Read Online South of Stavewood (Stavewood Saga Book 2) by Nanette Kinslow - Free Book Online

cried out her pain into his firm shoulder and he held her tightly.

 
     
    Chapter Eleven
     
     
           R ebecca paced the kitchen with agitation. “Did she say that she would be home for dinner?” she questioned Mark as he sampled the simmering stew.
          “She didn’t say she would. I’d guess not. I think she’s still trying to clean out Roland’s house. When I left she was hanging sheets in the yard and I thought I smelled food cooking from inside the house. Boy, that filly they found is something else.”
          “I don’t like her being out there all day. What else was she doing?”
          “My guess is that they’re busy falling in love,” Mark stated offhandedly.
          Timothy chuckled as he entered the room. “Who’s falling in love?” He sniffed at the stew.
          “Roland and Rebecca’s cousin.” Mark leaned back casually against the counter. “They looked like the two of you did that day in the barn.”
          “Oh, Tim,” Rebecca sighed. “I’m worried.”
          “About them falling in love?” Timothy leaned against the counter beside his son.
          “Oh, you two!” Rebecca growled with frustration. “How can you both just let this happen? Roland Vancouver can’t make her happy. He’s stubborn and, well, he’s such a bachelor!”
          “He’s chicken, I can see that,” Mark stated distractedly. “Just like the two of you were. When I fall in love I’m not going to fool around about it. I’m just going to come right out and say it and get on with the good stuff!” he announced.
          “The good stuff?” Timothy looked down at the boy suspiciously.
          “Yeah, you know,” the boy winked at Rebecca. “The good stuff.”
          “I want some!” Louisa announced as she swung open the door. “I want good stuff, too!” Mark scooped the child up in his arms and carried her out of the room. “You are the good stuff,” he whispered to her, looking back devilishly at the couple standing with shock on their faces in the kitchen.
     
     
          “I would take you inside, but I don’t believe that this is my house any longer,” Roland smoothed Emma’s hair from her face gently.
          “Do you like it?” she sighed and sat up embarrassed.
          “I suspected that only some kerosene and a match might clean it up. Now I can’t even recognize it and there seems to be the smell of hot food coming from inside.”
          “Oh, goodness!” Emma sprung to her feet and smoothed her dress. “I left a roast simmering on the woodstove.” She scrambled up the stairs and opened the lid to the heavy pot. A tantalizing aroma filled the air as Roland gathered sparkling clean lanterns and began to light them in the soft dusk.
     
          “There are clean dishes in the cabinets, and rolls here.” She set a basket on the table. “I’ll be back tomorrow to do that back room, and then we can talk about how often you would like me to come.”
          “You’re leaving?” Roland turned abruptly to face her.
          “I did what we arranged. The cleaning, the cooking. Did I forget something?”
          “You are not leaving.” Roland pulled a chair away from the table. “Sit down.”
          Emma knit her brow. “It’s not necessary, Roland, really. I’m feeling a bit embarrassed actually. I’m sorry for breaking down like that. That should not have happened. I apologize. I’m glad you like the house, but really I should go.”
          “Sit down,” he repeated.
          Emma frowned and sat in the chair. Roland struggled with serving, but soon set out two plates filled with the steaming roast and sat across the table from her.
          “There are many things you have done today,” he began. “But there is one thing I want more than any other in this house. I hate to eat alone. Tonight you eat what you’ve made with me, and tomorrow you eat