Emma sat on a rug in front of the fireplace enjoying the warmth of it seeping into her bones. After days of being cold, she couldn’t get enough of it.

“There’s some leftover stew if you want to eat.” Patrick sat on a chair facing the fire with a bowl and began spooning it into this mouth.

The smell of food was too hard to resist. She hurried to the kitchen table to get food.

Unsure how to phrase her question, she slid a sideways glance at him. “Are you going to live here?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

Common sense meant it was better to hide in the cabin since no one would think to look for her there. However, there was the obvious problem of whether Patrick would also stay there. It wasn’t proper to stay if he did. Not that propriety mattered at the moment.

“My father goes into the barn. So do the ranch hands. You’d be found there today, actually, as we plan to clean out the stalls.” He seemed to read her mind.

“We will stay out of each other’s ways. I’ll be gone all day and eat supper at my parents. I’ll only be here to sleep.”

It seemed Patrick had thought things out. Staying in the cabin would give her foot time to properly heal. Perhaps she could send Amelia a message with Patrick and ask for help in leaving. Surely the Banks had connections; someone who needed a maid.

“I will cook and clean until I am well enough to travel,” she offered, getting some of the stew. “Does that suit you?”

“There’s no need.” He continued eating, his attention on the fire. There was a tightening in his jaw as if he fought some sort of internal battle.

With a dish of stew and a cold biscuit in hand, she lowered in front of the hearth to sit on a rug. “Your mother is a wonderful cook.”

“Yes, she is.” They ate in silence. When Emma finished, she stood to clean her dish. Patrick began choking, his coughs rather alarming. When she moved toward him, he jumped to his feet and went to put his bowl away.

She frowned. “Is something wrong?”

“I can see through your nightgown when you stand up.”

With rounded eyes and mouth forming an “O”, she gaped up at him. “I didn’t realize...”

“I know. I shouldn’t have looked.”

A wave of heat warmed her face. “I’m sorry.”

Suddenly, his lips curved. “I should be thanking you. You’re a lovely woman.”

Once again, she gaped at him. “Now, you’re lying. I know I’m plain.”

He studied her face and shrugged. “If you say so.” He then went back to the chair, moved a lamp closer and began to read.

Surely he’d not seen more than an outline of her body. Although she itched to ask, instead she went to the kitchen, washed the dirty bowls and tidied up.

Patrick wanted to laugh at putting Emma in a predicament. He felt her gaze on him while he read. She was a lovely creature, indeed. Perhaps he’d been rash to consider her just pretty.

Sitting in front of the fire in his mother’s night shift, her beauty shined through. With a washed face and her shining, long hair pulled up, the graceful length of her neck was obvious. He had also taken note of the bright color of her golden brown eyes and pink, pouty lips.

He’d had a clear view of the outline of her body when she moved. Full, plump breasts, a small waist and round hips. Her legs where long and well formed. Now, as she huffed while cleaning up in the kitchen, he felt as if an apology should be given.

Not that he’d purposely looked, at first. However, he’d allowed more time to pass while he watched, eager to see more.

He stood and went to stand beside her. With a drying cloth, he dried the dish she had just finished washing. “I apologize for not telling you sooner.”

“You are a man, so I know you cannot control your urges,” she replied curtly. “I will do my best to keep from exposing myself until I leave.”

By the tremble of her bottom lip, she was hurt. Of course. Without anywhere to go, she was probably upset and scared.

“It’s nothing you did. There’s a robe in the room you are welcome to wear. Now, let’s get this finished up. I know you are probably exhausted.”

They finished the dishes and he showed her to his bedroom. He’d yet to finish moving his personal effects from the room. Since it was smaller and had enough bedding to keep her warm, it was preferable to the room his parents had just vacated.

“Goodnight,” she said as she walked into the room and closed the door, leaving him standing in the hallway.

Patrick returned to the front of the cabin where he added another log to the fireplace. After picking up the blanket from a basket near it, he lay on the sofa and watched the flames. Tomorrow, he’d figure out what to do about Emma. She needed clothes and shoes that fit. Although it wasn’t his responsibility, he felt a need to protect the poor woman.

