The Breath of Dawn Page 10

  With her boots compressing last night’s snow with a crush and squeak in every step, she reached the door. Rick greeted her with warmth in his brown eyes and a hint of solicitude. “For the record, I think you’re getting the weak end of this invitation.”

  She looked up around the boxed fryer in her arms. “Honestly, I’m glad for something to do.”

  “Can I take that?”

  “I have it, but you could grab stuff from the truck. The turkey’s in a brine bucket.”

  He held the door for her to go in, as he had on their first encounter. Though she’d spent time with Morgan and Livie since then, she still barely knew Rick or Noelle or their rambunctious Liam. The day could be interesting, but she was looking forward to it.

  She passed through the kitchen and out the back to a snowy patio, where she unpackaged the big stainless vat. The peanut oil Rick brought her glugged into it in a golden stream. While that heated, she would start on the side dishes. She’d brought a variety of vegetables to roast in olive oil and garlic—squashes, onions, carrots, and yams without the gooey stuff that choked going down.

  Since a deep-fried turkey would leave no drippings, and canned or powdered gravy should be illegal, she had to improvise on the potatoes too. She chose mashed with butter and sour cream. She’d have included chives but guessed the little ones wouldn’t like it.

  Back inside, she found Rick waiting for instructions. Noelle had warned her she might not make it to the kitchen, and according to Morgan, that was a good thing, so she’d take what help she had. She turned over the bag of potatoes, and, tall and rangy like a classic cowboy, Rick stood at the kitchen sink and peeled.

  Just as she was starting to feel strange in someone else’s kitchen with someone else’s husband, Morgan came in, as darkly handsome as ever. At the hitch in her ribs, she shifted from his face to Livie’s tearful one.

  He said, “She disagreed about the need for a coat.”

  As she wore an adorable red coat with black embroidery and hood fur, it appeared her daddy won the discussion—and paid the price. He looked almost as crestfallen as his child.

  He stood her on a chair and said, “Now we can take it off.”

  Livie gripped it at the neck with a forbidding frown, and Morgan laughed grimly. “Liam’s rubbing off.”

  “Oh sure,” Rick said from the sink. “Blame it on my son.”

  “It’s human nature to emulate the older.”

  “Keep telling yourself that.” Rick carried a colander of peeled and rinsed potatoes to the counter by the stove and asked, “You want these cut?”

  “Quartered, please.”

  “I’ll do it.” Morgan set his daughter on the floor. “You should check on Noelle, Rick. She’s coughing.” There seemed something a little ominous in the way he said it.

  Rick nodded, obviously sharing the concern. “Show him the sharp side of the blade, Quinn.”

  She looked from Rick to Morgan, not sure where the joking ended and truth began. “I’m sure you know how to use a knife.”

  “Eh.” He waggled his hand. “Consuela never lets me near one.”

  “Consuela . . .”

  “My cook, who’s coming out soon—if I have to hog-tie her.”

  “You don’t cook at all?”

  “I make a mean bowl of Cheerios. Don’t I, punkin?” He patted Livie’s head.

  “Make happy Cheerios, Daddy. No mean Cheerios.” She had discarded the coat and forgotten their tiff.

  Quinn slid diced onions into the roasting pan. “How old is she?” She had surprisingly never asked. “Because I just don’t think she should talk that well.”

  Morgan said, “How old are you, Livie?”

  She held up three fingers, then added four from the other hand.

  “She’s twenty-six months. Last week she learned sentence structure, and now she’s working on her PhD.”

  “I believe it.” The child had changed in just the little time since they’d discovered the contraband.

  He scooped up her coat and hung it over the chair before pushing up the sleeves of his slate blue—cashmere?—sweater.

  She said, “You want an apron?”

  “Did you really ask me that?” He leaned on one arm, masculine in every aspect.

  “I did.”

  “No thanks. No apron. Ever.”

  She shrugged. “They’re your clothes.”

  He pulled a paring knife out of the drawer and took hold of a potato.

