Right then and there he decided to treat Miss Emily McCarthy with a brotherly indifference anytime he had to be around her - which was entirely too often to suit him.
Two at a time, Luke took the steps to the back porch and crossed to the kitchen door. Stomping his feet, he batted his hat against his thigh to knock off the snow and then went on inside. The big kitchen was steamy and warm and bustling with the women getting supper on the table.
He stuck his dead in the door and grinned. "Timed it just right, I see."
"Better hurry," Ida, the cook, said as she took up potatoes from a pot on the stove. A hired girl stood by the side table, ladling out bowls of gravy. He caught a glimpse of Molly's broad figure disappearing through the doorway with a plate of biscuits in each hand.
But no one else was in the kitchen.
Luke hung up his coat and hat on the hook board running down the length of the little room outside the kitchen. A shelf holding a bucket of water and a gray graniteware basin ran along the other side. On the wall behind it hung a mirror and a towel on a peg. He filled the basin and washed up quickly for supper. Then, two-handed, he combed his hair in the mirror, stooping so he could see better.
Ida called, "Supper's ready."
"On my way."
"Bring the pickles."
He ambled through the kitchen, grabbing up the pickle dish from the side table as he passed, and headed down the hall for the dining room to find Emily McCarthy so he could ignore her.
~ Excerpt from The Vigilante's Bride by Yvonne Harris.
No comments:
Post a Comment