Lars dug in the cookie jar on the counter and took out a few to eat with his coffee, wondering if Aundy or Caterina made them, since he knew Ilsa didn’t. The one meal she cooked for him was barely edible, but he’d asked for a second helping just to keep her from thinking he didn’t enjoy it. On his way home, he’d had to stop at the drug store and purchase a packet of dyspepsia tablets.
Munching on the cinnamon-filled cookies, he decided they came from Aundy. She often made cinnamon treats, since they were Garrett’s favorite. Kade and Garrett were both fortunate to have married such good cooks, although Ilsa made up for her lack of cooking with her sweetness and kind heart.
Lars walked to the front room to check on the baby. Grateful to find her still sleeping, he quietly backed out of the room. Returning to the kitchen, he poured a second cup of coffee then dug the latest issue of the newspaper out of a box near the stove.
Snapping it open, he read an article about the Louisiana Purchase World’s Fair in St. Louis opening in a few weeks. Recalling the fun he had when he was a boy attending the World’s Fair in Chicago with his parents and sisters, Lars wished he would have the opportunity to attend the fair in St. Louis before it closed in November, but he seriously doubted he’d be able to go.
He had no idea how much longer it would take him to bring in the Bowman Gang and after that, a new assignment would await him.
Thoughts of leaving Pendleton made his heart ache so badly he rubbed a hand across his chest to ease the pain. He hated the idea of leaving his sisters and their families after having just reconnected with them. He’d made good friends in town, especially with his two brothers-in-law and Kade.
Despite his efforts to keep them out of his heart, he cared for the two Webster kids as if they were his own. Their future weighed on him almost as heavily as Marnie’s.
He wanted, so badly, to be able to promise her something, give her some reason to hope in a happy forever, but he just couldn’t do it. He’d already made it clear he was married to his career and always would be.
The telephone jangled on the wall and Lars hurried to answer it before it woke Laila.
“Hello?”
“Lars, it’s Ilsa.”
He let out a sigh of relief. “Are you on your way home?”
“Not yet. I probably have another hour of work before I can think about finishing at home. I wanted to let you know if Laila wakes up hungry, you’ll find a bottle in the refrigerator and her diapers are upstairs in the nursery. I’ll be home as quick as I can. Tony should be back around six.”
“But, Ilsa…”
She’d already disconnected.
Hearing the baby cry, Lars looked heavenward and rolled his eyes, deciding his sister would undoubtedly owe him a huge favor.
Rushing to the front room, he picked up the baby and rocked her in his arms, willing her to go back to sleep, but she continued to fuss. He shifted her so she rested upright against his chest and felt her little lips nuzzling his skin. In the awkward, somewhat uncomfortable moment, he deduced she must be hungry.
“Hate to disappoint you, Laila love, but you can’t get blood from a turnip or supper out of your Uncle Lars.” Carrying the baby to the kitchen, he opened the refrigerator door and saw a glass bottle of milk on a shelf.
Some vague memory about heating the milk floated through his head and he decided to ask someone who might know what they were doing. Placing a call to Caterina, he bounced Laila in one arm while holding the telephone in his other hand.
“Come on, Cat.” He hoped she was at the restaurant. At this time of day, she was usually busy with dinner preparations.
“Hello. This is Caterina.”
“Caterina! This is Lars.”
“Hello, Lars. How may I assist you?”
“If you were going to give a baby a bottle of milk, would you warm it up first?”
The line was completely silent.
“Are you there, Cat?”
“Why do you want to know?” Caterina’s voice sounded curious and concerned.
“Ilsa asked me to watch Laila for a little while and I think she’s hungry. There’s a bottle of milk in the refrigerator, but I don’t know what to do with it.”
“Fill a pot with water and put it on the stove. Set the bottle in the pot and heat it until it’s warm, not hot mind you, but warm. If you sprinkle it on your wrist, it should feel pleasingly warm.”
“Got it. Thanks,” Lars said, starting to hang up.
“Lars? Are you at Ilsa’s?”
“Yes.”
“Do you need me to come over and help?”
“No, I’ve got it. I know you’re busy getting dinner ready over there.”
