The Holiday Courtship. Winnie Griggs

looked up, his worry plain. “Is Chloe okay?”

      “She’s embarrassed, but otherwise all right.”

      Alex seemed to accept her words at face value and his mood lightened as he took his seat again. Janell met Mr. Chandler’s gaze over the boy’s head and saw the relief in his expression as well.

      She spooned some of the remaining cobbler into Alex’s dish, then turned to do the same for his uncle.

      But Mr. Chandler stopped her. “It wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of me to eat while you finish cleaning the mess.” And he went back to work wiping down a table leg.

      Well, well, the man wasn’t afraid of housework, nor did he seem to consider it strictly woman’s work. A nice surprise.

      By the time the two of them had the mess cleaned up, Alex had finished his cobbler.

      “May I be excused?” the boy asked. The question seemed to be directed at her, but Janell waved a hand Mr. Chandler’s way, letting Alex know she thought it his uncle’s place to answer.

      Mr. Chandler nodded. “Yes, of course. But carry your dishes to the counter first.”

      His attempt to instill some discipline surprised Janell yet again. The more she was around this man, the more persuaded she became that he actually had the makings of a good father.

      Once the boy left the kitchen, no doubt headed to check in on Chloe, Janell waved a hand toward the table. “Ready for your cobbler?” There was just enough for one serving left.

      “Only if you share it with me.”

      “Oh, but—”

      “I insist.”

      “Perhaps I’ll have just a bite.” But before she could serve it up, he performed the task for her and made sure the remaining cobbler was divided equally.

      Yet more proof that despite his sometimes gruff manner, Mr. Chandler was a gentleman at heart.

      Why was this man still a bachelor? Didn’t the single women of Turnabout see what a catch he was?

      * * *

      As they dug into the dessert, Hank wondered how he would have handled all of this afternoon’s little upsets without Miss Whitman’s assistance.

      As if reading his mind, the schoolteacher gave him an apologetic smile. “I hope you won’t let this worry you overmuch. Such things happen, even with hearing children, and a girl of Chloe’s age is easily embarrassed.”

      Was this what he had to look forward to? “Surely there’s a way to minimize these incidents.”

      “No need to look so horrified. I assure you you’ll get through this. Once the children settle in, and get used to having you as their guardian, things will settle down. But first we need to help Chloe realize her life isn’t over.”

      She stood to clear the table, but he tried to wave her back down.

      “Don’t worry about the dishes—I can take care of that later. You’ll want to head home before dark and I’d like for us to have that talk while we can.”

      She nodded but didn’t pause. “Of course. But I can talk while I work.”

      Stubborn woman. He grabbed their plates and marched to the sink.

      She raised a brow. “Do you prefer to wash or dry?”

      “Dry.” If he was the one to put the dishes away, it might keep her from rearranging any more of his cupboards.

      She nodded and began filling the basin. “First of all, is there someone you have in mind who’ll keep an eye on the children while you’re at work?”

      “Not yet, but I’m hoping Aunt Rowena will arrive by Monday or Tuesday at the latest. I figure, until she gets here or I can make other arrangements, I’ll only go to the sawmill while they’re at school.”

      She turned to face him, her eyes wide with disbelief. “You can’t possibly be contemplating sending these children to school on Monday.”

      From the way she asked the question, it was obvious the correct answer was no. But her tone got his back up. “Why not? Attending school is something they’ll be familiar with. I would think the sooner I set routines for them, the sooner they’ll adjust to their new life.”

      “School might be familiar to them, but not this school and not under these circumstances.” She looked him straight in the eyes. “Have you forgotten that Chloe will have no idea how to communicate with either the other students or with her teacher?”

      “Of course not. But you’re her teacher and you said you’ve dealt with this before. And that slate you brought seemed to work pretty well.”

      She waved a hand dismissively, not seeming to notice the droplets of water she dispensed in the process. “The slate is just a stopgap measure to use here at home. It’s not something that will serve her in more public situations.”

      He wanted to challenge that declaration, but decided to hold his peace. “What about Alex? Surely it would be good for him to go? It doesn’t seem right for him to be constantly looking out for his sister the way he does.”

      “I agree—you absolutely do need to separate the two, for Alex’s good as well as Chloe’s. Alex can’t make worrying about his sister his whole world the way he’s trying to right now.”

      He sensed there was a but coming.

      “But he is worried about her and he does feel a sense of responsibility for her.”

      He sighed.

      “You can’t just tell him to let it go and expect it to happen,” she continued. “Alex needs some kind of assurance that Chloe will be okay without having him constantly by her side before he can focus on class work and on just being a little boy. If we do our job right, I’m hoping he’ll be ready by midweek.”

      He supposed he should be happy that at least they agreed on the need to separate the children. “Just what does doing our job right entail?” She had yet to describe exactly how she planned to help Chloe.

      “It means we prove to Alex that we have Chloe’s best interest at heart, that even though she won’t necessarily be happy with her situation, we are doing whatever we can to make it better for her.”

      She continued to say we, as if she didn’t plan to just give him the necessary tools and leave but actually planned to help him wield them. It gave him hope that perhaps he could convince her to make her involvement with the children more permanent.

      But now wasn’t the time to bring that up. “We keep talking around the main question. Again, how do we help Chloe?”

      “We’ve already started. You’re doing what you can to give both of them the stability of a home. But you need to take the next step.” She looked at him diffidently, as if she wasn’t sure if she should say whatever was on her mind.

      “And just what is that next step?” he asked.

      “You must show them that you’re not only willing to make a home for them here, but that you are pleased to do so, that you don’t resent their presence in your life.”

      He shrugged. “That’s no problem because I don’t resent them.” Not exactly, anyway.

      “Don’t you?”

      Who did she think she was to judge him? “No. But what I do resent, Miss Whitman, are the circumstances that put us all in this position. I resent that some careless yahoo, who was more worried about his schedule than the safety of innocent folk, drove a load of explosives through town instead of going the long way around to the mine like he was supposed to. I resent that my sister died much too young and I will never, ever see her again. And I resent that she will never get the chance to see her children grow up