn’t care much about proof.
She went to the cupboard and pulled some cookies from a tin, placed them on a plate, and put them on the table. “The boys were so tired tonight they didn’t even stop for cookies. I’ll have to be sure they get some before they go out tomorrow.”
He jerked forward. “I suppose Mother wore herself out, too?”
Hannah smiled. Her eyes twinkled. “She seemed glad enough to go to her room.”
He glanced at the ceiling, wondering if he should check on her.
“I’m sure she’s sound asleep by now,” Hannah said.
He pulled his attention back to her. Why did she grin so widely? Just looking at her made him smile in response. He liked the way her eyes crinkled at the corners. He wanted to pick out the flecks of wallpaper peppering her hair but guessed she might object to such a bold move.
She blinked before his stare. “Tell me about your father.” Her voice sounded husky. “Your mother said he had an accident.”
“Yeah. Gored by a bull.”
Her eyes widened. She sucked in her breath in a quick little motion then didn’t seem to be able to let it out. She scrubbed her lips together two, three times, and then air escaped her lungs like a hot wind off the dry plains. “How awful.”
“It wasn’t pretty.”
“I’m sorry. And you were still young.”
“I don’t remember being young.” He had grown up really fast after his father’s accident. “My father died inch by inch in agony, but he never stopped being in charge. And in the months he lived, he taught me everything I’d need to know to take over.” He’d learned long ago to speak of it without feeing anything, to think of his father’s death with emotional detachment. A man had to move on from such things, concentrate on his responsibilities. There wasn’t room for weakness. His father had taught him well.
“Does it seem strange to you that your father’s death gave you more independence and responsibility than you wanted and my father’s death deprived me of mine?”
“It’s not more’n I can handle.”
“Of course not.” Her eyes carried unspoken disagreement.
He wanted to prove her wrong. It had never been more than he could handle. He would never falter in his responsibilities. “And you’ve bitten off more than you can chew.” He circled his head, indicating the hotel.
She fiddled with her napkin a moment then fixed him with a solid stare. “As you said, it’s not more than I can handle.”
He didn’t want to agree. In fact, the more he got to know Hannah, the more he wanted to protest. But somewhere between the fried potatoes and the last crumb of cookie, things between them had shifted. And he didn’t want to spoil this new feeling—like the moment a horse stops bucking and realizes it can either fight or cooperate. Bad example. Yet somehow it fit. He and Hannah had somehow, somewhere in the discussion, silently, mutually, he hoped, agreed they could be friends. Not wanting to spoil that flush of understanding or whatever he decided to call it, he refrained from saying anything about the hotel.
He pushed his plate aside. “That was good. Thank you.” He rubbed his hands over his thighs.
She narrowed her eyes.
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