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Mountain sorrel? Wasn’t that a weed? And what were mustard greens anyway? He didn’t dare ask what they were. He was better off not knowing.
She grabbed his plate and raised a lid off one of the frying pans.
The fried potatoes and onions looked delicious.
She spooned a large mound onto his plate. Then she raised the lid on another skillet and scooped out a large fish, trout if he wasn’t mistaken, and laid it next to the potatoes.
“Where did you get the fish?”
“I caught them down at the crick this afternoon.”
“You caught them? Down at the what?”
She held the covered plate midair and looked at him with a confused frown. “That’s what I said, didn’t I? I caught them down at the crick. Crick, as in, you know, a small stream a runnin’ water.”
“Oh, you mean creek.”
She set the lid down on the table and looked over at him. “That’s what I said. Crick.”
“No, you’re saying crick, not creek.”
“Crick, creek, who cares? I caught us a mess a fish to eat for supper and they’re gettin’ cold with you sittin’ there arguin’.”
“I can’t believe you went fishing. Did you clean them, too?”
“Well, who else woulda done it, Michael? Ain’t you ever heard of a woman fishin’ before?”
“Only one. Rainee. But—” he shook his head “—a lot of the things you do, I’ve never heard of any other woman doing. In fact, I’ve never met anyone like you before.”
“That’s ’cause there ain’t no one like me. God made me one of a kind. Just like He does everyone. There’s no two people alike.”
For that, Michael was grateful. He couldn’t handle another one like Selina.
She pulled the cloth off of the covered plate. Small mounds of deep-fried something was on them. She placed a pile on his plate and then fixed her own plate.
Michael tried everything except for the little fried bits. That was next. Using his fingers, he picked one up and put it in his mouth and bit down. The texture was a little tough, the flavor different. Good, actually. He popped another one into his mouth, and then another. “These are really good. What are they?”
“I told you we were having crawdad tails.”
Michael froze. He’d forgotten all about her saying that because he was certain he hadn’t heard her correctly. But he had and now he wished he hadn’t. Suddenly the piece in his mouth grew and his stomach roiled.
Weeds and fish bait? The woman was trying to kill him. Against his better judgment, he allowed his manners to take over and swallowed the ball of fish bait. He leaned back in his chair and eyed Selina. “Selina, we’ve had this discussion before, but it bears repeating. We have plenty of food. You do not need to go hunting for it. If you wanted fish, you only had to ask me, and I would have gotten you some. Do not—I repeat, do not—ever feed me fish bait again.”
“Fish bait? You callin’ my cookin’ fish bait?” Her chair scraped against the hardwood floor as she leaped up. Flames shot from her big brown eyes as she mashed her hands onto her hips.
Michael held up his hands. “Sit down, Selina. That’s not what I meant.”
“Then just what did you mean?” She plopped onto her chair, never taking her fiery eyes off of him.
“We use crawdad tails for fish bait. We don’t eat them.”
“Back home we do both.” She crossed her arms over her chest and made no motion to go back to eating.
Michael rested his arms on the table. “Look, I understand that you were poor and had to hunt and fish for your food. But you don’t have to do that here. Trust me. We have plenty of food.”
“I know that, Michael.” Her voice softened. “Did ya ever think I might like to fish and that I might like to eat some of them foods I grew up with?”
Knives of understanding ripped into him. No, he hadn’t. Not even for a half second. Right then he suddenly realized that she actually enjoyed eating those things. She wasn’t trying to be obstinate. She was trying to bring a little of her old home here.
“Truth is I miss home.” Her eyes fell downcast. “And sometimes when I find things that remind me of Kentucky, it helps me to be less lonely for my family.” She roughly wiped away a tear that trailed down her cheek, and sniffed.
Now he’d done it. He’d made her cry with his insensitivity. Wishing he could take it all back, he reached over and laid his hand on top of hers.
Her gaze slowly slid to where his hand rested.
“I’m sorry, Selina. Of course you miss your home. Oh, speaking of your home, I almost forgot. Some letters came for you today.” Maybe that would help ease her homesickness.