  “That’s too little. Use this.” She gave him the knife she’d finished with. It might be an act, but he was confirming Rick’s assertion. “You must have done this before.”

  “Nope.”

  “As a bachelor?”

  “I ate out.”

  “Growing up?”

  “I have four sisters. And a mother who’s never bought takeout.” He made a careful slice. “You think I got near the kitchen?”

  “But you’re the oldest, right?”

  “How’d you know that?” He accomplished another slice. In fairness, wet peeled potatoes were tricky.

  “The way you teased Rick and how you said sisters.”

  He cocked an eyebrow.

  “You said it like they were puppies. Older sisters, it wouldn’t be that way.”

  “That’s insightful.”

  She turned on the oven to preheat. “I always wanted a big brother.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  She had no idea why she’d told him that, especially since she hoped he didn’t volunteer to fill in. “I probably wouldn’t if I had one.”

  “Depends on the brother. Did Rick pay you for the food?”

  “No.” She wiped the counter with a damp cloth.

  “He plans to. There’s no way you’re cooking and paying.”

  She rinsed the cloth in the sink, wishing he hadn’t brought it up. It made her feel like help. “So, is Noelle okay?”

  “She’s lousy at pretending she’s fine. I think she and Liam are getting sick, and that’s especially bad for Noelle.” He glanced down to where Livie was pulling pans and bowls from the lower cabinets.

  “I making soup, Daddy.”

  “Okay, sweetie.” He cut another potato.

  Glancing at the clock, Quinn said, “Time to stick the turkey in the fryer.” She bent for the five-gallon bucket holding brine and bird.

  “Better dry it off first.”

  When she looked at him suspiciously, he said, “I know what happens when hot fat and liquid meet. That’s physics, baby.” He took the other side of the bucket. “Let me help you with that.”

  She held the turkey as together they poured the brine into the sink. That close, his scent enveloped her, a musky cologne and baby shampoo.

  “Grab some paper towels,” Morgan said, hoisting the bird bare-handed out of the bucket.

  They patted it dry, like a big stiff baby from a sink bath, and then she swabbed the cavity and pushed the pronged tool through. Morgan said, “I’ll carry it. You lift the fryer lid.”

  Out through the door, to where the fryer had melted the snowpack from the patio, he carried the pale, bumpy turkey that would turn out a rich brown, according to the pictures. Checking the thermometer to make sure the oil was hot enough, she said, “Three minutes per pound,” and calculated the time as he lowered it in.

  “How big is the bird?”

  She told him.

  “Good. There are two more joining us.”

  “Oh?”

  “I invited Rudy from the general store.”

  Something in his tone and the way he looked aside caught her up short. He’d warned her this might be a setup. Was this a countermeasure?

  “And the professor.” At her puzzled look, he added, “The historian?”

  “Oh. Great.” They could talk asylum over turkey. He’d told her about that one, but Rudy? Apparently for this setup, he’d brought in a ringer.

  Morgan watched Quinn make quick work of the potatoes and get them boiling. She slid the pan of vegetabl
es into the hot oven. He wasn’t sure what he’d said or done, but she seemed to close off, her motions hard and tight.

  Looking into the dining room large enough to accommodate the family and guests in cabins at full capacity, he saw Noelle had already set an artistic table. There couldn’t be much, if anything, left to do, so when male voices carried in from the great room, he said, “Come and meet them.”

  “You go ahead.” Quinn took out another onion and some stalks of celery and began to cut them to within an inch of their lives. “I’ve got this now.” She never looked up, but the vegetables suffered.

  “Come on.” Scooping Livie up, he herded Quinn toward the other room. “You know Rudy, right?”

  “He let me tape up the cupboard pictures.”

  “Right.”

  Although Livie had found Rudy fascinating in the store with the counter between them, face-to-face, she wasn’t so sure. Quinn looked minuscule next to the great bear with russet-colored beard, ponytail, and gaps for two lower teeth that made his broad smile a jack-o’-lantern. His heart was just as big and just as open. For that and other reasons, Morgan considered him a friend.

