Wishing on Buttercups (9 page)

He came to a stop in the kitchen doorway and slowly edged backward, not wanting to intrude on the two women sipping cups of tea at the table.

Frances Cooper peered over her spectacles. “No need to leave, Mr. Tucker. Come in and have a cup of tea. Or coffee, if you prefer. We brewed both.”

Mrs. Roberts beckoned, a ring on her finger glinting in the early morning light that streamed through the window. “Yes. Please do. It’s nice to have a little male company. We seldom see you anymore. Are you making good progress on your book?”

His feet dragged as he entered the kitchen, and he looked askance at them both. He’d experienced more than one uncomfortable scene between these women, but they appeared friendly enough this morning. “Thank you. Coffee sounds good, but I hate to intrude.”

Mrs. Cooper stood and plucked a mug off a shelf. “Not at all. We are quite happy to have you. Katherine should be up soon and fixing breakfast, but we wanted to let her sleep. She looked a little peaked to me. Didn’t you think so, Wilma?”

Wilma’s head bobbed, and a brown curl, sprinkled with gray, broke free from the knot at the base of her neck. “She certainly did. Besides, we had a lot to discuss and decided to make an early start to the day.”

Jeffery halted in front of a chair, his hand poised above the back of it. “Then I really shouldn’t stay.”

“Nonsense, young man,” Mrs. Roberts scolded in a light voice. “Take a seat and enjoy your coffee before it gets cold.” She plucked a cloth off the table, wrapped it around the handle of the coffeepot, filled the mug to the brim, then pushed it toward him. “Sugar or cream?”

He eased into the chair and cradled the mug of steaming coffee between both hands, inhaling the fragrance. “Black is perfect, thank you. It smells wonderful. You ladies certainly know how to brew a fine cup.”

Mrs. Roberts leaned close. “So tell us all about your novel. We’re dying to hear what you’ve decided to include about the happenings here. Is there going to be a romance or a murder?”

Mrs. Cooper jumped in before he could take a breath. “Of course he is not going to kill off someone at our house.” She shuddered. “How could you suggest such a thing?”

Wilma took a sip of her tea. “I think it’s a fine idea. We could help ferret out the killer, don’t you know? Mr. Tucker could sprinkle clues for us to follow.” She shivered and rubbed her hands together. “It would be positively delicious!”

Mrs. Cooper set down her cup, and it clinked against the saucer. “Why, there is not a single person I would care to have die. I am horrified you would even suggest such a thing. Although I suppose …” A gleam lit her eyes, and she cocked a brow toward the stairwell.

“What?” Mrs. Roberts clasped her hands on the tabletop. “What are you thinking, Frances? Maybe an itinerant peddler or a cowboy passing through mysteriously dies? Or perhaps outlaws come to town and hold up the bank—they could even take someone hostage.…” She almost bounced in her seat.

“No, no, nothing like that,” Mrs. Cooper admonished. “I was thinking of the romance question. Now mind you, I do not read that type of novel, but if you insist on writing one, Mr. Tucker, I might have just the thing.”

Jeffery controlled the urge to grin. Good thing he’d awakened over an hour ago and wasn’t facing this barrage with a sleep-befuddled brain. “And what would that be, Mrs. Cooper?”

“Why, you and Beth! I must admit, after I got over the initial shock of seeing her in your arms, I decided it was quite romantic. The two of you would make a fine couple.” She aimed a gleeful look at Mrs. Roberts. “For your book, of course.”

Mrs. Roberts glanced from Mrs. Cooper to Jeffery. “I think that’s a fine idea.” A sly grin crept across her face. “For a book.”

Beth had been cooped up in her room for too long and couldn’t countenance allowing Lucy to bring her another meal. At the moment, she was grateful she’d made the effort, after overhearing the two scheming women. What were Mrs. Cooper and her aunt thinking, planting such a foolish notion in Mr. Tucker’s head? Surely he’d repudiate it.

She took a quiet step into the kitchen and waited. Thankfully both of the conspirators’ backs were to her, and Mr. Tucker didn’t seem to notice her approach. But then he turned his head, met her gaze, and gave a slow wink. Neither of the other women seemed to observe the gesture. Was it possible she’d imagined it?

“Ladies.” He leaned forward, assuring that both Aunt Wilma and Mrs. Cooper would keep their attention on him. “While that sounds like a most creative idea, I regret to say I do not have a romance planned for this novel. Not that your niece wouldn’t make a perfectly charming heroine, should the need arise.”

Irritation rose. She didn’t care who saw her now, and she wasn’t about to go back to her room. That wink proved it—the rascal was toying with her. A charming heroine, indeed. She didn’t believe that for a moment. She clenched her hands and stalked into the room. “Good morning, Auntie. Mrs. Cooper.” She nodded at both women and turned her face away from Mr. Tucker.

His voice held a hint of humor. “Miss Roberts. How is your knee faring this morning?”

“Much better, thank you. The swelling is down, and I’m walking with barely a limp.” She took a step toward the stove. “The coffee smells delicious.”

Jeffery pushed back his chair. “Here, let me get you a cup. It’s quite hot from sitting on the stove.” He reached for the pot. “I wouldn’t want you to burn yourself.”