“I could run over if you need me to. Aundy has my two rascals today so they aren’t underfoot.”
“I’ll be fine. If I have any trouble, I’ll call or bring her over.”
“Be sure that you do.” Caterina disconnected the call and Lars hurried to find a pot and fill it with water.
Stoking the stove, he set the bottle in the pot and waited for it to warm. Laila continued to nuzzle his chest and he concluded, despite his discomfort, it was better than letting her cry.
He hoped the milk would heat before her whimpers turned into screams.
A glance at the clock confirmed he needed to give Ilsa a lesson in telling time. It had already been two hours and she’d told him it would only be an hour or so when she insisted he take Laila.
“I guess I learned that ‘or so’ encompasses as many hours as she pleases,” Lars mumbled, aware of slobbers running down his chest from Laila. He glanced down, relieved to see she hadn’t spit up on him again.
Shifting her to his other arm, he felt moisture on his hand and squeezed his eyes shut, hoping he’d wake up and this would be a bad dream.
Instead, when he opened them, Laila looked like she was preparing to launch into another round of screams.
“Hush baby, don’t cry. Uncle Lars will take care of everything,” he said in a singsong voice. Grabbing the pot off the stove, the hot handle burned his fingers and he clanked it back down, muttering a few words no baby should hear.
Snatching a towel off the counter, he lifted the pot off the stove and plucked the bottle out of the water. The glass felt warm so he dribbled a few drops on his wrist, splashing Laila. He thought it was probably close to the right temperature and noticed a dish of nipples sitting near the stove. Snagging one, he affixed it to the bottle and held it to Laila’s crying mouth. The baby latched onto it and suckled with a hungry fervor.
Letting out a sigh of relief, he watched as her cheeks puffed in and out while she sucked. He grinned at the greedy grunting noises she made.
“That’s not very ladylike, Laila girl. What would your mother say?” Lars murmured as he sat down in a kitchen chair and fed the baby.
She drank about half the bottle before she turned her head away and lost interest. Setting the bottle on the table, he recalled seeing Ilsa burp the baby and lifted her up to his shoulder, gently patting her back. Instead of burping, she began to fuss again, and her pitiful little cries made Lars tense and uncertain. He didn’t know what to do to help her or get her to stop crying. Finally, he heard her burp and she settled down. Continuing to rub her back, she fussed again then spit up all down his chest.
Realizing he should have learned a lesson from his shirt being soiled, he quickly swiped at the mess on his chest with a towel and wiped the baby’s face.
“Are you quite finished?” Lars asked the baby. Her response was to begin crying again.
Remembering her wet diaper, he carried her up the back stairs to the nursery and laid her down on a padded table. Removing her gown, smeared with spit-up, he unpinned the diaper and resisted the urge to gag.
“Laila, sweetheart, you’re not being nice to your favorite uncle. Wet was one thing, but this,” Lars fought revulsion at the stench-ridden sight before him. “This is something else altogether.”
Wadding up the diaper, he dropped
it in a pail and decided it would be easier to douse the baby in some water than try to handle the mess any other way. Going to Ilsa’s bathroom, he bathed Laila in the sink then wrapped her in a soft towel. Returning to the nursery, he picked up a diaper and started to put it on her, then realized he should have studied the one he took off before he unpinned it.
“Too late to worry about it now, isn’t it, Laila?” Lars struggled to figure out how to pin the diaper so it would stay on. Accomplishing the task, he felt sweat beading along his forehead and decided he’d rather face down a dozen hardened criminals by himself with nothing but his bare hands than go through this experience again.
Finding a stack of tiny little gowns, Lars lifted one in his hands and wondered how Ilsa managed to get the things on his niece. The arm and head holes seemed too small, so he instead wrapped the baby in a warm blanket and carried her back downstairs.
Taking a seat in the rocking chair near the cradle, Lars laid Laila on his chest, since she seemed to be the most peaceful there, and began rocking slowly, rubbing her back. He let his eyes close, wishing Ilsa would hurry up and arrive home.
