A Texas Thanksgiving. Margaret Daley

muttering something under his breath that he at least understood the word burn.

      “When you fold something in, you slowly add it to a mixture, gently turning over the batter as you do. For example, you might fold strawberries into a cake batter. You wouldn’t want to stir them too vigorously.”

      “No, I’m sure I wouldn’t.”

      “Now that the onions are clear and the meat is brown, it’s time to add the rest of the ingredients, turn the heat down and let the sauce simmer.”

      “Is simmering in cooking similar to a temper simmering?” He dumped in a can of diced tomatoes. Some of the liquid splattered on him and the stove.

      “Yes, like browning meat is just what it means. You’ll want the meat to turn brown—not black or stay pink.” She gave him a dish towel to wipe his hands.

      “But I like a steak red.”

      “That’s a steak, not ground beef. You don’t want it red or pink when making a sauce.”

      “This isn’t gonna be easy, is it?” He added the tomato paste.

      “You’ll get the hang of it.” She hoped, and sent a silent prayer to the Lord for guidance. She loved to cook but had never taught another person how. “My plan is to teach you to prepare a few meals that children like to eat. Things like macaroni and cheese, spaghetti, pizza.”

      “Pizza? You don’t just order it from a restaurant?”

      She laughed. “Believe it or not, some people actually make it in their homes.”

      “I guess stranger things have happened.” He put in the last of the spices that she had taught him to measure earlier—or rather, demonstrated how. “Done.”

      Julia pointed to the knob on the front of the stove. “Turn it down halfway between low and medium. Now we’ll get the water on for the spaghetti.”

      “That shouldn’t be too hard. I do know how to boil water.”

      “Unless you leave an egg in it too long.”

      “Spaghetti doesn’t explode, does it?”

      The smile he sent her caused a fluttering in her stomach. “Not to my knowledge, but you can overcook it.” She gestured toward a pot, trying to dismiss her reaction to his heart-melting grin. “Let’s fill it three-quarters of the way and put some salt in.”

      He followed her instruction, placing the water on the burner. Julia handed him the salt. When he sprinkled it into the liquid, she turned to put the spices away in the cabinet next to the stove.

      When she glanced back at him a minute later, she caught him staring at her, still sprinkling salt into the water. She clamped her hand around his wrist and yanked it back. “What are you doing?”

      He looked down at the pan. “Putting salt in the water like you said.”

      “A little of it goes a long way.”

      “I didn’t use a lot.”

      Her gaze connected with his. The fragrance of onion, tomatoes, spices and ground beef cooking teased her nostrils. The sound of the water beginning to boil competed with the ticking of the wall clock. But for a few seconds none of that really registered. All of her senses centered on the man being so close. She could smell a hint of lime in his aftershave lotion. The depths of his eyes glinted a smoky blue. She felt the pull of them.

      Giggling from the living room dispelled the moment. When he looked away, she realized she was still holding his arm and immediately released her grasp, backing away a few steps.

      “Uh,” she grappled for something to say, “why don’t you put a little oil into the water?”

      “Why would I want to do that?” His face scrunched up in an expression of horror.

      “Because the spaghetti will clump together after it’s cooked if you don’t.”

      “You see? How in the world will I ever learn all these little tricks?”

      “It takes time. You won’t learn to cook overnight.” Although she wished he would, so her job would be done. She grabbed the bottle of oil and passed it to him. “Just a little.” After he finished, she continued and said, “It’s time to put the spaghetti into the water and turn the heat down to medium.”

      Completing the task, he stood back and eyed the pots on the stove. “What’s next?”

      Julia held up her finger, glanced over her shoulder and said, “Girls, do you want to come on in here, instead of lurking in the doorway, and set the table?”

      “How did ya know we were here?” Paige appeared from the right side of the entrance.

      “Yeah, Mommy, we were being extra quiet.” Ellie shuffled into view from the left side and positioned herself next to her friend.

      “I could have super hearing, but in this case I heard two little girls giggling rather loudly a moment ago.”

      “Are we gonna be able to eat the food?” Paige entered the room and clasped the back of a chair at the table.

      “Do I detect doubt in my daughter? This is gonna be the best spaghetti y’all have ever had. Isn’t that right, Julia?” When she didn’t say anything right away, a stricken look descended on his face. “You’re supposed to stand behind your pupil. After all, isn’t that a reflection on your teaching ability?”

      She had her doubts since she realized she should have had Evan throw out the water he had salted and just start over.

      “Girls, I’m going to let you be the judges. A teacher shouldn’t. I don’t want to discourage the pupil.” Julia removed four dinner plates and glasses from the cabinet and placed them on the table.

      While Paige and Ellie set the table, they kept peering back at Evan and Julia at the stove and whispering between them, which immediately caused several giggles to erupt.

      Julia leaned close, lowered her voice, but not too low so the girls couldn’t hear and said to Evan, “I think my next teaching job is to show Paige and Ellie how to load the dishwasher and clean up. I don’t think six is too young to learn that.” She winked at him.

      “Mommy, I’m five. I won’t be six for a couple of weeks.”

      “Oh, right. You think Evan and I should do the dishes then?”

      Ellie nodded, a serious expression on her face. “You’d better. I’m still too young.”

      Julia couldn’t suppress her laughter any longer, its sound sprinkling the air. She spun away from her daughter in time to see the water boiling over. Quickly, she snatched the pot from the stove. A burning smell floated to her as she dumped the pasta into the strainer in the sink.

      “A word to the wise, don’t let little munchkins distract you from your cooking,” Julia said as she switched off the heat on both burners. “Is the table finished?”

      “Yep.” Paige pointed to the nearest place setting, her shoulders thrust back, her chin held high.

      Next to the little girl, Ellie imitated her friend’s stance. “We did good.”

      Other than the six pieces of silverware at each plate, Julia had to agree. “Then let’s eat. Bring your plates over to the counter and take the spaghetti you want.”

      Five minutes later with dinner served, Julia took the last vacant chair next to Evan and sat. “Who would like to say grace?” she asked when she noticed Evan reaching for one of his three forks to eat.

      He stopped and looked at her. “Oh, yeah. I will.” He bowed his head. “Father, please bless this food and the people at this table. If You can find the time, You might help me learn how to cook. I could sure use Your help. Amen.”

      When Julia murmured amen more enthusiastically than usual, he shot