6

A scream rose in Grace’s throat as two faces within an inch from her own took shape. One small hand clamped over her mouth, stilling her. Where the heck was she? What were two little girls doing here? Grace inhaled and relaxed when her mind filled in the blanks. Caleb’s daughters. Abby and Libby. She’d met them after agreeing to help Caleb.

“You’ll wake Daddy,” the tallest of the two brown-haired girls said in a low voice. Abby. She had eyes as blue as Caleb’s. The other one pressed her stubby finger against her own lips and motioned to the door that stood ajar. That’s right. The poor man had taken temporarily residence on the sofa downstairs.

Grace swallowed and nodded, and the girl removed her hand from Grace’s mouth. She started to push up, but the stab in her bicep stopped her ascent. She glanced at it and gritted her teeth. Caleb had changed her bandage last night before giving her the plain and serviceable white nightgown. Margaret’s. He also gave her permission to go through Margaret’s belongings, to see if there was anything she might find usable. Ellen offered to bring clothes over as well, only Grace wasn’t as petite as Ellen.

“What’s wrong?” Both girls appeared to be fine.

Both were still dressed in their nightshirts, hair tousled from sleep.

Grace glanced around the room. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The bed had been more comfortable than she’d expected. A plain oak dresser with a matching mirror stood against the wall beside the door. A pitcher and bowl with water sat on it. At the wall with the narrow wardrobe there was a trunk. A dress was draped across it.

Prancing around in a decent woman’s dress wasn’t something she looked forward to.

“That’s Mommy’s dress.” Libby frowned and moved in behind Abby.

“It’s a pretty dress,” Grace said. Aside from being several inches too short, it fit Grace.

“Mommy was beautiful.” Abby worried her lip and tears shimmered in her eyes. “Daddy says Libby looks just like her.”

“You’re both beautiful.” Grace swallowed the lump that swelled in her throat at the heartache they’d experienced. Though she was no stranger to grief, she had experienced it at a later age. “Was there a reason you sneaked in here like mice while I was sleeping?”

Libby gave her the tiniest smile and dipped her head. In her pudgy hands, she gripped a white piece of fabric with a delicate lace trim. A handkerchief.

Grace’s heart panged.

“We’re hungry. Can you help us make breakfast?” Both girls stared at her with wide eyes.

“I think I’ll be able to make something.” Grace’s stomach growled. Breakfast wasn’t a bad idea.

“We want pancakes.”

“Abby,” Libby hissed and jabbed her older sister in the side.

Abby’s face grew red. “Sorry. Would you make us pancakes, please?”

“If you help me, I might be able to get those pancakes ready before your pa wakes.”

“Yippee.” Libby clapped her hands, and Abby tugged on Grace’s.



Coffee. Eggs. Impossible! Caleb smiled as the delicious aroma lured him awake. Having a woman in the house sure was a good arrangement. Abby and Libby’s whispers came from the kitchen, and he cracked an eye open. He stretched and the collie lifted its head at the hearth.

“Hey there, girl.” Caleb reached to scratch the dog’s head. Grace’s voice filtered through the doorway. It was difficult to make out what she was saying, but he already decided he liked her voice. Her Southern accent had faded through the years, but it was still there. Perhaps she disguised it, the way she’d disguised her gender. She was indeed an odd woman, but one to be reckoned with. He pushed to his feet and winced as his spine complained from sleeping on the sofa. After rolling his shoulders and stretching, he skipped his cane and inched to the kitchen. The aroma enticed with every step he took.

Abby and Libby sat at the table, dressed, their hair brushed and braided.

Grace stood at the stove, scrambling eggs in the skillet, garbed in her trousers and oversized shirt. It was ridiculous to imagine her in one of Margaret’s dresses, yet he did.

“Daddy!” As one, the girls leapt from their chairs and threw themselves at him.

He back-pedaled, and then crouched and kissed them. “Morning.” He glanced at Grace, the children’s laughter washing over him, enough to forget the pain in his leg.

“Miss Grace’s making breakfast.” Abby pointed.

“Girls, I told you not to bother Miss Grace.” Caleb straightened.

Abby lifted the cup of milk to her lips. “But she’ll be our mommy. That’s what mommies do. They kiss hurts and make breakfast.” As she returned the cup to the table, Libby bumped her elbow and the cup dropped. Milk drenched Abby’s gown and tears erupted.

“Abby it’s fine, no need to cry.” Grace snatched a rag and blotted it against Abby’s chin and chest.

Caleb grabbed the dishtowel and pressed it on the pool of milk on the table, stopping the waterfall of white liquid from further trickling onto the floor.

Abby’s high-pitched screams echoed in the tiny kitchen.

His breath hitched when Grace thumbed the tears from Abby’s plump cheeks.

“There. It’s cleaned up. Nothing to worry about.” Grace smiled.

Caleb straightened with the drenched towel in his grip.

Abby sniffled and hiccupped. “Libby bumped me.” She drew a stuttered breath and another fat tear rolled down her one cheek.

“It was an accident.” Grace glanced at Libby, as if she wanted the child to offer confirmation.

“Sorry, Abby,” Libby whispered, her chin trembling. She offered Abby the tiniest pout of a smile.

Caleb finger-brushed Libby’s hair from her eyes.

Abby gave a watery smile. “It’s all right, Libby.” Abby wiped her eyes.

Caleb nuzzled Abby’s face until she giggled. “Your beard tickles, Daddy!”

He chuckled and repeated the action on Libby until she squealed in delight. Unable to prevent his own smile he lifted his gaze to Grace and mouthed, “Thank you.”

With a nod, she returned to Margaret’s prized stove.

“How did you sleep?” She removed the skillet and scooped fluffy yellow piles onto the four plates at the table. Her gaze locked on him.

“Good.” He hobbled to his spindle-back chair, ignoring the V between her brows, and leaned his forearms on the back of the chair for support. “The sofa makes a terrible bed. I’m sorry you slept on it.”

“It’s better than half the things I’ve slept on.” She pointed at the plates. “The girls wanted pancakes, but I couldn’t find everything.”

“This is perfect.”

Grace shifted her weight. “The food is getting cold.”

He nodded and pulled the chair away. Abby sat on his left, and Libby on his right. Grace lowered onto Margaret’s chair and Caleb suppressed the ache in his chest. He blessed the food and studied her as they ate.

“What do you want to ask?”

“Nothing.”

Grace leaned back and massaged her hand, the bruises on her knuckles fading. “You have a little twitch between your brows whenever you want to ask something.”

Caleb touched the spot between his brows. “I do?”

“Yup. You also blush easier than anyone else I’ve ever met.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “You’ve got a knack for observing people.”

“It saved my hide a time or two.”

“I imagine it has.”

She was so different from all the women he’d known—so unlike Margaret. Of course, Margaret had been both proud and beautiful, her faith in God her most endearing quality. But Grace had a strength that was tangible. And for all her bark, the world hadn’t robbed her from her softness. Until now, he’d been determined never to marry for other than necessity again.

“The twitch is back.”

Caleb chuckled at her dull tone and dipped his chin.