Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
LOUISA
W ith Harry disappeared to the barn, Rosie and I whip up a storm of dinner items. Some Italian dishes I’m slowly learning from Mama Mancini, and some from my time in Cali. A far cry from her meat-and-potatoes repertoire the Rawlins have lived on for years. The end result is a feast fit for a household of people.
With only the two of them, I guess I should stay. The day has flown by with all the chatter, chopping, stirring...
Rosie seems happy. And I’m glad I could put a smile on her face. She deserves that and so much more. As the sun sets over the western mountains, the back door slams.
“Oh good, now, maybe we can set the dining room right.” Rosie drops her knife and wipes her hands on her apron, darting toward the footsteps coming down the hallway. I test the seasoning on the dish I’m almost finished making. Flavor bursts across my tongue. Hmmm . Yep, that’s great. The brown butter and sage chicken dish is ready.
I remove it from the heat, resting on a ceramic potholder, and move to the oven to check Rosie’s beef braciole. The heavy cast-iron pot bubbles away. The lid cracked a little. I lift the round top and let the fragrant steam wash over my face.
Oh my goodness, she did so great!
I make a small slice into the largest one. The meat is cooked.
Perfect.
I turn off the heat and toss some couscous into a bowl, adding boiling water. The greens we have been slicing are ready for steaming. I set them up and set the timer. Harry appears, leaning on the doorframe. He’s filthy. Dirt and hay litter his work shirt and jeans. His hat, still on his head, dips. “You got a minute?”
I freeze, timer still in my hands. He could get anything he wanted just lookin’ like that. Heavens above.
His socked foot brushes over the top of the other. His boots have come off. Some things never change. Rosie’s always been a stickler for the boots-off-inside rule.
“What do you need?” I finally say, and he looks up.
Deep blue eyes bore into mine. My heart flips. The timer clatters onto the counter.
“Table. Need to move it.”
“Oh, of course,” I whisper. Heat flushes my cheeks, and I duck my head, removing my apron and rounding the kitchen counter. I follow him into the space that hasn’t been used as a dining room for years. With the table pushed against the wall, and the chairs stored under it, Eddy had used the space for his single lounge and television set. A small side table and ashtray still sit by his old chair.
“You know, this old thing can go to the barn. But can we move the table. Set it up with the chairs?” Rosie says, scanning the room.
“The old chair’s gonna have to go first, Ma.” Harry grips the headrest and all but tosses it toward the hall. The small side table is thrown onto it before he turns back to me. “Table first. You grab the chairs.”
Oh, okay.
Harry grips the long edge of the table and picks it up like it weighs absolutely nothing and drops it in the middle of the room, under the low-hanging decorative light. Breaths shattering in and out of my lungs at the sight of him manhandling the enormous piece of furniture, I shake my head to catch myself and pluck up a chair and set it at the head of the table.
Rosie helps, and we have six places set in no time. She disappears and returns with a washcloth, giving it a once-over. The old hardwood gleams. It’s beautiful. The chairs are a bit worn, but the dining suite transforms the entire room. The timer sings, interrupting my thoughts.
“Shoot, that’s me!” I rush to the stovetop and turn the gas off. The greens smell almost as good as the rest of the meal. I drain them and toss them into a white ceramic bowl, seasoning with olive oil, salt, and pepper before scattering a layer of slivered almonds I toasted earlier over the elegant stems and bushy heads.
“Where do you want me, Louisa?” Rosie perks up, leaning on the counter.
“This is your kitchen, you tell me what you want.” When she hesitates, I add, “But we are ready to plate up.”
“Goodness.” She meets my gaze. “This all looks so amazing. Thank you for sharing your extraordinary talent with me, sweetheart.”
“Of course! I’m glad I could give you something useful. Especially now...”
She rounds the counter. “You listen to me.” Her head dips, her frown intensifying. “Don’t you go feelin’ sorry for me. Or that son of mine. We won’t have it. This life is too short to be poutin’ over the little things. So, we are going to enjoy the wonderful food only possible because you’re here. And we are going to make the most of the company.” Something rogue flashes through her eyes as she pats my arm with one hand and releases me.
“Well, in that case, let’s eat this stunning meal before it gets cold.” I turn and grab three plates and cutlery. She takes them from my hands. I find a tablecloth and follow her, laying it down before she can deposit her load. We pad back, collecting the dishes and potholders.
With the food laid out and places set, I step back beside Rosie. “You did it. It looks like something you’d be served in a restaurant.” I wrap an arm around her shoulders.
She leans into my shoulder with a sigh. “It most certainly does, sweetheart.”
