The Hired Man. Lynna Banning

Mr. Winterman.”

      She propped both hands on her hips. “With soap?”

      “With soap,” Cord said as he came through the door. He took the chair she indicated, tipping it back until the two front feet lifted off the floor.

      “You’re gonna fall over backward,” Molly observed.

      “You want to bet on that?”

      “Yes!” the girl shouted.

      “Okay. I bet three lemon drops that I won’t tip this chair over.”

      “Please,” Eleanor interjected, setting a platter of fried potatoes on the table. “Do not teach my children to gamble!”

      He stared up at her. “You mean I can’t bet even one lemon drop?”

      “I mean exactly that,” she said, keeping her voice extra-crisp. “And kindly tell me where those kittens came from? Not from town, I hope?”

      Molly went rigid. Cord returned all four chair legs to the floor. “Well, ma’am, to tell you the truth—”

      “Don’t tell her anything!” Danny yelled. “She’ll make us get rid of ’em.”

      “Would you do that, Mrs. Malloy?” Cord inquired, his voice quiet. “Make your children get rid of some kittens?”

      “Well...”

      “Because,” he continued, “actually they’re your kittens. They were born in your barn, up in the hayloft.”

      “Are you absolutely sure about that?” She couldn’t soften the suspicion that tinged her voice.

      “Oh, I’m sure, all right,” he said with a laugh. “Mama Cat and the little ones snuggled right up to my belly last night. They’re yours, all right.”

      She sat down suddenly, completely out of steam. “What? Oh. Well, then, I suppose...”

      “Yaaay!” Molly cried. “Tomorrow I’m gonna give them all names.”

      Cord studied the white-faced woman sitting across from him. “Daniel,” he said quietly, “why don’t you check on whatever’s in the oven.”

      “Oh, yessir, Cord.”

      “And, Molly,” he continued, “get your mother’s napkin and wet it under the pump at the sink.”

      The children bustled about their tasks while Eleanor sat limp as a cooked noodle. When Molly handed her the wet napkin, she took it without a word and laid it against the back of her neck.

      Cord kept his eye on her while he pointed to the oven. “Dan?”

      Danny opened the oven door and sniffed. “Beans, I guess. A big pot.”

      Cord stood, grabbed two potholders and lifted the pot of bubbling beans to the table. Danny handed him the big serving spoon, and Cord ladled out a dollop onto a plate and pushed it over to Eleanor.

      She pushed it back across the table to Cord. “I’m not hungry.”

      Cord added a square of corn bread and slid the plate back to her.

      “I said I wasn’t hungry,” she murmured.

      “Yeah, I heard you. Eat some anyway. You’ve got two kids who need their mother, so don’t argue.”

      “Well!” She ruffled herself up like an angry banty chicken. “Mr. Winterman, just who do you think you are, giving me orders?”

      He drew in a tired breath. “I’m your hired man, Eleanor. I’m trying to help you here, so do what I say, all right?”

      Molly and Danny exchanged wide-eyed looks and picked up their forks without a word. Cord ladled some beans onto their plates and then some onto his own. After a long moment their mother picked up her fork, and the kids exchanged another, even longer, look.

      Cord caught Danny’s eye and gave him an imperceptible shake of his head. Don’t say anything, son. Nobody likes to give in when they’ve made a speech about refusing something. To Molly he sent a smile and a wink.

      After that, supper was dead quiet except for the clink of utensils against the china plates. Finally Danny broke the spell. “We got any dessert, Ma?”

      “No, I’m afraid not,” she said. “I meant to bake an apple pie, but...”

      “I make a humdinger of an apple pie,” Cord announced.

      Three startled pairs of eyes stared at him. “Aw, you can’t neither,” Danny said.

      “Don’t bet on it, son.”

      Eleanor pinned him with a disapproving look but he paid no attention, just grinned.

      “You all get ready for apple pie tomorrow night, all right?” He held her gaze just long enough to make her a little nervous.

      Eleanor stared at him. Apple pie? Surely he was joking. After an announcement like that, she found she couldn’t stop looking at him. Well, maybe it was more than his apple pie promise. Maybe it was his way of taking over, of making her feel...cared for somehow.

      She gave herself a mental shake. The man left her with an uneasy, fluttery feeling in her stomach. She watched Danny and Molly gobble down their beans, butter extra squares of corn bread and gulp down their milk. Then, without a word from her, they gathered up the plates and pumped water into the teakettle to heat for washing up the dishes.

      Things were certainly different since Cord Winterman had appeared at her door. She wasn’t sure she liked it. She wasn’t sure she even liked him. Could a man like that really deliver on a challenge to bake a pie? She didn’t think so for one minute. Not for one single minute!

      * * *

      That night, Cord lay awake in the loft until long past moonrise, not because he wasn’t tired from fixing the screen or the porch step or the front gate, but because Mama Cat brought her wriggly kittens to curl up against his back and he was afraid to roll over for fear of crushing them. He could move them, he supposed. But after a few hours he kinda liked hearing them purr next to him.

      You know what, Winterman? You are a damn fool.

      Maybe. He didn’t know exactly what he’d landed in here at Eleanor Malloy’s apple farm, but he was grateful for the roof over his head, even if the barn was drafty, and three meals a day with no one prodding him to hurry up or move on or...anything else.

      God, it was good to be here! It felt good to buy lumber at the sawmill, buy lemon drops for Molly and caramels for Danny. It felt especially good to talk to a pretty girl at the mercantile. What was her name? Fanny something. Even if she did giggle and flutter her eyelashes at him, it was good to know he still looked like a normal man on the outside, even if the inside was pretty much broken.

      He drifted off to sleep with Mama Cat warming his backside and a woman’s face floating in his mind. But it wasn’t Fanny What’s-her-name’s face. It was Eleanor Malloy’s.

      In the morning he milked Bessie, saved a saucerful for Mama Cat and the kittens, laid out the lumber to repair the rotten corral fence and ate the best breakfast he could remember in the last seven years. Molly fried up a mess of bacon, Daniel mixed up thick sourdough pancake batter and Eleanor made coffee with one hand and flipped pancakes with the other.

      She looked better this morning, more rested. The dark circles under her eyes seemed less pronounced. Maybe that nap yesterday afternoon had done her some good. Or maybe he should slip whiskey into her coffee more often.

      It took all day to repair the fence. Halfway through the afternoon he remembered his promise to bake an apple pie for tonight’s dessert. He was sure ending up doing some strange things on this farm, cuddling kittens and plying kids with lemon drops and caramels. And now he’d gotten himself into baking a pie. Still, any single hour of life here on this farm was better than sixty seconds of where he’d been before.

      After