A Man For Honor. Emma Miller

come along and lend a hand. I’ve bathed my share of unwilling kinner. And, I promise you, they won’t get the best of me.” She fixed Luke with a determined gaze. “Honor and Luke have some matters to discuss in private, anyway. Don’t you?”

      He nodded, feeling a little intimidated by Sara. She reminded him of his late mother.

      “I wrote to you,” he said when they were alone, as he held out his cold fingers to the warm woodstove. “I wrote every month since I heard that...that your husband passed. You refused my letters and they were returned.” He searched her face, looking for some hint that she still cared for him...that she could forgive him. “I apologized for—”

      “I didn’t want to hear what you had to say then or now,” she answered brusquely.

      He exhaled. “Honor, I was wrong. I regret what I did, but I can’t change the past.” Only a few feet separated them. He wanted to go to her, to clasp her hands in his. But he didn’t; he stood where he was. “I’m sorry, Honor. What more can I say?”

      “That you’ll go back to Kansas and leave me in peace.”

      “I can’t do that.” He gestured to the nearest leak in the ceiling. “You need help. And I’m here to do whatever you need. I’m a good carpenter. I can fix whatever’s broken.”

      “Can you?” she asked softly.

      And, for just a second, he saw moisture gleam in her large blue eyes. Emotion pricked the back of his throat. They weren’t talking about the house anymore. They were talking about their hearts.

      “I can try,” he said softly.

      She shook her head. “It’s over, Luke. Whatever we had, whatever I felt for you, it’s gone.”

      He stared at the floor. Despite her words, he still felt a connection to Honor. And he had a sense that what she was saying wasn’t necessarily how she felt. So he took a leap of faith. He lifted his head to look into her eyes. “I’ll be here first thing tomorrow morning with my tools. I know you hate me, but—”

      “I don’t hate you, Luke.”

      “Good, then we’ve a place to start. As I said, I’ll be here early in the morning to start patching your roof.”

      “Patching won’t do,” she said, looking up and gesturing. “Look at this. The whole thing needs replacing.”

      “We’ll see. If it can’t be patched, I’ll find a crew and we’ll put on a new roof.”

      She faced him squarely, arms folded, chin up. “I want no favors from you.”

      “Then you’ll have none. You can pay me whatever the going hourly wage is. I’ll start in this kitchen and go from there. I’ll mend whatever needs doing.”

      She pursed her lips, lips he’d once kissed and wanted desperately to kiss again. “You will, will you? And what if I lock the door on you?”

      “You won’t.”

      Darker blue clouds swirled in the depths of her beautiful eyes. “And what makes you so certain of that?”

      “Because you’ll think better of it. You didn’t expect to see me here, and you’re still angry. I get that. But you always had good sense, Honor. When you consider what’s best for you and your children, you’ll decide I’m the lesser of two evils.”

      “Which is?”

      “Putting up with me doing your repairs is better than living with a leaky roof and a fallen windmill.” He smiled at her. “And you will agree to let me do it. Because turning me away isn’t smart, and you’ve always been the smartest woman I’ve ever known.”

       Chapter Three

      Honor pulled back the curtain and peered out the kitchen window. Maybe he won’t come, she told herself. By this morning, he’s realized he doesn’t belong here. He’ll give up and go back to Kansas. Go somewhere. She certainly didn’t want him here in Kent County. She didn’t want to take the chance of running into him at Byler’s Store or on the street in Dover. Luke Weaver was out of her life, and there was no way that she would ever let him back in again. She couldn’t.

      “Mam!” Elijah wailed. “My turn. My turn!”

      “It’s not!” Justice countered. “He went first. I want to feed the lamb. I want to feed—” with each word, her middle son’s voice grew louder until he was shouting “—the lamb!”

      “You already did. He did,” Tanner said. “Besides, he’s too little. They’re both too little. It’s my job to—”

      “Please stop,” Honor admonished as she turned away from the window, letting the curtain fall. It was foolish to keep looking for Luke. He wasn’t coming. She didn’t want him to come. She didn’t know why was she looking for him. “I warned the three of you about fighting over the bottle.” She crossed the kitchen and took the bottle out of Tanner’s hands. “If you can’t get along, none of you get to feed her. Go and wash your hands. With soap.”

      The children scattered. The lamb bleated and wagged her stub of a tail. The old wooden playpen that had once confined her oldest son had been pressed into service as a temporary pen for the orphan lamb that had been silly enough to come into the world the previous night. It wasn’t really an orphan, but the mother had refused to let it nurse, so it was either tend to it or see it die.

      And the truth was that Honor had a soft spot for animals. She couldn’t bear to see them in distress. She had to do whatever she could to save them. And the barn was too cold for a smaller-than-usual lamb with a careless mother. So it was added to the confusion that already reigned in her kitchen. It wasn’t a good option, but she could think of no other.

      Honor held the bottle at an angle, letting the lamb suck and wondering whether it would be possible to put a diaper on the fluffy animal. Probably not, she decided. She’d just have to change the straw bedding multiple times a day. At least here in her kitchen, near the woodstove, she wouldn’t have to worry about keeping the little creature warm. And the rain had stopped, assuring that both animal and children wouldn’t have to endure trickles of water dripping on their heads. “Thank You, God,” she murmured.

      There was a clatter of boots on the stairs and the three boys spilled into the kitchen again. “We’re hungry,” Tanner declared. He held up his damp hands to show that he’d washed.

      Greta wandered into the room behind them, baby Anke in her arms. Anke giggled and threw up her hands for Honor to take her.

      “Just a minute, kuche,” Honor said. “I have to finish giving the lamb her breakfast.”

      “I want breakfatht,” Elijah reminded her.

      Greta had made a huge batch of oatmeal earlier, but she’d burned it. It wasn’t ruined, simply not pleasant. Raisins and cinnamon could make it edible, Honor supposed. But then she weakened. “I’ll make you egg and biscuit,” she offered.

      “With scrapple,” Justice urged. “Scrapple.”

      Justice liked to say the word. He didn’t like scrapple, wouldn’t eat meat of any kind, but the other boys did.

      The other two took up the chant. “Scrapple, scrapple!”

      Justice grinned. Sometimes, looking at him, Honor wondered just what would become of him when he was grown. He was a born mischief maker and unlikely to become a bishop. That was for certain.

      The lamb drained the last of the formula from the bottle, butted her small head against the back of Honor’s hand and kicked up her heels.

      “She wants more,” Tanner proclaimed, but Honor shook her head. Lambs, like children, often wanted to eat more than was good for them. She went to the sink and washed her hands, then looked around