He woke to the smell of bacon frying and sat up, rubbing his eyes to a house full of smoke. Emma was holding the pan away from the stove and waving a kitchen towel around. “Oh goodness,” she mumbled, obviously not noticing he was awake.

She wore her dress now and her hair was braided down her back. She was barefoot except for the bandages on her left foot as she placed the smoking pan back onto the stove.

It was best to let her continue without making her feel badly about the mess she was creating. So Patrick went back to pretend sleeping while keeping a keen ear in case things got out of control.

“I made breakfast.” He opened his eyes to find Emma studying him with a somber expression. “It’s a bit burned.”

He sat up and rubbed his eyes. Her wide gaze moved to his exposed upper torso before she turned away and returned to the kitchen.

Yanking on his shirt, Patrick went to the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee. The food on the plates consisting of charred bacon and blackened scrambled eggs looked less appetizing than the smoky interior of the house. He pushed open the kitchen window, pretending it was to look out toward the goats’ pen. “The rascals are still penned,” he said out loud.

She looked up from the table as he lowered to the chair opposite her. “Do they get out often?”

“They are masters at it. One of them, the brown and white one, can reach the handle and has figured out how to open it. Although I’ve considered just letting them run loose, I don’t want a mountain lion to get them.”

Emma nodded, watching as he brought a fork to his mouth. “We don’t do much more than eat beans. When my mother cooks, she prefers I stay away. She says I am a terrible cook, so she won’t let me near the kitchen. I’m not sure how I was supposed to learn since she always told me to leave her be.”

“It’s fine,” Patrick lied as he forced the burned food down his throat. “I’m sure you’ll learn with practice.”

Leaving her to clean up, he left and headed to his parents’ house. He needed a good breakfast for the long day ahead of working the ranch. The herd of cattle needed to be moved to another pasture and the stables were to be cleaned out. With all the chores, it would keep him and the ranch hands busy for the rest of the day.

“Is something on your mind, Son?” His mother studied him as he ate. “You got up here pretty late. Your father and the ranch hands are already gone.”

Patrick took a healthy bite of the buttered, fluffy biscuit. “No one cooks as good as you, Ma.”

“You say that because you rarely eat anyone else’s cooking,” his mother chided. “Answer my question.”

A sigh escaped. “I suppose, most days I wake up early because I normally heard you and Pa moving about. Now, I have to come up with a new way to wake up.” He smiled at his mother. “I could come sleep here.”

“No you will not Patrick Langley. It’s time for you to grow up. Find a wife and start your own family, live in your own home.” Although his mother spoke sternly, her eyes twinkled with delight at knowing he wanted to be there. “You can come here for breakfast and supper but, soon, you have to learn to do for yourself.”

He took a sip of coffee. “And where, exactly, am I supposed to find a wife? The only women in town are either someone’s mama or came here with their husbands. The Millers’ daughters are all spoken for.”

“There is the welcome dinner for the new families next week. Hopefully, one will get your attention. Besides, I’m sure, as handsome as you are, you won’t have to try hard.”

Patrick wasn’t as sure about it. His mother had already pointed out that the men in town had already made up all types of excuses to visit the new families.

There was scratching at the door and his mother opened it to find three goats and a dog. Patrick assumed it was the dog that scratched as he trotted in and sat down in the kitchen with an expectant look. The goats remained on the porch, no doubt waiting for a carrot or two.

“I’ll get them back in the pen, Mama.” Patrick stood and grabbed carrots from next to the sink. “I’ll see you at supper time.” He kissed her on the cheek and left.

It was dark when he returned to the cabin. Emma shook her head when he offered the food in a basket he’d brought back from his parents’ place. His mother had insisted he have some and he readily accepted so that Emma could eat.

“I boiled beans and ate that,” Emma said. “Added the leftover bacon. It was good.”

Beside the stove was a lidded pot. Probably the leftover beans.

“There’s biscuits in here if you wish to have them for breakfast. Don’t worry about cooking anything for me in the morning. I have to leave at sunrise and will eat at my parents’ house.”

Emma nodded, her eyes downcast. She went to the chair he’d been sitting in the night before. “I mended your shirt.” She lifted the item. “I am not that good at sewing, but I think it’s better than having a torn sleeve.”

“Thank you.” Patrick sat on the sofa. “I’ll wear it tomorrow.”