Chapter Seven #2
She waited for him to admit he was teasing, yet he leaned against the doorframe wearing the same maddeningly stoic expression with only a hint of amusement.
“The biscuits should be ready now,” she said.
Caleb followed her downstairs. “That explains the smell.”
Her patience thinned, although she told herself he meant no harm.
But doubt still whispered that she'd managed to disappoint him somehow.
She discovered that the biscuits had browned unevenly, and two had fused into one misshapen lump.
Amy transferred them to a plate while Caleb poured them both coffee.
Maggie climbed into her chair, and Noah returned from the yard, wiping his hands against his trousers.
Amy smiled before she caught herself. Noah had dirt all over his hands, and the streaks he'd rubbed onto his trousers hadn't helped much. "Would you wash your hands before breakfast? The basin's still clean."
Noah examined his palms as though he'd never considered the question, then lifted his head toward Caleb, waiting to see whether the request truly belonged to her.
Caleb met his gaze and tipped his chin toward the washstand. "Come on."
Noah let out a long sigh before shuffling across the room.
Relief warmed Amy more than she'd expected. Caleb hadn't stepped around her or turned the decision into his own. He'd simply confirmed what she’d asked, and that quiet show of support eased the uncertainty she’d carried.
While Noah scrubbed his hands, Amy carried the breakfast plate to the middle of the table and straightened it, hoping the meal might go more smoothly than the morning had so far. Noah examined the biscuits with suspicion. “They look strange.”
“They taste better than they look, I promise.”
Caleb picked up the largest one and broke it open. Steam curled up from the soft middle. “Cooked all the way through.”
Amy folded her arms. “You sound surprised.”
A brief laugh escaped Caleb, though Noah remained solemn as he selected the smallest biscuit.
Maggie turned the joined biscuits in her hands before looking up with bright eyes. "It's a butterfly."
Amy seated herself and spread a thin layer of blackberry preserves across her biscuit before taking a cautious bite.
The texture had turned out heavier than she’d hoped, though it still tasted respectable enough.
She waited to see what Caleb thought, telling herself she could learn from whatever he said, no matter how harsh.
He chewed with the thoughtful expression of a man judging a horse rather than breakfast. "Could use less salt."
Amy found herself waiting for another quiet correction. When none came, she realized she'd been bracing for one all along. She looked across the table. "I followed Lydia's instructions."
"Lydia cooks for six ranch hands during branding season." Caleb reached for his coffee. "She was likely thinking about a much larger batch."
Amy narrowed her eyes as frustration bubbled in the pit of her stomach. "I know, the recipe was meant for twice as many people. I thought I halved everything, but I must have forgotten with the salt."
Caleb lifted one shoulder. "You looked like you knew exactly what you were doing."
That seemed like a stretch, even for someone unobservant. She had known how to hold a mixing bowl. That hardly counted as mastering ranch cooking.
Movement across the table caught her eye.
Noah lowered his face behind his biscuit, though the corners of his mouth still betrayed him.
Warmth crept into Amy's cheeks. She managed a small smile because everyone else seemed to find the biscuits funny, but disappointment settled quietly beneath it.
She hadn't expected perfection, but she'd hoped her first breakfast as Caleb's wife would leave a better impression than this.
Caleb looked toward Amy, then back at Noah. "She worked hard on breakfast. Let's leave it there."
Noah blinked. "I just thought the butterfly was funny."
Amy set her biscuit onto the plate with more care than it deserved. "Don’t feel you need to pretend for my sake. How reassuring to learn the family's already found common ground."
Caleb's smile faded away as he studied her more closely. "I meant what I said. You worked hard on breakfast."
Amy gathered the empty dishes before either of them could have the chance to see how much their words and expressions had stung. "And I'm sure it was very entertaining for you," she said quietly as she carried the plates toward the sink.
Noah's grin disappeared. He looked at Caleb with a frown, as though he'd only just realized the joke had gone farther than he'd intended.
Caleb rose from his chair. "Amy, I wasn't laughing at—"
She gave a small shake of her head without looking back as she set the stack of plates beside the washbasin.
If she met his eyes, she was certain the tears burning behind her own would spill over, and she refused to let her first morning as his wife end that way.
After a moment, Caleb left, ushering both children out the door with him.
By midday, Amy’s arms ached from carrying water, and the kitchen floor still held a dark patch where her scrubbing had only spread the dirt and pushed it into the wood.
Noah had rejected every offer of assistance she made while repairing a latch near the chicken enclosure.
Maggie had followed Amy around until asked to complete a task, then vanished like a wary cat, a pattern that continued when any work appeared.
Her attempt at hanging laundry had proved so maddening she’d left one stubborn sheet to get wrinkled in the basket.
A pot of stew simmered on the stove now as the afternoon waned, though Amy had lost confidence in her seasoning abilities after the biscuits. She tasted the broth and added a little pepper, then worried she had added too much. Behind her, the back door opened.
Caleb entered and washed his hands at the basin. “Smells good.”
Amy kept stirring. "You don't have to pretend."
“I was trying to pay you a compliment.” He rested a hand on the counter.