With the two of them working as fast as they could, Marnie and Ilsa put the dress together, fit it to the client’s measurements, and pressed out the seams. Gathering everything they needed to do the embellishments at Ilsa’s home, Marnie carried two baskets of supplies while Ilsa carried the gown, wrapped in a white sheet.
“How do you think Lars faired with Laila?” Marnie asked as they hurried up the back porch steps and in the kitchen door.
“Oh, my.” Ilsa looked around the chaos in her kitchen. Soiled towels, ripe with the aroma of baby spit-up, sat on the counter. A pan of water, the half-empty baby bottle, and the previous day’s paper sat on the table. A man’s shirt hung near the stove and Lars’ hat, jacket and vest carelessly covered a chair.
Draping the sheet-covered gown over a chair while Marnie set the baskets on the table, they rushed down the hall to the parlor and came to a halt at the doorway.
Marnie thought she’d never seen anything so wonderful in her life as the strapping marshal sitting in Ilsa’s rocking chair, holding the baby to his bare chest while they both slept.
“I wish Tony was here to take a photograph of that,” Ilsa whispered. Tiptoeing across the room, she lifted the baby and started to place her in the cradle. When she did, the blanket fell away, revealing the baby wore a diaper that dangled precariously around her hips. The two women stifled their giggles and Ilsa adjusted the blanket, laying Laila in her cradle. Backing out of the room, the two girls held in their laughter until they returned to the kitchen and shut the door leading to the hall.
“Evidently, taking care of one little baby is enough to conquer the mighty Lars Thorsen,” Ilsa giggled as she washed her hands. “It’s a wonder the diaper stayed on her at all the way he has it pinned.”
“He looked so sweet holding her.” Marnie sounded wistful as she picked up soiled dishtowels and carried them to Ilsa’s laundry room. “I wasn’t sure he would keep her and not take her to Caterina’s.”
“I figured either way, Laila would be fine.” Ilsa dumped out the milk and set the bottle in the sink. “I forgot all about dinner. Maybe I could call Caterina and see if she could fix four plates for me to bring back here.”
“Why don’t I cook something while you clear a place for us to work? Did you want to do the embellishments in here or the front room?”
“I think in the front room. We can sit comfortably there and I have hoops we can use to stretch the fabric taut while we do the stitching. I don’t want you to have to cook for us, though.”
“I’m offering and I really don’t mind.” Marnie glanced around the kitchen. “Just tell me what I can use to make dinner.”
“Anything you can find,” Ilsa said, clearing off the table and moving Lars’ things, along with the dress and baskets to the hall tree. She didn’t want to make any noise to wake her brother or Laila in the front room.
Returning to the kitchen, she found Marnie standing at the stove stirring a pot while a delicious aroma filled the air.
“You must have found something to work with,” Ilsa said, rinsing her hands and donning an apron. She was glad to see Marnie pulled one over her gown and rolled up her sleeves. The lace on her cuffs would be ruined if she got grease on them from the food.
Marnie grinned over her shoulder, continuing to stir one of the pots on the stove. “It won’t be fancy, but it should be filling. I hope you don’t mind, but I used the leftover roast and potatoes you had to make hash. I whipped up some cornbread and opened a jar of green beans. Do you think that will suffice for dinner?”
“It sounds wonderful, but I better open a jar of berry preserves for the cornbread. Lars and Tony both like a little bread with their jam.”
Marnie laughed at Ilsa’s mocking comment and continued stirring a concoction in a pot.
Ilsa tried to see what it was, but couldn’t tell. “What are you making?”
“Just some pudding. I didn’t think we had time to bake anything, but if you have some cookies to go with it, or some heavy cream I could whip, we can serve it for dessert.” Marnie continued stirring while Ilsa took dessert cups from a cupboard and set them on the counter near the stove.
“If my brother didn’t eat all the cookies, we should have some to go with the pudding.” Ilsa checked the cookie jar and was pleased to see plenty remained.
Marnie dished the pudding into the four dessert cups then set the pan aside to cool. Turning over the hash to brown on the second side, she stirred the green beans and checked on the cornbread. She hadn’t cooked for a while and hoped everything would be edible. Sometimes Gertie let her help in the kitchen, but she hadn’t prepared an entire meal by herself for a very long time.
