The kitchen was a rare picture of domestic bliss, with Nicole running point.
He glanced over at Nicole just as she looked back over her shoulder. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright, and she was smiling a genuine smile that gave his heart a lift.
A smile that faded when she saw him.
He shouldn’t care, he thought, pushing his reaction to the back of his mind. He had too many things going to be concerned about her reaction to him. On Monday, he’d picked up the stuff for the DNA test, gotten everything done just the way the instructions had told him, then ran it all back to town on Tuesday. It was easier than he thought and though he didn’t have time to do all the running around, he wanted that whole business out of the way. Now he didn’t have to think about it anymore.
“I thought Isabelle was making supper,” he grumbled, walking over to the table. He bent over and touched his mother’s shoulder lightly. “How are you feeling?”
Mary smiled up at him as well. “Much better. I got up and around a bit. Nicole helped me with my exercises.”
“Making yourself indispensable?” Kip asked Nicole.
“Just trying to help,” she said with a forced sweetness.
“Auntie Nicole did help,” Tristan said looking up from his work. “The house was almost burning down, but then Auntie Nicole pulled the yucky casserole out of the oven—”
“And Auntie Isabelle was supposed to watch it,” Justin interrupted. “She forgot because she was on the phone talking to Roxie and then we had to help Auntie Nicole wave at the detector.”
“You little tattletale,” Isabelle snapped, slamming another bowl onto the drying rack.
“It’s true. You were talking on the phone and Gramma couldn’t sleep ’cause the detector went off,” Justin said, his face growing red. “I’m not a tattletale.”
“You are,” Isabelle retorted.
“I’m not. You’re a tattler. All you do is tattle on the phone.”
“You better watch yourself, mister,” Isabelle said.
“I think we’re done here,” Nicole said, flashing Isabelle a warning look. “Unless you want to continue an argument with a five-year-old?”
Isabelle blew out a sigh, but to Kip’s surprise, said nothing more.
Nicole pulled Justin off the counter, then slowly pulled off her apron. “And I’d better be going.”
Kip wasn’t proud that he felt relieved. She’d made supper, brought order to the chaos that had been the kitchen, yet he was glad that she wasn’t sticking around. Besides not being a friend to this family, she was starting to slip into his thoughts the times she wasn’t here.
“What? No. You can’t. You have to stay.” His mother and the twins all spoke at once.
“Ms. Williams probably has business to get to,” Kip added.
“Of course you have to stay for supper,” Mary protested. “If it wasn’t for you, we’d be eating peanut butter sandwiches.” Kip’s mother turned to him, frowning. “Kip, make her stay.”
Kip glanced from his mother to the boys, feeling outnumbered.
And, to his dismay, he kind of wanted her to stay anyway. She was appealing and kind and pretty. A dangerous combination, but still—
“Please stay,” he said to Nicole, relenting. “I appreciate what you did for us here.”
Nicole slowly folded the apron she’d been wearing. “You don’t have to go through the motions for me,” she said quietly.
The thought of her going back to an empty motel room bothered him more than he wanted to admit.
“No. Really,” he said, projecting some warmth into his voice. “Please stay. It’s the least we can do for all your help. You made dinner. You should at least stay around to eat it.”
Nicole’s smile shifted and she angled her head to one side as if studying him. “Thanks for that. I believe I will stay.”
Five minutes later everyone was gathered around the table. Nicole sat directly across from Kip, the twins flanking her. Usually they sat beside him, but the boys had scooted over to her side when she sat down.
He felt a pang as he watched them take her hands before they prayed. She smiled down at them and the picture eased sorrow into his heart.
They would never remember their mother. Though they had grown up with his mother and his sister in their lives, it wasn’t the same.
He wished again that things were different for the boys. He wished again that he could give them all the things they missed out on.
Which made him wonder when he should tell them about their mother. An opportunity hadn’t come up, and he didn’t want Nicole to be the one to tell them.
Just at that moment Nicole looked up at him. Their gazes met and a peculiar awareness rose up. It was as tangible as a touch, and it not only surprised him, it rocked him. He looked down, not sure where to put feelings he had neither space nor time for. Feelings for a woman whose plans had the potential to throw his life into turmoil.
Kip cleared his throat, pulling himself back to reality. “We usually pray before our meals.”
He lowered his head, waited a moment while he shifted his focus. He never spent enough time in concentrated prayer. Too often his prayers were a hurried, please, please. Or an equally rushed, thank you, thank you.
But at mealtime, he had an opportunity to slow down, at least for a few moments, and make his prayer sincere.
“Thank you, Lord, for our food. For the hands that prepared it.” His thoughts slipped to Nicole as he hesitated. While he was thankful for what she did, he still struggled with her presence in their lives and what might happen. He pushed on, determined not to let her dominate his life right now. “Thank You for the lives You give us and the many blessings we have. Thank You for each other. Help us to be a blessing to this family. Help us to use our gifts, our time, and our lives for You. Be with us this evening. Help us to trust You in every part of our life.” Help me to trust that you didn’t bring the boys into our lives just to take them away, he added quietly. “All this we ask in Jesus’ name, Amen.”
