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“Then why were you out here?”
She sighed and sank down in the chair next to the desk.
“Looking for a new place to live. We can’t afford the house in town anymore, and Mr. Raven suggested the house at the crossroads.”
His horns drew together as he frowned, giving him an intimidating look.
“You are aware of its condition?”
“Yes, but there aren’t many alternatives. I’m sure we can work with it.”
She did her best to sound confident, but his frown remained.
“You could remain here,” he said after a long pause. “Those rooms are unused and you are welcome to stay there as long as you like.”
An unexpected urge to cry swept over her, but she shook her head firmly.
“That’s very kind of you, but we can’t take advantage of your hospitality.” She looked past him to the window again and pursed her lips. “Although perhaps we should stay here tonight. With any luck the creek will have gone down by the morning, and if not, we’ll have more time to take the longer way. That is, if you don’t mind loaning us a carriage? Or a wagon?”
“Of course not. I have every intention of accompanying you.”
He probably just meant so that he could bring his wagon back, but that didn’t stop her heart from skipping a beat at the thought of spending more time with him. She should probably object, but instead she smiled at him.
“Thank you. And since we’re spending the night, I’d like to at least cook dinner for all of you.”
“It’s not necessary,” he said at once. “I’m sure you’re tired. And you said your leg was bothering you?”
“I think it was just a cramp. It’s fine now and I’m not really tired.” She smiled at him. “I enjoy cooking.”
He hesitated, then nodded. “If you mean that, then I will happily accept. Kalpar usually cooks, but he’s out mending fences and I don’t know when he will return.”
“Good. Would you like some more cookies before I get started?”
His response was so enthusiastic that she smiled all the way to the kitchen.
CHAPTER 7
Temel stared down at a document on his desk, but he wasn’t concentrating on the words. Instead, he was listening to the sounds of Ida in his kitchen—sounds that gave him an unfamiliar sense of peace, of being at home.
Which makes absolutely no sense, he reminded himself. His father had always been very strict about protocol. The only people working their kitchen had been servants, and they were required to remain unseen and unheard except when serving the tediously long meals in the formal dining room. Perhaps it would have been different if his mother hadn’t died giving birth to him—or perhaps she would have been as rigid and formal as his father.
He wished he had the courage to take his work into the kitchen, or discard it all together and just join her and continue their conversation. When she’d returned with a second larger plate of her delectable baked goods, she’d sat down by his desk again, sipping on a mug of the human beverage they called coffee. He couldn’t suppress his shudder when she offered him some.
“No, thank you. I tried it once in Port Cantor. Once was enough.”
She laughed as she took another sip.
“I suspect it’s an acquired taste. But if you dislike it so much, why was it in the pantry?”
“The former owner must have left it.”
“Really?” She gave the mug a fascinated glance, then shrugged and drank again. “It still tastes fine.”
“A matter of opinion.”
She laughed again and asked him what he was doing. They must have spent an hour talking—talking about the farm cluster and his plans for it and talking about her life. Her previous mate had died, but she clearly didn’t wish to talk about him. Instead, she told him about her father. Her mother had also died while she was young, but her relationship with her father was far warmer and more loving than his had been.
“We were very happy and I was quite content living with him. I’m not sure I would have ever left home, but when he realized he was ill, he wanted me to get married. He wanted to be sure that there would be someone there for me.”
