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Anna stared, her eyebrows pressed down. “Why do you look at me like that?”
“This cannot be your first time cutting an onion?”
“Why would you ask such a thing?”
The words fumbled so quickly from her mouth and her face turned such a deep shade of pink, the truth was obvious. And delightfully funny. Boiling bacon was one thing, but never having cut an onion? A smile flourished over his face as he looked at the sweet, innocent, determined women he’d married.
Her full lips pressed tight, and the way her fists flew to her hips made the laugh he’d tried to suppress bubble to the surface. He put a fist to his mouth and ground his teeth, attempting to smother the amusement that would not be contained.
She straightened, speaking loudly as if it would drown out the merry chuckle. “Pray, what do you find so amusing?”
After a few attempts to clear his throat and press away his smile, his answer came out smooth. “A cut onion can make a person cry, Anna.”
The tight lines around her mouth smoothed and her eyes went wide. She flung a glance to the offending vegetable. “You jest.”
“’Tis a well-known fact.” William stopped and ventured where he feared he ought not. “That is, ’tis well-known for anyone accustomed to work in a kitchen.”
Her shapely chin popped up and her mouth formed a hard line. “You think I have no skills in the kitchen.” She motioned to the door. “Unlike Eliza and Kitty, who are accomplished at such things.”
Tread carefully. “I simply think ’tis…unusual for a woman, such as yourself, to be unfamiliar with performing certain tasks unless she was brought up in a class of people where such labors were not of her concern.”
The suspicions he’d harbored now finally voiced, he waited, refusing to move his eyes from her should the language of her body bring credibility to his words.
Her throat shifted and her gaze dropped. She swal
lowed, and after a heavy stretch of silence, answered in a hushed voice. “I did tell you I would try my best, and I do.”
The sight of her sorrow-filled eyes smacked him with guilt. He doubted her story of poverty, aye, and with the answer now clear, more questions beseeched their unveiling. But he could not force her to speak, and any more prodding would only make her pull further away from him.
“I know you do.” He stepped forward and reached for her arm. “And you do well.”
“I do not.” She refused to meet his gaze and wrapped her arms tighter around her middle. “I see how little you eat. I am no fool.” A hard, breathy laugh left her mouth. “My cooking is not fit to consume.”
Blast it. Why had he brought it up? Had he known she felt her lack of skill so keenly, he would have bit back the words before they had a chance to leave his tongue. He shifted his feet, praying the levity he tapped into his words made it into her heart. “Man does not live on biscuits alone, hmm?”
A slight smile leaned on one half of her mouth. “Burned biscuits.”
William tilted his head, allowing half a smile to play on his face. Did that mean she was in good humor and not ruminating over her shortcomings? He continued on, the truth of his words resting deeper in his spirit than even he thought they would. “I would rather enjoy your burned biscuits than any made by Eliza or Kitty.”
She tilted her head, flinging him a quick look. “I hardly believe that is true.”
“Believe what you like.” He moved his fingers down her arm until they twined with hers, and once again those pleasurable tingles sprayed over his skin. “But I will enjoy them whether burned or under baked or golden, because you are my wife and I care for you.”
He may as well have said he loved her. Anna’s gaze shot to his and held there, searching. Her lips parted as the questioning look deepened and it took unearthly strength not to let his mind wander where it wished to. He could not permit such thoughts. Not when his tongue had slipped and said something so foolish. Though as the words floated between them, their truth settled. He did care. How much, he couldn’t tell. But ’twas certainly more than the day they spoke vows. And ’twas true—he did enjoy eating her biscuits, for the simple fact that she had baked them.
“William! I nearly forgot!” Anna gripped his arms, as the tenderness of moments before vanished in a flood of panic that consumed her face. “In town today I—”
“Oh! I’m so glad you’re here.” Kitty burst into the kitchen and rushed for the pitcher of water on the table. She snatched a cup and stopped beside William. “You must fetch Thomas immediately.”
“Fetch me for what?” Thomas entered the back door and rested his coat and hat on an empty kitchen chair.
Kitty faced him, her expression so bright ’twas as if the very sun itself were glowing from within. “Eliza is having her baby.”
~~~
William leaned his shoulder against the kitchen doorframe, chuckling inwardly at the scene that played out before him. Never had he witnessed a grown man go from fully composed to complete helplessness in a matter of seconds. Thomas’s face had gone white when Kitty related the news of Eliza’s labor, and dashed from the room as if the floor were collapsing at his heels. That was more than fourteen hours ago and even still, Thomas couldn’t stop moving.
William rocked the empty glass back and forth against his palm. “Are you sure you don’t want to try to get some rest?”
