over her arm from swinging about and making a mess. “Did she ever make pie?”
“No, but she made cake—a few thousand a day.”
Josie stilled. “Are you saying the Carolina Crumble Pattie was your mom’s creation?”
“Yep. Well, it was an old family recipe that she perfected.”
The idea her pies relied on an old Burdett family recipe improved upon by Adam’s own mother warmed Josie all over. She opened her mouth to tell Adam so, but he stopped her by closing his eyes, lifting his chin, stretching up his whole body and taking a larger-than-life sniff of the air around them.
“I’ll take care of Nathan for a week if you brought me a slice of pie.”
“Then I guess you’ll be taking care of him the rest of the summer and into the fall, because I brought you a whole pie.” She let the bag rustle. “Sit. I’ll get you a plate.”
“Don’t go to any trouble.” He took a seat at the kitchen table. “This won’t be the first meal I’ve eaten straight out of a take-out box.”
“Nonsense.” She grabbed a plate, then shut the cabinet door quickly so he wouldn’t see that she only owned two decent place settings and one of them was chipped. “Food always tastes better when you eat it off a proper plate.”
“Thanks.” He transferred his lunch from the box, then grinned up at her when she put the whole browned-to-perfection pie to his left. “Must say, your pie certainly looks a lot better on a plate than on the floor.”
“It’s not the only thing that takes on a different appearance when viewed in a more welcoming context.”
“Welcoming.” He said it slowly, his gaze fixed in the distance. He waited a moment and she wondered if he expected to hear an echo or something. Finally he pulled his chair up close to the table and said, “I like that word.”
“I mean it.”
“I believe you do.”
“And you don’t believe your family would feel the same way toward you?”
“If they are smart they won’t.”
Josie didn’t know what to make of that. Was his sentiment sad or sinister?
He dug in, unselfconsciously humming his approval with every bite.
Sad, she decided, and set about trying to change his perception. If you scratched the surface of his stoic, stone-faced, wounded-stray image, many things about Adam were just plain sad. “It all reminds me of the story of the prodigal son.”
“No, Josie.” He stabbed a bite of meat loaf. “This is nothing like that.”
“It certainly seems—”
“No. The prodigal son came crawling back, willing to live as a servant or to eat with the animals.” He gestured with the meat loaf still on his fork. “That is not the case with me. No.”
“Adam…”
“I’ve returned to Mt. Knott with a plan, and humbling myself before my father is not part of it.” He took the bite, chewed, then struggled to swallow.
Josie couldn’t decide if the food or the feelings were responsible for that. Just in case, she jumped up and got the gallon of milk from the fridge, poured him a big glass, then plunked it down in front of him. “If you don’t hope to reconcile with your family, then just why did you come to Mt. Knott?”
He froze with the glass of milk halfway between the plate and his mouth. He shifted his eyes quite pointedly in Nathan’s direction.
“Don’t give me some noble story about coming for your son.” She beat him to the punch.
By the look on his face he didn’t know whether to respond with indignation or by being impressed.
“If all you wanted was to claim Nathan, then you could have sent a lawyer or the sheriff or, more logically, shown up on my doorstep with both of those.” That’s how she’d envisioned it happening when she had nightmares about it. “You needn’t have bothered ruffling your hair with a long, nighttime Harley ride for that.”
“I would do far more than inconvenience myself for my son.” He touched his hair where the orange baby food had been. “But I would never send a stranger to take him
“No, but she made cake—a few thousand a day.”
Josie stilled. “Are you saying the Carolina Crumble Pattie was your mom’s creation?”
“Yep. Well, it was an old family recipe that she perfected.”
The idea her pies relied on an old Burdett family recipe improved upon by Adam’s own mother warmed Josie all over. She opened her mouth to tell Adam so, but he stopped her by closing his eyes, lifting his chin, stretching up his whole body and taking a larger-than-life sniff of the air around them.
“I’ll take care of Nathan for a week if you brought me a slice of pie.”
“Then I guess you’ll be taking care of him the rest of the summer and into the fall, because I brought you a whole pie.” She let the bag rustle. “Sit. I’ll get you a plate.”
“Don’t go to any trouble.” He took a seat at the kitchen table. “This won’t be the first meal I’ve eaten straight out of a take-out box.”
“Nonsense.” She grabbed a plate, then shut the cabinet door quickly so he wouldn’t see that she only owned two decent place settings and one of them was chipped. “Food always tastes better when you eat it off a proper plate.”
“Thanks.” He transferred his lunch from the box, then grinned up at her when she put the whole browned-to-perfection pie to his left. “Must say, your pie certainly looks a lot better on a plate than on the floor.”
“It’s not the only thing that takes on a different appearance when viewed in a more welcoming context.”
“Welcoming.” He said it slowly, his gaze fixed in the distance. He waited a moment and she wondered if he expected to hear an echo or something. Finally he pulled his chair up close to the table and said, “I like that word.”
“I mean it.”
“I believe you do.”
“And you don’t believe your family would feel the same way toward you?”
“If they are smart they won’t.”
Josie didn’t know what to make of that. Was his sentiment sad or sinister?
He dug in, unselfconsciously humming his approval with every bite.
Sad, she decided, and set about trying to change his perception. If you scratched the surface of his stoic, stone-faced, wounded-stray image, many things about Adam were just plain sad. “It all reminds me of the story of the prodigal son.”
“No, Josie.” He stabbed a bite of meat loaf. “This is nothing like that.”
“It certainly seems—”
“No. The prodigal son came crawling back, willing to live as a servant or to eat with the animals.” He gestured with the meat loaf still on his fork. “That is not the case with me. No.”
“Adam…”
“I’ve returned to Mt. Knott with a plan, and humbling myself before my father is not part of it.” He took the bite, chewed, then struggled to swallow.
Josie couldn’t decide if the food or the feelings were responsible for that. Just in case, she jumped up and got the gallon of milk from the fridge, poured him a big glass, then plunked it down in front of him. “If you don’t hope to reconcile with your family, then just why did you come to Mt. Knott?”
He froze with the glass of milk halfway between the plate and his mouth. He shifted his eyes quite pointedly in Nathan’s direction.
“Don’t give me some noble story about coming for your son.” She beat him to the punch.
By the look on his face he didn’t know whether to respond with indignation or by being impressed.
“If all you wanted was to claim Nathan, then you could have sent a lawyer or the sheriff or, more logically, shown up on my doorstep with both of those.” That’s how she’d envisioned it happening when she had nightmares about it. “You needn’t have bothered ruffling your hair with a long, nighttime Harley ride for that.”
“I would do far more than inconvenience myself for my son.” He touched his hair where the orange baby food had been. “But I would never send a stranger to take him
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