Beth shivered. “No thank you. I changed my mind. I’m going outside.” Sudden resentment swelled a knot in her throat. No sense in staying and giving him a chance to call yet more attention to her disfigurement. She needed to gather her composure. Turning, she limped out of the room and down the hall as fast as her knee would allow.

Jeffery stared from Mrs. Roberts to Mrs. Cooper. What had happened? He’d given Beth what he thought was a compliment and offered to pour her a cup of coffee. All the color had drained from her face and then she’d scurried out the door like a woman possessed. “I hope you ladies will excuse me. I think I should check on Miss Roberts. I am afraid she might not be well.”

Mrs. Roberts rose with a grunt. “No, Mr. Tucker, you will not. That’s my job. I daresay she won’t want to see you right now. At least not until she’s had a moment.” She sent him an unreadable look and plodded out of the room, head wagging.

He turned to Mrs. Cooper, who sat quite still, clutching her teacup. “What did I do to upset her? Mrs. Roberts appears to know, but she did not choose to enlighten me. I fear I am at a loss.”

“I have no idea, young man. I certainly did not hear or see anything offensive, but it appears I am not in Miss Roberts’s confidence either.” She frowned and set her cup on the saucer with a clatter. “Or, it appears, in her aunt’s.”

Beth stumbled over the threshold leading out the back door, tears blinding her. She hated the weakness and brushed them away, but she couldn’t as easily dispel the sorrow that had assaulted her when she’d heard Jeffery’s words. He’d seen the scars on her wrist, but she’d never believed he’d call attention to them in such a heartless fashion. She’d even started warming toward him since he’d carried her home, but now all she felt was bruised. All the old taunts from childhood rushed back, sending her emotions reeling.

Had she overreacted by leaving the kitchen so abruptly? They probably wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t stomped from the room. Well, not exactly stomped with this injured knee, but she’d certainly done her best to clomp and would have if it hadn’t hurt so much.

Beth headed toward a low-hanging tree in the back of the house, lifting her chin as she trudged across the packed dirt that was edged with a scattering of late-summer flowers. She must not let this bother her so much. Burying herself in her work would help her heal. As soon as possible, she’d purchase another tablet. Aunt Wilma had informed her last night that she’d hunted the brush with no results. The only good thing that had happened that day was being held in Jeffery’s arms.

Beth steeled herself against the memory. She’d vowed not to allow another man access to her heart, and she’d keep that promise, no matter how kind he appeared. Jeffery Tucker might be handsome, virile, and charming, but Beth wasn’t taking any chances this time around. Men couldn’t be trusted. She had been burned by more than fire in the past, and emotional pain could be more devastating than anything the physical world could hand out.

Chapter Eleven

Wilma slipped out the front door as quietly as a woman her size could do. She gave a wry smile. Her husband, George, had treasured her generous figure, saying it provided lots to love and he wouldn’t have her any other way. He’d been one of the most kindhearted men she’d ever known, but she would have loved him for that sentiment, if for no other reason. Not everyone understood or appreciated a woman of her stature, but she’d made peace with herself years ago.

There was no sense in hating what she’d not been able to change, and knowing that both George and God loved her without condition gave her a deep-seated peace. She emitted a low chuckle. She’d be happy to shed a few pounds, but somehow it never seemed to happen.

If only Beth could see herself in the same light—loved and accepted by God, exactly the way she was, without the need to prove herself. Her niece had been so damaged as a child she’d lost all self-confidence. Wilma prayed that the peace she had found in the Lord could be transmitted to her girl.

The porch appeared empty, and she glanced down the path. Ah. Beth had rounded the bend and disappeared under the branches of a shade tree. The girl always returned to nature when hurt or angry. How long had she stood there listening? Could she have heard their silly banter about Mr. Tucker’s book? Oh dear. Beth might be miffed at her and Frances for suggesting a romance based on Mr. Tucker’s carrying her home. She couldn’t imagine what else it might be.

Wilma hurried down the path, thankful the sun wasn’t high enough to cast its warmth on her heavy sateen gown. Changing to a lighter frock before afternoon might be wise.

She slowed when she reached the tree and peered under the boughs, wondering what she’d find. Her niece crying or sitting dejectedly on the grass?

Beth whirled as Wilma approached. “Oh. It’s you. I thought
he
might have tried to follow me.”

Wilma placed her hand over her rapidly beating heart. “My goodness, dear child, there’s no need to raise your voice. Whatever is the matter with you? I assumed you were upset with Frances and me, but it appears your ire is directed at Mr. Tucker.” She shook her head. Young people these days were so difficult to understand.

Beth dropped her arms next to her sides. “I was at first. I couldn’t believe you would conspire with Mrs. Cooper about Mr. Tucker and me having a romance—even if it
was
for his book. I almost went back upstairs but decided not to give in to mortification.” She gave a tight smile. “Besides, I wanted a cup of coffee.”

Wilma nodded, but her thoughts were still muddled. “Then why did you leave? All Mr. Tucker did was offer to pour you a cup.”

“That is
not
all, Auntie. Didn’t you hear what he said?”