  “Rudy, this is Quinn. She’s responsible for the feast.”

  Her clipped greeting and closed body language surprised and bothered him. Rudy deserved better. And then it struck him that she thought he’d brought Rudy in to run interference. It must have sounded like, “Check out the little lady, and she cooks too.”

  She said, “I need to finish the stuffing,” then turned and stalked to the kitchen.

  His disappointment in her shifted to frustration with himself. He didn’t usually make such mistakes. He cocked his jaw as Noelle came down the stairs and greeted Rudy warmly in spite of her pallor and the shadows under her eyes. If Rudy had suffered Quinn’s chill, it was alleviated now, but the situation still required finesse.

  When Rick took Rudy out to see the new crossbow he kept locked in the barn, Morgan leaned in to Noelle. “Can you check on Quinn? Something’s up and . . .”

  “You want me to solve it, Mr. Mojo?”

  “Not solve, just check. It might be nothing.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “If you sense something . . .”

  “Just go in, woman to woman, and feel it out.” He set Livie down, and she made a beeline for the ark-shaped toy chest, seeming a little lost without Liam. “Make sure she’s comfortable with the situation.”

  “She was excited when I invited her. What aren’t you telling me?”

  “Sometimes things get misconstrued. And I might be wrong altogether.”

  “Hmm.” Casting a backward look, Noelle moved into the kitchen.

  He knelt down with Livie and helped her raise the hinged roof of the wooden ark Rick had built for Liam. Though he’d constructed all the buildings and most of the furniture on the ranch, this was the first toy he’d fashioned. As the whim struck, his brother had added creatures until it was almost as packed as the real thing.

  Livie reached in and withdrew a giraffe, then the elephants, lions, bears, beavers, kangaroos, and rabbits. Partly because of this set, she could name and make all their sounds by eighteen months. If she didn’t know the sound, she gave them a word. Rabbits said nibble, alligators chomp.

  Liam liked to line the creatures up along the roof ridge and knock them off with Ping-Pong balls, then Livie picked them up and said, “You all right, rabbit? All right, frog?” Now, with no threats to their well-being, she spread them on the floor. “Daddy, want squirrel?”

  “I would love squirrel.” He pretended to eat it.

  “Don’t eat it.” Giggling, she tried to find it in his mouth, but he produced it in his hand. Then, of course, she fed him every other critter in the ark.

  That’s how they were when Rick and Rudy came in with Dr. Jenkins.

  Just watching Quinn exhausted her. Noelle sighed. “I’m so sorry this was all left to you.”

  “Oh no.” Quinn hand-mashed butter and sour cream into the steaming pot of potatoes. “Both Rick and Morgan helped.”

  “Morgan? In the kitchen?” Feeling light-headed, she sank onto a stool.

  “He cut potatoes and got the turkey into the fryer.”

  She fought a wave of nausea. “That’s something, I guess. But I wanted to get to know you, not put you to work.”

  “You did?” Quinn flicked her a glance.

  “I do. And I’m so sorry, but I can’t . . .” She stood abruptly. “Forgive me.” As stoically as she could, she went to the half bath off the laundry room and heaved.

  She washed her face at the pedestal sink, rinsed out her mouth, and mortified, returned to the kitchen. “Ugh,” she said grimly. “Don’t begin a friendship in the early months of pregnancy.”

  “Well, it does break down walls.” Quinn sent her a smile, but there did seem to be some effort to produce it.

  Noelle pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. “I don’t want to alarm Rick, but I’m pretty sure Liam’s not the only one coming down with something.”

  “Alarm Rick?” Quinn put the lid on the potatoes.

  “He gets very concerned, because when I first came out here, I got really sick. It almost killed me.”

  Quinn paused. “Wow.”

  “I’d moved out of the ranch and was living in a hovel. I had a broken leg and couldn’t work or pay the rent. My utilities got turned off.”