“Something smells good, Ma.” We both look toward the door to the living room, coming off the hall. A freshly washed Harry stands in clean jeans and a T-shirt. His hair damp from his shower. My gut flies into my lungs and sticks. I purse my lips as he studies the table. The food.
“You can thank Louisa for her patience and talent.” Rosie breaks from my hold and unties her apron. “Thanks, Louisa.” His words are raw, and quiet. “For doin’ this for Ma.”
“You said that already. But...” I move toward the table. “You’re most welcome. She deserves so much better than what she was dealt.”
He clears his throat and pads for the table. Pulling out a chair on one side, we both start as Rosie rushes into the dining room. “No, no. You’re the head of the table now, my love.”
Harry chuckles.
The sound is like a slap to the chest. He moves to one end and pulls out a chair but hesitates. I look to Rosie. Her glare is pinned on her son. And it’s a warning.
“Here,” he says quietly and pulls out the chair on the other end, nodding for me to sit.
“Oh, thanks,” I utter, dropping into it. It’s an old captain’s chair. The arms are worn of varnish, the seat solid hardwood but the backrest is slatted and shaped to fit the body. Delight floods Rosie’s face. And when Harry makes it back to his and drops into it, she smiles. Really smiles, hands clasped in front of her face.
“Eat! Please, don’t wait for me, I still need to wash up.” Rosie darts off toward the small bathroom in the eastern side of the house. Harry clears his throat.
“Grace?”
“Who?”
He huffs a laugh. “We’re sayin’ grace, Louisa.”
“Ah, sorry.” Heat flushes my neck and face. Sitting at the other end of the table, at least we won’t be joining hands. But the thought of touching Harry right now sends even more crimson flooding my face, my body reacting at just the thought. With just him and I in the room.
“For these and all his mercies, may his holy name be praised,” he says, softly.
“Amen,” I add.
“Amen.” He looks up. “We waitin’ for Ma?”
“We should. She worked so hard on this.”
We sit in silence that’s not at all comfortable. What is taking Rosie so long to wash up?
“Finish all your work?” I ask, trying to fill the silence slowly deafening us.
“Nope.”
“Oh, was there a problem?”
“Nope. Ranchin’ work never ends, is all.”
“Of course, sorry.”
“Maybe we should eat?” he says, glancing at the doorway. Rosie’s place sits empty, her plate empty. I swing my gaze to the untouched food that’s no doubt going cold.
“I’ll go and check she’s okay,” I offer and push from the chair. I wander through the house to the bathroom.
“Rosie, are you okay?”
Muffled steps move toward the door. It swings open a second later. Her brows lower. “You oughta be eatin’.”
“We’re waiting for you.”
She smiles and pats my arm. “Of course, where are my manners? Give me a moment, will you?”
“Sure.” I head back to the table and drop into the captain’s chair. “She’s coming.”
Harry nods and starts loading up his plate. “You gonna tell me what all this is?”
He doesn’t seem too worried about the ingredients, by the rate he’s shoveling large portions of each dish onto his plate. Rosie appears and places candles through the center of the table. She picks up her plate and takes a little of each dish. Setting it down, she lights the candles.
Harry’s face hardens as his mother ignores his glares.
“You’re not eating with us?” I ask.
“Oh hon, my old head is about to split. I’m not used to cookin’ for hours a day. You two young things enjoy each other’s company.” She winks at me and grabs her cutlery and heads for the hallway. She’s eating in her room?
I stare at her retreating back, mouth agape. Her hand hits the light switch as she passes the wall, leaving us sitting at the table with only candlelight.
She totally set us up.
When I feel Harry’s glare home onto my face, I snap my attention to him.
“I—”
He holds a hand up. “Just eat, Louisa.”
I clamp my mouth shut and take the closest dish. Just enjoy the company. Her words were hints. But I never thought she would pull a stunt like this. Was this entire cooking lesson gig just a charade to wrangle Harry and I into the same space?
I huff out a breath in disbelief. I didn’t even see it coming.
But I can’t be too harsh on Rosie. She’s the sweetest woman to ever walk this earth, and I know what she did came from love. I just don’t want her to be disappointed when her plan fails. Because by the look on this moody man’s face, he’s less impressed by this little maneuver of hers than I am.
So, being the problem solver I am, I decide to lighten the mood.
“So, Harry, you come here often?” I ask, my face serious, feigning the overacting serious face you’d see in one of those flicks at the drive-in.
His hard face flinches. Hands gripping the cutlery as he rips a mouthful of meat from the tines of his fork, he chews, face stern, then swallows before the stone cracks and he chuckles. “You didn’t just say that.”
He swipes up his glass and washes down the mouthful.
