Their Mistletoe Matchmakers. Keli Gwyn
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“I’m sorry you’re hurting. I’d be happy to help.”
Gladys turned and studied Lavinia. The older woman’s face was pinched with pain. “I reckon you mean well, Miss Lavinia, but what do you know about cooking?”
Very little, but she wouldn’t let that stop her. “I’m a quick learner.”
“Then put on an apron, and you can take over.”
Lavinia grabbed a knee-length red apron that looked good against her green dress. The colors reminded her of Pauline. Her sister had rarely worn any others. “What do I do?”
Gladys handed her a pair of tongs. “Watch the bacon, and turn it every now and then. Keep your face back ’cause it splatters. I’ll fry up the eggs.” She reached for a second frying pan, but the heavy iron skillet slipped from her grasp and crashed to the floor, narrowly missing her feet.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. My fingers are just being a mite troublesome this morning.”
Lavinia picked up the frying pan, which had landed right side up. “Why don’t you have a seat at the kitchen table and instruct me from there?”
“Maybe I should rest my poor hands a bit. They’ve got a lot of work ahead of them the next two days.” Gladys gave Lavinia a quick lesson in how to fry an egg and sank into the nearest chair.
Lavinia’s mind raced, going over the many items yet to be prepared for tomorrow’s feast. She couldn’t ask Gladys to work when she was in such pain, but without her help, the meal was in jeopardy.
A rap on the back door startled Lavinia. She rushed over, saw Henry through the window in the upper half and yanked open the door. “What are you doing here so early?”
“I’ve been eating my meals with the children. That won’t be a problem, will it?”
Technically it wouldn’t be. They had plenty of food, but she had no desire for him to witness her first cooking lesson. What choice did she have, though? He was the children’s uncle and had a right to spend time with them. A legal right, thanks to the will he’d shown her after their conversation on Monday. Not that she’d let that stop her. A will could be contested.
She produced a polite smile. “Come in and take a seat. I have to see to the bacon.”
He glanced at her apron and back again. “You’re cooking?” His voice held a note of disbelief. Not surprising, since he knew her father employed several servants, but discouraging just the same. Although she might be uneducated in certain areas, she wouldn’t let that serve as an obstacle. She’d learn whatever skills she needed to care for the children, and it appeared cooking would be the first.
“Gladys isn’t feeling up to preparing breakfast today, so I’ve taken over.” Lavinia hurried to the stove where the bacon was sizzling, turned the strips and added a dollop of butter to the second frying pan.
She took an egg out of the basket and rapped it against the edge of a bowl as Gladys had instructed her. Something went wrong, and the slimy mess oozed over Lavinia’s hands. A groan escaped her.
Gladys clucked her tongue. “Don’t hit it so hard, Miss Lavinia.”
“Here you go.” Henry held out a damp cloth.
“Thanks.” She wiped her sticky hands, grabbed another egg and tapped it on the lip of the bowl, doing her best to ignore the handsome man leaning against the counter. Her efforts resulted in a jagged crack. She positioned the egg over the frying pan, careful to get it close enough, and gently pulled the shell apart. The egg plopped into the pan with the sunny yellow yolk intact. So far, so good.
As she held the spatula and watched the white part cook, trying to determine the right time to flip the egg, the thundering of feet on the stairs announced the children’s imminent arrival. She turned just in time to see the three of them racing through the dining room.
“I’m going to win!” Alex hollered.
“Oh, no you’re not.” Marcie shot forward.
They reached the kitchen doorway at the same time, with Dot right behind. The little girl darted between them, tripping Marcie in the process and bumping into Alex. The three children toppled over.
Alex dragged himself out of the heap and huffed. “I was first.”
“No you weren’t. I was.” Marcie popped up and glared at her brother.
Dot sat on the floor with her lower lip puffed out in a pout. “You’re wrong. I’m the winner, aren’t I, Uncle Henry?”
“From what I saw, six arms and legs were tangled up together, so that makes it a three-way tie.”
Lavinia smiled. “He’s right. You’re all winners and get an extra slice of bacon.”
The bacon! She spun around, grabbed the tongs and flipped the sizzling strips.
Gladys helped Dot to her feet and dusted her off.
Marcie sidled up to Henry. “It wasn’t really a tie, was it? You just said that so Dot wouldn’t cry, right?” The precocious girl didn’t miss much.
Henry ruffled Marcie’s mass of dark curls that Lavinia had yet to wrestle into a braid. “I saw three young Hawthorns burst through that door at the same time, and I couldn’t be prouder. My nieces and nephew know how to go after what they want. If I’d known there was extra bacon to be had, I’d have been racing here, too.”
Lavinia slid the spatula under the egg and attempted to turn it over, but the slippery thing slid off before she was ready. The yolk broke open. Gladys made preparing breakfast seem easy, but the task was harder than it looked.
Marcie made a choking sound. “I’m not eating that egg.”
Alex wandered over and peered into the pan. “Why are you cooking and not Miss Gladys?”
“She’s not feeling well, so I’m taking over.”
He glanced at the kitchen table, where Gladys sat holding Dot, and back again. “What’s wrong with her? She doesn’t look sick.”
“It’s just my joints.” Gladys held up her bent fingers. “They get stiff every now and then.”
“Then let Uncle Henry cook,” Marcie said. “He’s good at it.”
Henry placed his hands on Marcie’s shoulders and turned her toward the table. “Your aunt would have an easier time of it without you children getting in her way. Take a seat, and your breakfast will be ready soon.”
They obeyed him without the usual objections Lavinia encountered. Henry came alongside her and lowered his voice. “If you’d like, I could fry the eggs.”
The last thing Lavinia needed was for her first attempt at cooking to result in total failure with Henry watching. She could ask Gladys for another egg-frying lesson later when she didn’t have a room full of young critics.
“You’ll need this.” She held out the spatula to him.
He chuckled. “And here I thought you’d turn me down.”
She probably should have. Working side-by-side was more disconcerting than she’d expected. She was all too aware of Henry’s powerful presence. His muscular arm brushed hers as he attempted to salvage the sorry egg, sending a jolt of electricity through her.
Taking her cue from him, she adopted a playful tone. “I considered refusing, but since we’re running behind schedule this morning, I decided to let you come to my rescue.” Again. This was their third interaction—and the third time he’d found her in a less than flattering situation.
He leaned so close that his breath warmed her cheek. “I only come to the rescue of pretty women with piles of curls.” He tugged on one of her curls that had broken free of her pins, let it go and