  Quinn’s face showed clear disbelief. “I’d have thought—”

  “With my rich daddy?” She spread a hand. “I was proving myself independent. Instead I caught pneumonia. If Rick hadn’t brought over my mail and found me incoherent, I’d have died.”

  “Thank God he did.”

  Yes, but she remembered his face. “He was so angry.”

  “Why angry?”

  “Because I hadn’t asked for help. Or taken the help he offered.” She touched her fingers to her throat. “Unfortunately, that weakened my resistance, and anytime I catch something it worries my husband.”

  “He seems very kind.” A hint of wistfulness touched the words.

  “He’s everything I didn’t know I wanted.” And more.

  “I know what I want.” Quinn’s intense, long-lashed eyes burned. “Honesty.”

  “That’s it?”

  “It’s no small thing. Even unintentional lies and well-meaning plots can wound.” She grabbed mitts and opened the oven. The smell of roasted vegetables and garlic wafted out, wonderful and torturous. “That’s why I’m disappointed this invitation was a setup.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Morgan and me. And now he’s foisting me on Rudy.” Her voice hitched.

  Noelle blinked. “Quinn, my invitation had nothing to do with Morgan. I wanted to spend time with you.”

  “But he said . . .”

  No wonder he looked guilty. “He’s mistaken.”

  With a spatula, Quinn turned the glistening vegetables. “He believed it enough to bring a spare.”

  Noelle shook her head. “I don’t think that’s what he’s doing. Although he might try to protect you from an awkward situation, if he really thought that.”

  Quinn slid the vegetables back into the oven without comment, and yet not without emotion. Color that might not be heat from the oven found her cheeks. “Is it awkward for him?”

  “It doesn’t seem to be. He’s concerned about you.”

  Quinn raised her eyes. “Me?”

  “I believe your feelings on the subject were apparent.”

  Quinn blew out a breath. “Great.”

  “Good thing we’re all about honesty here.” She smiled.

  Going out with a platter for the turkey, Quinn shot a glance over her shoulder.

  “I’m not stalking you,” Morgan said, amusing himself by using her disclaimer. “Just timed the turkey too.”

  “Oh.” She noticed the roll of paper towels he held. “Good idea.”

  While she made a bed of the towels, he raised the crispy bird from the grease, letting the pean
ut oil run back into the fryer. They rolled it back and forth on the paper, then moved it to the platter. With some difficulty, he detached the utensil while she gripped the platter.

  Morgan took it from her, nodding. “Can you get the door?”

  “I could also get the turkey.”

  “Humor me.”

  “I doubt I’d be the first.”

  He cocked his head, eyeing her as she pulled open the door and motioned him in. Still seated at the counter, Noelle watched them beneath hooded lids. She might not have intended to throw them together, but it didn’t stop her speculating.

  In a voice raspier than moments before, she said, “I can’t believe it, but that looks good enough to eat.”

  “True praise from a pregnant woman.” Quinn smiled. When the thermometer gave a perfect reading in the breast and thigh, she said, “I guess we’re ready.”

  With Noelle’s help, she got the feast on the table while Morgan summoned everyone.

  “Dr. Jenkins!” Noelle gave a hoarse cry. Delight overtook her face when she saw the graying academic. “What a fantastic surprise! It’s been much too long.” She beamed at Rick.

  “Not me,” Rick said. “It was Morgan.”

  Morgan shrugged. “We have something to discuss. This seemed a good time.”

  Rick stood at his chair. “We’ll all catch up, but first let’s bless this food.” Instead of bowing his head, he raised his hands and looked heavenward. “‘Praise the Lord, all you nations; extol him, all you peoples. For great is his love toward us, and the faithfulness of the Lord endures forever.’”

  Rick’s jubilance reminded her of King David dancing into the city under the scornful eye of a scoffing wife, though no one at the table scoffed. That Rick should be more expressive with God than she’d seen him with people touched her.

  “Thank you for your bounty, for all that nourishes and enriches us, for this food, and for Quinn, who prepared the feast. Bless her and all she does, in Jesus’ name. Amen.”