Page 23 of If the Boot Fits

Fergus inched closer and peeked inside. His gaze flew to hers. “Is that a cobbler?” His voice echoed with reverence.

“Mm-hmm.” Samantha dropped the basket lid back into place as she fought to keep her amusement in check. “Blackberry.”

Fergus sprinted back into the house. “Mama! Mama! The teacher’s here, and she brought cobbler!”

Samantha loosed a quiet giggle, enjoying the boy’s enthusiasm even if it meant she was left standing on the doorstep.

“Fergus Leopold Ellis. Where are your manners?” The hushed reprimand echoed in the evening air a moment before Elizabeth Ellis appeared. She hurried to the front door, an apologetic smile stretching across her face. “I’m so sorry, Miss Dearing. Please, come in.”

“Thank you.”

The house was small, the walls slightly warped with dingy paint and peeling paper. The floor slanted to the left, and the boards creaked with every step, yet the rooms were tidy, and the furnishings were free of dust—the mark of a woman who took pride in her home.

“I thought you and Jonathan could work at the kitchen table, if that suits you?” Mrs. Ellis led her into a room that was obviously the heart of the home. Hats hung from hooks, aromas of a meal recently eaten filled the air, and people mingled about.

Four people. Two boys pushing and jostling each other near the table. A mother who scurried over to referee. And a man at the table sipping coffee. A man who rose to his feet when she entered. A man who set her heart to thumping as she took in his familiar sandy hair and brown eyes.

Mrs. Ellis brought her two boys forward, forcing Samantha’s gaze away from the man by the table.

“You’ve met Fergus,” she said with a nod toward her youngest. “This is Jonathan.”

The older boy didn’t seem particularly pleased by the prospect of spending his evenings cooped up with a tutor and a pile of books, but Samantha refused to take it personally. “Pleased to meet you, Jonathan. I’m Miss Dearing.”

“Call me Jack.”

“All right. I look forward to working with you, Jack.”

A movement behind the boys drew her attention back to the table.

Mrs. Ellis turned and waved the man forward. “This is my oldest son, Asher. He rides with the Bar 7 Ranch down in Callahan County.” Her voice rang with obvious pride.

“Mr. Ellis.”

“Miss Dearing.” Gone were the levity and flirtatious manner that had so captivated her in the hardware store. In their place was a guardedness that warned her to keep her distance.

She dipped her chin and dragged her attention away from her mystery man who was no longer a mystery—Asher Ellis.

Offering Elizabeth a smile, she set her basket on the edge of the table. “The rumors are true,” she said. “I did bring a cobbler. If you wish, you can dish it up while Jack and I figure out the best place for us to begin.”

Samantha pulled out the small baking dish.

“It looks divine,” Mrs. Ellis said, taking it from her, “but you didn’t need to do this. You’re our guest.”

“It was no trouble.” Samantha waved away the concern. “I enjoy baking.” She leaned close to Mrs. Ellis and whispered. “Besides, I figured the boys might like me better if I sweetened them up first.”

Mrs. Ellis chuckled. “Wise woman. You’re going to have all three of them eating out of your hand.”

Samantha’s gaze darted to the man standing solemnly by the stove, refilling his coffee. She hoped his mother was right, because at the moment, the oldest Ellis male seemed more interested in bucking her out of his corral.

11

Asher had to give the woman credit. She baked a fine cobbler. He scraped his spoon around the inside of his empty bowl to collect the last little bit of sweet blackberry filling and crust crumbles. Sitting on the rear stoop with the house at his back and one knee bent upward to support the arm that held his bowl, he licked the spoon clean and gazed across the yard.

She knew his name now and where he was staying. Would a lawman bang on his mother’s door tonight? The temptation to leave town after he took her home flickered through Asher’s mind, but he discarded it. Mama Bess had told Miss Dearing about the Bar 7 when she introduced him. Running would only delay the inevitable. Besides, he couldn’t abandon his family. Not when this place needed so much work. He scanned the yard, seeing all that needed to be done. The cowshed really should be rebuilt from scratch if he wanted to ensure it didn’t collapse on Mrs. Merriweather the first time a blue norther blustered in. The chicken coop still needed a new roof. The rickety fence was riddled with half-rotted boards. And then there was the house. He’d barely scratched the surface there.

Asher dropped the spoon back into the bowl with a clink. Maybe he could talk his way out of jail time. He hadn’t actually taken anything from the Three Cedars, after all. Not to mention that the house had been open to guests for the party, so he really hadn’t broken in, either. He couldn’t quite rationalize away the trespassing charge, but maybe dragging Clint Dearing out of the pond would generate enough good will to wipe out that particular stain. Doubtful, but possible.

Feathery clouds lining the horizon began turning pink at the edges, cuing him to cease his cowardly hiding and face his responsibilities. He’d avoided the kitchen as long as possible, finishing up the siding on the chicken coop before sneaking in to snag some cobbler while Jack had Miss Dearing distracted, but the time had come to face his nemesis.