I hold both my palms up, looking like something from The Godfather . The last film we’d seen together before prom. In my best dramatic Italian accent, I squeeze out, “What can I say, I was set up.”
He half chokes on his water, setting the glass down too hard. I can’t help the laughter shaking my shoulders. We crack up over the food. I press a hand over my mouth, trying to stifle the laughter. “Oh, Harry.”
“That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” he says like Danny from Grease .
I double over, barely missing the edge of the table. He nods his head and rolls his shoulders back, sliding his fork behind his ear. I toss my head back, my stomach aching from the uncontrollable laughter.
So, he does get out. At least, he’s seen that film.
And all of a sudden, the thought of Harry taking someone else to the drive-in movies sucks the air from my lungs. My laughter chokes out. And when I meet his gaze over the candlelight and long table, my breaths shallow out.
Panic rolls the swallow I just took into a sob. I tamp it down. Drawing in a long lungful of air, I steady my racing heart, trying to ease the ache in my heart. Harry’s smile falls and he dips his focus to his plate. Retrieving the fork from behind his ear, he stabs food onto it, his teeth snapping the morsel from it.
I train my focus back to the food and finish it up as quickly as politely possible. Following it down with a glass of water, I set my cutlery on my plate.
“I should really go home.” My words are harsh against the silence stretching between us. And I flinch when they land, sending Harry’s eyes up to mine.
“Yep.” He drops his cutlery and stands.
I follow suit, collecting my plate and walking it to the sink. “Can I help you put the food away?” I offer.
“I think Ma can handle it, Louisa.”
He gives me a suspect look, with one eyebrow raised. Does he think I’m trying to prolong this all-day visit? The one I hadn’t planned on?
Hell. I was supposed to meet Brad after lunch. Dammit. I’d forgotten all about it. So caught up in being part of this little family for just a moment.
“I’m sure she can.” I grab my bag and give the kitchen a glance. It’s still a fair bit of clean up.
No, you know what, Harry can help her.
I stalk toward the front door. I slide on my shoes and push through the door.
“Hey?” a gruff voice calls from behind me. “Thanks for dinner.” He nods and turns on his heels, disappearing into the candlelit dining room, his tall figure no more than a moving shadow looking outside in. With a sigh, I drift down the front steps and across the grass to my car. Inside, she’s still warm from the long day in the sun. I fish the keys from my bag and turn them over in the ignition.
The car croaks through a whine but doesn’t start.
Dammit!
I try her again.
Same thing. No start.
I slam a hand on the steering wheel. The last thing I want to do is go back inside and ask for Harry’s help. I groan, letting my forehead slump against the wheel.
“Screw you, Betsy. Of all the times to give out.”
I pluck up my bag and shove through the door. I slam it and march back inside. Harry and Rosie are cleaning the kitchen when I burst through the front door. They snap their heads up to me in sync. Harry tosses a tea towel over his shoulder and takes a bite of chicken, leaning on the counter as if waiting for an explanation.
“My car won’t start,” I say.
Harry raises an eyebrow, turning to Rosie.
She holds her palms up over her shoulders. “Hey, wasn’t me this time.”
He studies her face before turning back to me. “Need a lift, then?”
“Please.”
I swallow. The last thing I wanted was to be in close quarters with Harry Rawlins. My heart—no, my soul—can’t take that. It has absolutely no self-control around this man. It’s taken a literal Brad barrier to keep me from being sucked into his orbit. He’s like a stinkin’ magnet. And I’m the woman who is programmed to be pulled into him. I’m positive he and I together can only be negative.
The tea towel hits the counter as he swipes up his truck keys and pulls on his boots.
“Thank you again, Louisa.” Rosie’s smile is so wide, happiness radiating from her in spades. Maybe this is all worth it. Maybe.
We slide into the pickup, and Harry fires it up. He reverses away from the house and shifts it into drive without a word.
“Rosie looks happier,” I say, breaking the thick silence.
He nods. The cab is flooded with his scent. I tilt my head and close my eyes. It’s too much. Too many memories flooding in, just being in this seat. The vehicle bumps along the road. I force air in and out of my lungs. Close proximity with him has always messed with my head.
“She is,” he finally says.
I open my eyes and give him a small smile. I’m happy for that, at least. When my gaze doesn’t leave his face, he glances at me, brows lowering.
“Spit it out, Louisa.”
His hands grip the wheel tight. I rub my finger over the strap of my bag. I look through the windshield, hoping the darkness will swallow this thing hanging between us.
But my insides explode and send my head spinning when he pins me with those deep dark blues. “Ain’t askin’, darlin’.”