Lady of Light (26 page)

“So, how are you, Evan?” Hannah finally asked. “Since you left, you’ve never been far from my thoughts or prayers.”

He glanced away, suddenly awkward and tonguetied. “I’m doing okay.” He looked back at her. “How about you?”

She smiled. “I’m very happy, Evan. The Lord has blessed me with a good man and wonderful children.”

“Funny thing.” Evan gave a sharp, bitter laugh. “I never thought I’d ever hear you speak of Devlin in such terms.”

“Nor would I, especially after I first came to Culdee Creek. But he’s changed, Evan. Truly he has.”

“So he claims.” As unwilling as Evan was to admit it, he was beginning to see the changes as well in his cousin. He just wasn’t quite ready to put words to that acknowledgment.

Hannah eyed him intently. “I’m glad you finally found the right woman for you.” She paused to brush a windblown tendril of hair from her face. “I never, ever, was that woman, you know.”

He didn’t particularly want to acknowledge that truth either, but he did. “No, I reckon you weren’t, though it still hurt like the dickens anyway, when I lost you.”

“But the pain’s better now, isn’t it?” she asked, a hopeful look in her eyes. “Now that you’re back home? Now that you have Claire?”

“Yeah,” he agreed with a smile, “I reckon it is.” The intense pain, the seething anger, the aching sense of loss were indeed beginning to subside. The realization surprised—and heartened—him.

Evan hesitated, loath to burden Hannah with what he must next ask, but knowing he must. “Look, I’ve got to get to work. The reason I came by was to see if you could help Claire with the lunch and supper meals each day. Beth’s pretty good helping out with breakfast, but school keeps her busy the rest of the day.”

“Is Claire having problems with Old Bess?”

He chuckled. The cookstove was infamous around the ranch. “Yeah, and also with mastering a lot of the kind of stick-to-your-ribs cooking the hands need. She tries real hard, and will be able to do it all in time, but right now …”

“I’ll be glad to help her.” Hannah smiled warmly. “You only had to ask.”

“I kind of figured you would.” Evan stared down into her striking, turquoise blue eyes and, for an instant, lost himself once more in memories. “I’m much obliged.”

“And I’m much obliged,” she said, stepping closer, “for all the help you’ve been to Devlin since Abby and Conor left. He’s really grateful for your support, you know?”

“Pa put him in charge, and I told Pa I’d do what had to be done.”

“Still, I know it’s been hard for you, Evan.” Hannah lifted a hand to him, then, as if suddenly remembering herself, slowly let it fall to her side. “I just wanted you to know I’m sorry for all the pain I caused you, and hope you’ll forgive me. I’d like to think that we might someday be friends again.”

“You did what you thought was best.” He took her hand and gave it a quick squeeze. “In the end, that’s all anyone can do.”

“Yes,” she murmured, stepping back, “that’s all anyone can do.”

Evan stood there for a moment longer, wanting to say more, but not knowing what to say. Then he shoved his Stetson back on his head. “Well, I’d best be going.”

Hannah nodded. “Yes. And I’d best be gathering up the children and heading over to help Claire with lunch.”

“Well, thanks again.” He backed away, then turned and strode off in the direction of the barns. As he walked along, Evan’s emotions roiled crazily. He was pleasantly surprised how well his first real talk with Hannah had gone. There had been no rancor on his part, no defensiveness on hers. Sure, the confrontation had been tinged with a certain sadness, but overlying it, as well, was a strong sense of mutual caring and concern.

He supposed that caring and concern was what mattered most of all to him. Things would never be as they once were between them, but it was still good to know they might someday again be friends. Above everything else, he had always valued Hannah’s friendship.

Yes, things were indeed looking up, he mused as he walked along. Then a sudden movement in the main house’s upstairs bedroom caught his eye. He glanced up just in time to catch a glimpse of a lace curtain falling back in place.

Evan frowned. Claire had gone upstairs to wash her face. Had she been standing there the whole time, watching them? A fleeting unease curled within, then he firmly quashed it. Claire didn’t know about him and Hannah. If she had been watching them, it was only because she was trying to ascertain Hannah’s reaction to being asked to come help her.