Ilsa set plates on the table as Tony strolled in the back door and gave Marnie a surprised glance.
“I always expect to come home to one beautiful woman in my house, but what a treat to find two,” he said, kissing Ilsa’s cheek then smiling at Marnie.
“Marnie’s helping me finish the dress I told you about.” Ilsa wrapped her arm around Tony’s lean waist and gave it a squeeze. “Lars and Laila are asleep in the front room, so stay quiet. He had to watch her for me today and I think she must have worn him to a frazzle.”
Tony chuckled and kissed the top of her head. “I’ll go wash up for dinner then check on them. Whatever you’re cooking smells great, Marnie.”
“How’d you know it was me cooking?” Marnie asked as she pulled the cornbread out of the oven.
“Because if my wife was cooking, the smell of charred food would have greeted me at the door and I didn’t see any flames shooting from the oven.” Tony hurried up the back stairs before Ilsa could throw a dishtowel at him.
“Something smells good.” The sound of Lars’ voice, gravelly with sleep, surprised both women as he pushed open the kitchen door and walked into the room.
“Mercy, Lars,” Ilsa said, slapping a hand to her chest. “You startled us. I thought you were asleep.”
“I was, but I smelled something delicious and thought I must be dreaming since it couldn’t be something you made,” Lars teased, kissing Ilsa’s cheek and ignoring the narrowed glare she gave him. “Did you girls finish your project?”
“No. We’ll work on it after dinner. Do you need to wash up before we eat?” Ilsa asked, pouring milk into the glasses on the table.
“Yes. Your daughter likes to mark her territory by spitting on people.” Lars rubbed his bare chest, drawing Marnie’s attention to it. “As Noah would say, she’s ‘pukey.’”
Ilsa laughed. “Welcome to the wonderful world of babies.” She pointed in the direction of the hall running off the kitchen to the laundry room. “Tony’s in the bathroom upstairs. Use the one down here.”
Lars nodded to the two women and ambled down the hall in the direction Ilsa indicated. Marnie’s gaze followed him until he disappeared into the bathroom. Even then, her eyes r
emained fixated that direction.
“Are you all right?” Ilsa asked, bumping Marnie’s arm with her elbow.
“Huh? Oh, yeah, I’m fine.” Marnie turned around and rinsed her hands then began scooping hash and green beans into bowls while Ilsa cut the cornbread and set it on a platter. She’d never seen any man look half as enticing as Lars as he stood shirtless in his sister’s kitchen with his voice deep and raspy from sleep.
It was all she could do to keep from gawking at him open-mouthed when he stepped into the kitchen. He wore snug denims over his cowboy boots and nothing else. With his tousled hair, broad shoulders and magnificent chest, Marnie realized, for the first time, the rugged beauty of a man’s physique.
She couldn’t help but notice the scars on his chest and back. If he wanted her to know about them, he’d tell her where they came from, what they represented.
Before her thoughts became any more entangled in the vision Lars created without his shirt, he wandered back through the kitchen. “Where’s my shirt?”
“Hall tree,” Ilsa answered, glancing over the table. She set butter in the center and smiled as Tony hurried down the stairs and seated her. Lars returned to the kitchen, buttoning his shirt, and seated Marnie.
The four of them enjoyed a lively conversation while they ate. Both men complimented Marnie on her cooking, especially when they ate the pudding she prepared.
Tony volunteered to wash the dishes so Ilsa and Marnie could get back to the dress project right after Ilsa nursed a hungry Laila.
Lars reclaimed the rest of his clothes and put his hat on his head. “Walk me outside,” he said, taking Marnie’s hand in his.
She nodded her head and accompanied him out the door and down the front walk.
He stopped before they reached the street and squeezed her hand. “Call the restaurant when you’re finished and I’ll walk you back to your room.”
Marnie looked out at the street where a few wagons rolled by in the quiet neighborhood. “That’s not necessary. I’m sure you’re tired after a busy day.”
Marnie: Page 21