A Mother For Cindy. Margaret Daley

      “Jesse, dear, I think you should turn the hamburgers.” Susan scooped up some dip on a chip and popped it into her mouth.

      Caught off guard, Jesse spun about and hurried toward the grill. She flipped the patties over, grimacing when she noticed the slightly charred side. “I really can cook, Nick. I’ve been distracted this evening. Normally one of my parties goes over without a hitch.”

      “How often do you entertain?” Nick asked, amusement dancing in his eyes.

      “Oh, whenever the urge strikes me.” She waved her hand in the air as though to dismiss the subject as unimportant and hoped no one commented.

      “I have to admit, this is a beautiful setting for a dinner. I had my doubts about eating outside with those two so near.” Nick tossed his head in the direction of the geese now waddling toward the lake. “But you were right. They’re staying away.”

      Fred flapped his wings as though he knew he was being discussed. Jesse chuckled. “You probably shouldn’t take a tour of my backyard any time soon.”

      “You’ll have no argument from me.”

      The back door burst open again, and the children, followed by Boswell, came out onto the deck. Cindy and Nate raced toward them, skidding to a halt a foot in front of them.

      Cindy grinned, showing her missing front tooth. “Daddy, you should see Nate’s room. He has so many pets. I got to hold Julia, Rita and Sadie. They’re gerbils. Julia went to the bathroom on Boswell.”

      Jesse swallowed her laugh and tried her best to keep a straight face. Looking at Boswell, she noticed a wet spot on his black suit coat. “I’m sorry. She does that sometimes when she’s picked up. Nate should have warned you.”

      “It must have slipped his mind.” Boswell sent a censured look toward Nate.

      “It did, Mom. Promise.”

      “I just came out here to tell you, Mr. Blackburn, that I’m going back to the house to change.”

      “Sure.” Nick, too, was having a hard time keeping his mirth to himself if the gleam glittering in his eyes was any indication.

      “Please, begin eating without me. I know the children are hungry.”

      When Boswell disappeared, Jesse and Nick couldn’t contain their laughter any longer. “I wish I could have seen his expression when that happened,” Jesse said, wiping the tears from her eyes.

      “His face turned real red.” Nate grabbed a handful of chips and stuffed them into his mouth.

      “I never saw Boswell move so fast.” Cindy giggled. “I wanted to play with the animals longer, but Boswell thought we should join the adults.”

      “Is Boswell a nanny?” Susan asked.

      Cindy pulled her father over to the other love seat. “Oh, no. Boswell is a manservant,” she answered in a serious tone as though she had been corrected before about Boswell’s role and wouldn’t make that mistake again.

      While Nick and Cindy got to know her family, Jesse finished the dinner preparations and put the food on the long picnic table she’d already set earlier. She removed Tara’s place setting, genuinely happy for her friend. Tara wouldn’t have been right for Nick, Jesse decided, now that she knew him better. Tara was flighty and so absentminded that she would have driven Nick crazy after the first date. No, she would have to find someone more disciplined and in control, more organized.

      God, please help me to find someone for Nick, someone to be a good mother for Cindy.

      As she called the others to the table, the perfect match came to Jesse’s mind. Felicia Winters, the lady with the kittens, and Jesse knew how she could get them together without raising Nick’s suspicion with another dinner party. She smiled as she sat between Gramps and Nate and across from Nick. She looked right into his dark eyes and shivered. He was staring at her with an intense, probing gaze as though he were trying to read what was going on in her mind. Heavens, she couldn’t have that!

      “Do you think Boswell will come back?” Nate asked after Jesse said the prayer. He bit down on his hamburger, managing to stuff a third of it into his mouth.

      “Young man, this isn’t a race to see who finishes first.” Jesse passed the baked beans to Gramps.

      Her son stopped chewing for a few seconds, then swallowed his food, making a gulping sound. Jesse rolled her eyes and hoped she didn’t run out of patience.

      Nate slurped some of his milk, leaving a white mustache on his face. “Sorry, Mom.”

      She unfolded his napkin and gave it to him. “Please wipe your mouth.”

      “Jesse, he’s doing fine. He’s just being a boy.”

      Jesse resisted the urge to nudge her grandfather in the side to keep him quiet. Instead, she sent him a narrowed look. She loved Gramps, but he wasn’t the best role model for her son. Thankfully he wasn’t cussing like he used to. When he’d first come to live with them three years before, she remembered having to cover her son’s ears on more than one occasion.

      “Mr. Blackburn, do you think Boswell will be coming back?” Nate asked again after wiping the napkin across his mouth. Her son took a smaller bite of his hamburger this time.

      “He rarely passes up a meal he doesn’t have to cook.”

      “Boswell cooks?” Nate screwed his face into an expression of disbelief. “Gramps wouldn’t be caught dead in the kitchen.”

      “He does more than cook. He takes care of Cindy and me.”

      A frown creased Nate’s forehead. “He’s a maid?”

      Nick leaned forward. “I wouldn’t say that too loud. He doesn’t like to be referred to as a maid.”

      “But that’s what he is,” Gramps cut in between bites of his baked beans.

      This time Jesse did nudge her grandfather in the side.

      He grunted. “Well, child, if he cleans up the house, he’s doing the work of a maid. If he ain’t proud of his job, then he shouldn’t do it.”

      “I’m very proud of my vocation,” Boswell said from the steps that led up onto the deck.

      Gramps shot him a suspicious glance. “I wouldn’t be hanging around down there too long. No telling when Fred will—”

      “Gramps! You know Fred isn’t that bad. Don’t scare Cindy.”

      Her grandfather mumbled something under his breath and resumed eating.

      “I’m not scared,” Cindy announced to the silent table of people.

      Boswell sat next to Susan Reed and smiled at her as he placed his napkin in his lap. “I must say the aroma coming from here would entice anyone to crash this party.”

      “I love your British accent. How long have you been in this country?” Susan asked, her whole face lit with a smile.

      Gramps muttered something else, just low enough that no one else could hear. Jesse was thinking about stomping on his foot to keep him quiet, but decided nothing would keep her grandfather quiet if he chose otherwise.

      “Twenty years.”

      “Then you’re practically an American.”

      Boswell looked shocked at even the thought of not being considered English. He tightened his mouth while his hand clutched his fork, his knuckles white.

      “This is the best—” her grandfather paused, groping for the right words to say with children listening “—country in the world,” he interjected in the conversation between Boswell and Susan.

      Boswell’s face turned beet-red. His knuckles whitened even more around the fork still clenched in his hand.

      Jesse