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“Grandma, it’s a horse—Bessie.”
“Oh? Well, Bessie looks great.”
“Speaking of Bessie—” Evan latched on to the mare’s name “—have you fed your pony?” Okay, it was a stretch since the pony was called Sugar, but he was desperate to have Marge leave before Julia showed up. There was absolutely nothing between Julia and him, but he didn’t want to try and explain that to his mother-in-law. She had been sure his reluctance to date anyone was because he still loved Diane, so she took every opportunity to rewrite what her daughter had done—walking out on him, turning to drugs. Now that she was dead, he didn’t have the heart to straighten her out.
“I did when I got home from church.”
“And you’ve done your other chores in the barn?” Marge hated the barn and wouldn’t go near it. Much too dirty for her.
Paige nodded. “I’m all ready for Ellie’s lesson.”
Oh, great.
Right on cue, Marge’s head swung around toward him, and she gave him the look. “Ellie? Who’s Ellie?”
“My best friend. We go to school together. She’s coming out here this afternoon. Daddy is teaching her to ride.”
Okay, he might be able to get Marge out of here still without bringing Julia’s name into the conversation.
“I didn’t know you gave riding lessons. I have a friend whose granddaughter would love to learn.”
“I don’t usually.” Evan immediately realized his mistake and bit down on the inside of his mouth.
“He’s teaching her because Julia’s teaching Daddy to cook.”
“Julia? Who’s Julia?” Her look knifed through him.
“Ah, she’s…” He searched for a way to make it sound as if he wasn’t betraying Marge or her deceased daughter. “She’s…”
“She’s Ellie’s mom,” Paige chimed in. “She spent the night here last night.”
“What?” Marge’s eyes widened to the size of round platters.
“No. Paige meant Ellie. Ellie spent the night here.” His face felt on fire from embarrassment and Marge’s searing gaze.
Silence descended for a long moment, broken by the sound of footsteps on the front porch and a loud knock at the door. Caught red-handed. He would never hear the end of this.
“They’re here.” Paige clapped and raced to the entrance before Evan could move or think of a way of getting out of the awkward situation.
Chapter Three
T he large woman who stood directly behind Paige as the child opened the front door caused Julia to take a step back. Irritation puckered the lady’s thin lips into a frown, its full force directed at her.
Evan appeared and moved around his daughter, blocking Julia’s view of the unhappy woman. “Come in, y’all.” He took the grocery sack she held and hurried toward the kitchen, hiding the sack against his chest.
Julia advanced inside with Ellie next to her. Immediately, Paige dragged Ellie off toward her bedroom, leaving Julia to face the lady who was still frowning at her.
Evan came back into the room, minus the items she had picked up for their cooking lesson. “Marge, this is Julia Saunders. Ellie’s mother.”
Julia held out her hand to shake, but Marge just looked at her, ignoring the greeting. Julia dropped her arm back to her side and said, “It’s nice meeting you.”
“Marge is Paige’s grandmother.”
Evan’s mother? But there was no way Julia would ask that question out loud.
The large woman turned toward Evan. “May I have a word with you in private?”
“Sure.” Then to Julia he said, “I’ll be right back. Make yourself at home.” After the last sentence, he cringed and darted a glance at Marge.
As the two left, Julia sagged back against the wall near the front door. She felt as though she had interrupted something. Julia wanted to leave.
Instead—because she knew it would upset her daughter if they left early—Julia made her way back to Paige’s room. She didn’t want to overhear any comments between Evan and Marge. The two girls sat on a white-canopy bed with a cotton candy–pink coverlet over it.
Julia leaned against the doorjamb. “Are you ready for your second lesson?”
Ellie peered at her. “Yes! I dreamed about riding last night. I can’t remember what happened, but I woke up happy.”
The slamming of a door rattled Julia. She stiffened, then tried to relax so the two children didn’t think anything was wrong. But they heard the same sound, and both of their foreheads crinkled in question.
Before either of them said anything, Evan came down the hall, arranging his features in a calm expression when he stepped into the girls’ view. “Are you two ready to go ride?”
“Yes!” they shouted in unison.
Ellie leaped from the bed and hurried toward the hallway. Paige moved at a slower pace and paused by her father.
“Is Grandma all right? I thought she might stay and see us ride.”
“She needed to go home to Uncle Bert, so she couldn’t.”
“I wish she would watch me ride sometime.”
“She will, princess.”
Smiling now, Paige rushed after Ellie.
“Obviously, I came at a bad time,” Julia said, trailing after the two girls.
Evan asked, “Did they hear Marge leaving?”
“’Fraid so.”
He winced. “That’s what I thought. My mother-in-law didn’t understand why I wanted to learn to cook. She is perfectly content to fix our meals forever and she made that crystal clear to me.”
“So, that wasn’t your mother?”
“No! My mother died when I was a child. My father now lives in Dallas.”
“Why wouldn’t she want you to learn to cook?”
“Because she enjoys preparing our meals, but especially coming out here and showing me just how lacking I am in housekeeping skills. She’s angling to be our housekeeper, although she would hate ranch life.”
Julia surveyed the kitchen with its clean counters and lack of dirty dishes in the sink. “I’d say you do a good job.”
“Not according to my mother-in-law. She believes her granddaughter lives in a pigsty.”
Julia stopped next to the oak table with two yellow place mats on it. “You’re kidding! I was considering hiring you to come over to my apartment and clean it.”
Julia liked the sound of his laughter that suddenly warmed the small space between them. Any lingering tension from Marge dissipated as his gaze captured hers. Her heartbeat picked up speed.
He broke eye contact with her, focusing on the bag on the counter. “What are we cooking today?”
“Spaghetti.”
“The kind in a can?”
She shook her head. “I think you’ve probably mastered that. Let’s move on to something more challenging.”
“Are you sure that’s wise? I once boiled an egg that exploded in the pan because I forgot about it.”
“I’m sure. But I like to live dangerously.”
“You might regret saying that before this is over.” He looked beyond her to the back door. “We’d better get to the barn before my daughter has Bessie saddled and decides to give her own lesson.”
“She’s good for her age. How long has she been riding?”
“Almost two years. Since I’ve had the ranch. She was so enthralled with the horses that I was afraid she would try to ride on her own if I didn’t teach her.” He grabbed his cowboy hat from a peg near the door.
“Paige sounds more and more like my Ellie. No wonder they like each other.” Julia left the house first, conscious of Evan’s gaze on her as she descended the steps on the back stoop.
“I’m not sure if I’m glad or scared. Paige can be a whirlwind.”
Julia slanted her glance toward him as they strolled to the barn. She could easily picture him riding over his land, saving a calf that had fallen into a hole, mending his fences, breaking a wild horse—everything but being a cook.
“Why didn’t you just say cook the onions?” Evan crunched up his mouth, his eyebrows beetling, as he stood at the stove brandishing a wooden spoon in his hand as though it were a weapon.
“Because a recipe will say sauté. If you’re going to cook, you need to learn the terms, too. Words like whisk, brown, fold, caramelize.”
“Why would I caramelize anything? I don’t even like caramel.”
Julia pressed her lips together to keep from laughing out loud, but a chuckle or two escaped. “When you caramelize something like diced onions, you cook them until they are a caramel color.”
He pushed his hand through his hair. “All I want to learn are a few dishes so Paige and I won’t starve. Today has confirmed that I can’t continue to be so reliant on Marge. Now I discover I have to learn a whole new language. I’m almost afraid to ask what fold means in cooking. I know how to fold laundry.”
“First, stir the onions before they burn.”
Evan complied, 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.