He waited a moment, then lifted his head. Justin and Tristan began talking right away, as they usually did, but Nicole was looking across the table at him again. Her forehead held the faintest of frowns. As if she was trying to figure him out.
“I hope you like quiche,” Isabelle said to Kip, her voice dripping with disdain. “Because that’s what Ms. Williams made us for supper.”
He wasn’t crazy about it, but he wasn’t about to diss food that he didn’t make himself.
“Looks good,” Kip said, serving up his mother.
“What is this stuff?” Justin asked, poking his quiche with his fork. “It looks gross.”
“Justin, you know we don’t use that word when we talk about food.” Kip shot him a warning frown to underline his reprimand.
“I like it,” Tristan said, taking a big mouthful. “It’s really good.”
“I still think it’s gross.” Justin leaned back in his chair, his chin resting on his chest.
“Justin, what did I say?” Kip warned. The boy had been pushing his patience the past few days. It was as if he understood on some level the tension between him and Nicole.
Justin stared back at him, then his lower lip quivered. “I don’t want to eat. My stomach hurts and I miss my dad.”
Kip’s anger left him like air out of a balloon. “Oh, Justin,” he said, his own sorrow sliding into his voice. “Come here, buddy.”
Justin slipped off his chair and walked over to Kip. Kip pulled the little boy up onto his lap and held him close. “I’m sorry, little guy. I wish I could make it better,” he murmured, wrapping his arms tightly around his nephew.
He looked over at Tristan, who was still eating as if he hadn’t even noticed Justin’s little breakdown. Kip was often surprised at how different the boys were.
Justin was all drama and noise, just like Scott could be, and Tristan was quieter and more sedate. Which made him wonder what Hayes was like.
His gaze drifted ov
er just enough to catch Nicole watching him. Her fingers rested lightly on her lips, as if holding back the glimpse of sorrow he caught in her eyes. Then she blinked and looked away and the moment was gone.
Justin sat quiet a moment, then sniffed. “Do I still have to eat my quiche?”
Kip sighed, feeling as if he had been played by his nephew. He wasn’t sure what to say, but before he could speak his mother touched Justin on the arm.
“No, you don’t, honey. I’ll make you something else when dinner’s over.”
“Mom, you shouldn’t…” but then he stopped himself. He didn’t have the energy to deal with this.
“If Justin doesn’t have to eat his quiche, do I?” Isabelle asked hopefully.
Kip shot her an annoyed glance. She got the hint and resumed poking at her supper with her fork.
“I’m sorry,” Nicole said quietly. “I thought quiche would be safe.”
“It is,” Kip said. “We haven’t eaten it a lot.” Juggling Justin on his lap, he took another bite. It tasted a bit better now that he knew what to expect.
“You should try a bite, Justin,” he encouraged. “It tastes really good.”
Justin lifted his head and with a sigh took an offered bite. He ate it, then laid his head down on Kip’s chest again. Kip didn’t mind. His nephews were getting more independent every day, so he enjoyed the moments when they needed him.
“She made this out of her head,” his mother told him. “I watched her.”
“I like cooking,” Nicole offered. “I often helped our cook make meals.”
“You had a cook?” Isabelle asked. “You must be rich.”
Kip had wondered himself about Nicole’s financial situation. Having a personal cook definitely put her beyond his financial situation.
“We had a cook, yes, and I liked helping her.”
“If I was rich, I wouldn’t help cook,” Isabelle continued. “Of course, the only way I might get rich is to move off this ranch.”
“What do you want to do when you’re finished high school?” Nicole asked.
Isabelle tossed her hair. “Be an actress. See the world.”
“Do you take drama in school?” Nicole asked, reaching across to help Tristan with the last of his supper.
“I wish. They don’t offer it in my school.”
“That’s too bad. It’s always helpful to get a taste of what you want to do when you’re young.” Nicole turned her attention back to Justin. “Do you want to try some of your own supper? It tastes the same as your uncle’s.”
Justin lifted his head and looked across the table at Nicole, then to Kip’s surprise, he slipped off Kip’s lap and scooted around the table to Nicole.
Kip wished Nicole had left Justin be. Soon enough the little boy wouldn’t want to sit on his uncle’s lap.
“So where in Toronto do you live?” Kip’s mother asked Nicole.
“My father has a home in Rosedale.”
“Where’s that?” Isabelle asked.
“Rich part of Toronto,” Kip said. “Lot’s of walls and gated yards.”
“Did you live all your life in the Toronto area?” Mary asked, ignoring Kip’s jibe.
“My parents did.” Nicole’s smile tightened. “I was born in Winnipeg, Manitoba.”
Kip was puzzled. “So your parents moved—”
“Sam and Norah Williams are my adoptive parents,” Nicole said. “I grew up…spent the first years of my life in, uh, foster homes.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” Mary said, sympathy lacing her voice. “Was that difficult?”
Nicole lifted her shoulder in a delicate shrug. “I was blessed to be taken in by the Williamses when I was six. They’ve been very good to me, and I owe them more than I can ever repay.”
Her voice faltered, and as Kip witnessed the faint break in her defenses, he felt a nudge of sympathy that was both unexpected and unwelcome. He didn’t want to feel sorry for her.