He probably
should
tell her about Hannah sometime soon, though, Evan decided, as the already stiff breeze picked up, sending dirt and leaves careening around him. He had put it off too long as it was. Still, it might not be the greatest timing in the world to tell Claire right now. Best he wait a while longer, leastwise until Hannah finished teaching her what she needed to know.

Somehow, Claire managed to make it through that long, blustery afternoon. She lost count of how many times she bit her tongue rather than deliver some peevish reply to Hannah’s innocent questions or good-hearted comments. It was nothing, however, compared to her feelings of utter inadequacy with the mountain of information the blonde-haired woman offered. She found herself growing increasingly confused and frustrated.

Her fierce Highland pride, however, refused to allow her to admit her shortcomings. She’d understand it all in time, Claire kept telling herself. All she needed was just a little more time.

“Well, I suppose that’s enough for one day, don’t you think?” Hannah asked as she shoved three big dishes of beefsteak pie into the oven to bake. She straightened, wiped her flour-coated hands on her apron, and pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “What with the boiled carrots and turnips, the fresh bread, and the custard for dessert, there should be enough food to please the men.”

Claire, busy filling the sink with hot water to soak all the pots and pans, glanced up. “Aye, it should indeed. Thank you for your help today, Hannah.”

Devlin’s wife smiled. “Think nothing of it. When I first came to Culdee Creek, I had no cooking skills at all. It took Abby months to teach me enough to be of any help. You, on the other hand, only need a bit of fine tuning.”

In spite of her determination to keep an emotional distance from Hannah, Claire brightened. “Do you really think so? I feel like such a dolt, dashing about the kitchen each day, frantically trying to prepare a decent meal on time.”

“It just takes experience. Once you work out a schedule and develop some comfort with a variety of recipes, all this will seem easy.” A considering look on her pretty face, Hannah untied her apron and removed it. “You know, for the time being, maybe it’d be best if you worked out a weekly menu. That way you can plan better, and incorporate any leftovers into one of the next day’s meals.”

“Aye,” Claire agreed grudgingly, “that might be best.”

“See what you can do tonight to plan lunch and supper for the rest of the week,” Hannah said as she walked over and hung her apron on a peg near the stove. Behind them, a particularly forceful blast of wind slammed into the house. “In the morning, after breakfast, we’ll look over your plan.”

“But I don’t know enough recipes to devise a whole week’s worth of menus!” Claire protested, her frustration swelling anew. “Leastwise, not recipes that would please most of the men anyway.”

“Here, use this.” Hannah grabbed up a maroon, leather bound book from one of the cupboards and handed it to Claire. “It’s the
Fannie Farmer Cookbook.
I can’t tell you how many times I borrowed it from Abby when I first took over housekeeping and cooking for Devlin and his family.”

Reluctantly, Claire accepted the book from Hannah. She hated feeling beholden to her, especially after the tender scene she had witnessed this morning between her and Evan. Watching them from the upstairs bedroom window, the last vestiges of doubt that the two had once shared some special relationship had vanished.

The truth was painfully clear. Hannah and Evan still cared for each other. All that remained to be discovered was how deeply.

To contain the jealous anger that suddenly flared within her, Claire clutched the book to her chest. “Thank you, Hannah,” she managed to grit out the words. “I’ll work on the menus this verra night.”

Hannah nodded. “Then I’ll leave you to finish up here while I head home.” She walked over, picked up a chubby Bonnie and settled her on her hip, then took little Jackson’s hand. “Come along, Mary,” she called to the five-year-old who sat coloring quietly in the parlor. In but a few minute’s time, Claire found herself once more alone in the kitchen.

With a sigh, she poured herself a cup of tea and carried it to the table. Wiping away a coating of flour where they had rolled out the piecrust topping for the beefsteak pie, she placed her cup on the table and sat.

