Family of Her Dreams. Keli Gwyn

cookstove. Tess tore her gaze from him, entered the dining room and stepped in his son’s path. She caught the little fellow’s raised arm as he passed. “Whoa there, young man.”

      He came to an abrupt stop and stared at her with eyes as big and round as washtubs. “Who are you?”

      “I’m Tess, and you must be Luke.”

      “What’re you doing here?”

      “Your papa is going to see if I’m the right person to look after you and your sister.”

      He shook his head wildly. “No! I don’t want you here. Go away.” He flew out of the house.

      She took off after him, hitching up her skirts with one hand, holding on to her hat with the other and running as fast as her high boot heels would allow. He dashed into the barn. She found him crouched in the corner of an empty stall, tears flowing over his flushed cheeks, and her heart went out to him. She approached slowly on tiptoes, but she bumped into a shovel leaning against the wall and sent it crashing to the floor.

      Luke prepared to bolt, but she caught him by the shoulders and held him tightly as he twisted and turned. She squatted so she wouldn’t tower over him. “I’m not going to hurt you, but I won’t let go until you settle down. You can’t run off like that. A ranch is a big place. You could get hurt.”

      “No, I couldn’t!”

      The little fellow showed no signs of giving up his struggle. He flailed his arms as he attempted to break free. “You’re coming with me, Master Luke.” She planted him on her hip and headed to the house. His fists flew, coming uncomfortably close to her face. Her ears rang from his shrieked protests.

      She reached the kitchen, where Mr. Abbott knelt in front of the stove filling two metal pails with glowing embers. He’d shed his coat and rolled up his shirtsleeves, revealing muscular arms. She had little time to take in the unexpected—albeit pleasing—sight because he turned toward her, exasperation etched in every line of his attractive face.

      “Quiet down, Luke,” he said in a firm voice. “Do something, Miss Grimsby. Please.”

      The mischievous boy ceased shouting long enough to send her a triumphant smirk.

      She’d had enough of his antics. No four-year-old, however unruly, would keep her from securing the position. She’d dealt with his kind before and knew just what to do. “I guess you don’t want to see what kind of candy I brought. I won’t give it to a boy who’s pitching a fit. I’ll set you down—if you agree to stay put. Will you do that?”

      He crossed his arms over his chest in such an adult manner Tess hid a smile. She rummaged in her reticule with her free hand and withdrew a small package. He followed her every move, his eyes glued to the peppermint stick she unwrapped.

      “Here. Why don’t you smell it?” She placed the striped sweet under his nose, pulling back when he attempted to snatch it. “You may have it if you’ll sit quietly while your papa cleans up the mess you made.” She indicated a chair at the kitchen table.

      The boy’s gaze was riveted on the red-and-white stick. He licked his lips. “I don’t like you, and you can’t make me.”

      “You don’t have to like me, and I won’t make you. You just have to do as I ask.” She set him down but kept a firm grip on his shoulder.

      His face scrunched in puzzlement. “You’re not mad?”

      Tess shook her head. “I understand. You want your mama, but she’s gone now. I know you don’t want me here, but you need someone to cook your food, wash your clothes and buy you candy, don’t you?”

      “You’ll buy me candy?”

      “I will.” Provided Mr. Abbott hired her.

      Luke studied her with the same intensity his father had. “Whenever I want?”

      “No. Candy is a treat, but you’d get it sometimes.” She released her hold on him.

      He sidled over to the chair and stood beside it a moment before sitting down. Tess handed him the sweet, which he promptly stuck in his mouth.

      Mr. Abbott hefted a pail in each hand and headed to the back door. She beat him there and held it open for him. His bright blue eyes held a hint of amusement—and something else. Attraction perhaps? Of course not. She must be seeing things.

      “I didn’t expect you to stoop to bribery.”

      “Oh, I wouldn’t classify it as bribery. I prefer to think of it as a reward for making a good choice.”

      “Whatever you call it, it worked.” She warmed at his approval and smiled at his retreating form.

      When Mr. Abbott and Mrs. Carter returned, he got the story out of her.

      “I kept my eyes peeled, Mr. Abbott, but you know how troublesome your young’un can be. Luke got into a scuffle with the baby. Both of ’em wanted to play with that canvas ball you brung ’em last week. Lila wouldn’t let him have it, so he smacked her. I told him to stand in the corner, but he don’t mind any better than I cook.”

      Judging by the deplorable state of the kitchen, cleaning wasn’t one of Mrs. Carter’s strengths, either. Dirty dishes were piled everywhere, chunks of dried food clinging to them. If the house hadn’t been filled with the overpowering stench that had greeted her, Tess would have been able to follow her nose to the kitchen.

      Mrs. Carter set Lila on a blanket with a pile of blocks. The little girl seemed content to play with them. “Sorry ’bout the trouble with the salve. I opened all the windows, but I don’t think it done much good.”

      Tess wrinkled her nose. “What kind of salve would make it smell like some poor creature died in here?”

      Mr. Abbott explained. “My dog has mange. I mixed lard and powdered sulfur, which I’ve been rubbing on him. It doesn’t have much of an odor normally, but it stinks something fierce if it’s burned.”

      She laughed. “I’ll say. So, what do we do?”

      “I got the stove cleared out. Now we wait for the smell to go away.”

      “And the dog?” she asked. “What about him?”

      “I’m keeping him in the barn until I get the mange under control. Could be a week or more.”

      Mrs. Carter patted Tess’s arm. “I’m awful glad you’re here, young lady. You got a big job ahead of you. The place needs a bit of sprucin’ up, but I done my best. Those young’uns need a firm hand. I spent most of my time chasin’ after Luke. He’s a real handful, that one. Mind you, don’t let him out of your sight.”

      Mr. Abbott washed up and donned his frock coat with its row of shiny brass buttons and a black armband to show he was in mourning. How sad that such a handsome man wore a perpetual frown. Perhaps one day she’d be able to make him smile.

      “Might I have a word, Miss Grimsby?”

      “Yes, sir.” She followed him onto the porch, doing her best to quell the queasiness his request had caused. Had she failed to please him already?

      He cleared his throat and ran a finger under his collar. If she didn’t know better, she’d say he was as uneasy as she. Surely, in his position, he was practiced in dismissing people.

      “I understand you were governess to a number of girls before but only one boy—all of them considerably older than my children. Do you think you’re up to dealing with my son? He can be a challenge at times.”

      Luke couldn’t begin to compare with some of the boys at the orphanage. “I am. Does this mean...?”

      “What it means is that I’m considering things. Show me what you can accomplish before I get home tonight, and we’ll talk.” He descended two steps, paused and inclined his head toward the house. “You might want to go back inside before Luke springs a surprise on you.”