It was easier to deal dispassionately with her if he could see her simply as an opponent. Bad enough that she had come into his house and blurred the lines.
Bad enough that she was slowly sneaking into his thoughts when he wasn’t busy.
“I’m done,” Justin announced, shoveling more food into his mouth. The little boy’s stomach couldn’t be that sore, Kip thought.
“Good. You’re the last one,” Nicole said, getting up. “Now we can do the dishes.”
“If you don’t mind, Nicole, we often have devotions after supper,” Kip said. “The dishes might have to wait a bit.”
She immediately sat down, looking a bit flustered. “Oh. I see. I’m sorry.”
“Tristan, can you get me the Bible?”
Tristan was already out of his chair. The two boys took turns getting the Bible and sitting on his lap while he read, and today it was Tristan’s turn.
Tristan handed him the Bible but returned to Nicole’s side, which bothered Kip more than he cared to admit.
“We’ve been reading through Matthew,” Kip said, turning to the passage. He cleared his throat, and as he read, he felt Nicole’s eyes on him. He had a hard time concentrating, but then he reminded himself that he was reading God’s Holy Word and let the words become part of him. “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” Kip stopped as the words resonated in his mind. You will find rest for your souls’. He lowered his head and began praying. He asked that he could learn to put all his cares and concerns in God’s loving hands.
When he was done, he glanced up to see Nicole staring at him, her brow holding a faint frown.
“Can we take Auntie Nicole to see the puppies again?” Justin begged.
“We’ll have to do the dishes first,” Nicole said.
“After the dishes.” Justin turned to Kip. “Can we? Please?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Kip said, remembering the last time she’d taken the boys to see the puppies. Though he hadn’t been proud of his reaction—part of it was plain and simple fear—he still believed he was right to insist she run anything new past him first.
Nicole glanced over at him, an enigmatic look on her face. It was as if she knew exactly what he was thinking.
“I have to call Roxie back,” Isabelle announced, pushing back from the table.
“Before you do that, can you help me clear the dishes?” Nicole asked, getting up.
Isabelle shot her a puzzled frown as if wondering who this woman was who was asking her favors. She sent Kip a look of appeal.
“That’s okay, Nicole. I don’t mind helping,” his mother said.
“See? Mom can help,” Isabelle said with a triumphant note in her voice and a faint sneer in Nicole’s direction.
He sighed, feeling as if he was stuck between a sister who was basically lazy with a horrible attitude and a mother who enabled her. Though Kip understood why Isabelle would resent taking orders from a woman she barely knew, at the same time he was disappointed that his little sister couldn’t see that their mother wasn’t able to help much.
Then he caught Nicole looking at him, as if wondering what he was going to do and he stiffened his back.
“Mom, you go into the living room and watch television,” he said, coming up with his own solution. “Isabelle, you can make your phone call but keep it short. I’ll do the dishes.”
“Can we help you and Auntie Nicole do dishes too?” Justin and Tristan asked, their eyes lighting up.
“Of course you can,” Nicole said, bringing a stack of plates to the kitchen counter.
Nicole got the boys clearing the table while she walked over to the counter, pulled on her apron again and started cleaning up.
“As you can see, we don’t have a dishwasher.” He didn’t know why he was apologizing for the lack.
“No big deal.” She started running water in the s
ink and getting the boys to find some dry dish towels.
He returned to the table and pulled off the tablecloth, not sure what to do with it. “And where did you find this?”
“Isabelle found it in your mother’s bedroom,” Nicole said, shooting him a quick glance over her shoulder. “I hope that was okay.”
She added a gentle smile to the glance and again their gazes tangled. She didn’t turn her head away and for a moment, neither did he.
Don’t be an idiot, he told himself, breaking the connection. You’re just a lonely bachelor, that’s all.
He folded up the tablecloth with jerky movements. “That a rich Toronto thing? A tablecloth on the table?” That came out a bit harsher than he intended. Truth was she made him uncomfortable, and he had to keep things impersonal.
Of course having her in his kitchen, wearing his mother’s apron after making his family supper didn’t exactly create an impersonal atmosphere.
“Actually, it is. All the very wealthy people use tablecloths,” she snapped.
He’d made her mad. Well, that was his intention, wasn’t it?
With every visit and everything she did for him and for his family, she seemed to be slowly seeping into his life.
And the trouble was, part of him didn’t mind. She was helpful, capable.
And attractive.
You can’t afford to go there, he reminded himself. She’s trouble.
He set the folded tablecloth on the worn wooden table, noticing again how old and scarred it was. He and his brother and sisters had grown up around this table, arguing and bickering over doing the dishes, doing chores and whatever else it was that siblings argued about.
Until half a year ago, his brother sat here as well.
Kip clenched his fist, willing away the memories, forcing himself to the present. He looked over his shoulder again at Nicole, who was teasing Justin and encouraging Tristan.
And this woman, standing in his kitchen, was part of the present he didn’t want to deal with.
“Weeding the garden? You sure you know which ones to pull?”
Western Hearts: A sweet, cowboy romance (Cowboys of Aspen Valley Book 1) Page 9