Outside, the winds continued to blow, seemingly with even more force and fury now. It had started out such a quiet, peaceful day, Claire mused, her thoughts turning pensive. Yet, just as her feelings had become more turbulent and fitful as the day went on, so, it seemed, had the weather. The winds, however, appeared determined to continue their pounding, howling power, while all Claire wanted now was a bit of peace and quiet.

Confused emotions assailed her. All day Hannah had been patient and kind, tirelessly explaining everything and demonstrating various techniques that simplified the cooking process. She had shown Claire additional tricks to try to get Old Bess working at her best. And never once had she complained, or acted put out to be helping Claire.

It made it hard to harbor any grudges against the woman. If the truth were told, Claire could see why Evan had fallen in love with her. She could see why he might love her still.

That admission, however, was almost more than Claire could bear. She
must
talk to Evan about his past with Hannah. She knew she must. But the longer she put off that confrontation, the worse her fears became. The greater her doubts grew. And it wasn’t as if, in the past eleven days since his parents had departed, Evan had been the easiest man to get along with, much less talk to.

What Claire needed was someone to confide in. Someone who could advise her about how best to handle this matter. But Abby was gone, and, considering Hannah was part of the problem, Devlin’s wife could hardly serve as a confidante. There was, though, Claire realized in relief, Millie Starr.

But how to find enough time to ride to Grand View and visit the woman? she wondered. By the time she finished cleaning up after breakfast, it was time to start lunch preparations; and by the time she finished serving and cleaning up after lunch, it was time to start supper.

There
had
to be a way, Claire vowed—and she had to see Millie soon. This gnawing uncertainty couldn’t go on much longer.

The parlor’s front door opened. Two people stomped in, then the door slammed shut. “I told you, Elizabeth,” Ian’s voice rose, gruff and angry, “it’s best you let me handle this. No one need be the wiser—”

A windblown Ian stalked into the kitchen and saw his sister sitting at the table. His next words died on his lips. He paled, and slid to a halt.

Claire gasped. “By mountain and sea, Ian Sutherland!” she cried, noting his black eye, bruised cheekbone, and split lip. “Whatever happened to you?” She pushed back her chair, stood, and hurried to him.

His shirt was torn at the shoulder, his trousers smeared with grass stains and mud, and his hands were scratched and abraded. A trickle of dried blood wound from his collar to the middle of his chest. Claire grabbed his hand to pull him closer. Ian hissed in pain and jerked back.

She eyed him suspiciously. “What’s wrong with your hands, Ian? Let me see them.”

“Nay.” Firmly, her brother shook his head and shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. “There’s naught wrong with them, save they’re a wee bit bruised from punching some lads in their smug, sneering faces.”

“Och, nay, Ian!” Claire rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Don’t tell me you were fighting at school again!”

“He only did so to protect me,” Beth declared hotly, stepping forward to stand at Ian’s side. “Some boys started teasing me about me being half-Indian, and when they refused to heed Ian’s warning to stop, he had no choice but to make them stop.”

“Well,” Claire muttered, eyeing her brother with stern disapproval, “you seem to have gotten on the losing end of the battle this time, lad.” She grasped his shoulder and guided him to the chair she had just vacated. “Sit. I’ll see what I can do to clean you up a bit.”

“I’m fine,” he grumbled. “And I didn’t lose the battle. If you think
I
look bad, you should see the other three lads.”

“Three lads, was it?” Claire took down a bowl, walked to the sink, and pumped it full of water. She grabbed a clean rag and bar of soap, then carried them all back to the table. “Beth, fetch Abby’s medicine box, will you, lass?” she asked, casting the girl a look over her shoulder.

As Beth hurried to comply, Claire placed the items she had gathered on the table, then pulled up a chair facing Ian. Sitting, she wet the cloth in the water, rubbed soap on it, and began to gently cleanse her brother’s face. “Was there no other way to stand up for Beth,” she asked softly, “than to start a fight? You’ve hardly been in school a month, Ian, and already you’re fighting again. This will not do, no matter the reason. Do you hear me, lad?”