Free Gabriel's Bride by Amy Lillard Page A

feeling that he expected her to make the sandwiches. Then again she was the housekeeper.
    She shook herself free from her stupor and opened the pantry. But after a quick scan of the shelves, there was no peanut butter. She walked to the cabinets opening each one in turn. Cups and glasses, plates and bowls, pots and pans, but no food, and more important, no peanut butter.
    Rachel bit her lip and turned to face her employer.
    Gabriel Fisher stood, arms slack at his sides, mouth hanging open as if he could not believe what his eyes were seeing.
    Samuel looked from one of them to the other, still patiently waiting for his meal.
    “And what do you have for supper?” he asked.
    Rachel shrugged. “Usually a bowl of soup.”
    He adjusted his stance and crossed his arms over his massive chest. “Homemade soup.” He announced the words like he’d won a prize.
    “Sometimes,” she hedged, having the awful feeling that this wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear.
    “And the other times?”
    She dipped her chin unable to keep staring into those intense green eyes. “The kind from the grocer is quite delicious as well.”
    He shot her a dubious look.
    “And quick,” she added.
    He took a deep breath and she had the strange feeling that he was calming himself. “But you can cook.”
    “Of course,” she scoffed, not admitting that it had been years since she had made more than a pot of stew and a pan of cornbread. But that was cooking, right?
    “Tomorrow, I expect you’ll plan better.”
    “Oh. Yes, of course. It’s just the dishes and the goats and the—” She stopped at his frown. Maybe she shouldn’t bring up the goats right now. She needed this job. She needed this place to stay, and she would do anything necessary to keep it.
    Even tell a little white lie.
    She added her shortcoming to her mental prayer list and hustled over to the refrigerator. A couple of minutes later she returned to the table, a container of her garlic and chive chevre and a loaf of sourdough in her arms. She should have thought of this sooner. Peanut butter and strawberry preserves might be her one of her favorites, but this topped the list by far.
    She smiled at Samuel, then shot a cautious glance at his father as she sliced the bread and smeared it generously with the cheese spread. “There,” she said with a grand flourish, offering the open-faced sandwich to the boy. He studied it for a moment, then cast a questioning glance back at his father.
    Gabriel nodded, that frown still pulling at his mouth. Honestly, did the man never smile?
    At his father’s “okay,” Samuel began to eat. He smiled. “It’s gut, Dat . You should try it.”
    “Remember your manners,” Gabriel said sternly. “We don’t talk with our mouths full.”
    “Jah, Dat,” Samuel mumbled. Then he swallowed and crammed in another enormous bite.
    Perhaps her employer expected her to correct the children as well when they were in her charge, but she was so happy that Samuel liked the meal, everything else flew from her head. After the morning she had, what with the dishes, the goats, and then botching up the noon meal, she was just glad to have one success under her belt.
    Perhaps she felt a little bit of pride, but she would add that to her prayer list for this evening, too. At the rate she was going, she would have to start keeping a list on paper. It was no matter. She had a good feeling about this. A better feeling than she’d had in a long time about anything.
    And that was a gut thing indeed.

6
    H e really wasn’t sure how long he could go on like this. In the three days that Rachel had been at his house, she’d almost set the kitchen on fire twice, she had somehow managed to tear the inseam out of two pairs of his best-fitting pants, and that was besides the fiasco he’d had to endure on her very first day. He just hoped she was handier with a needle and a thread than she was with cookin’.
    He’d been surprised to discover that her meals were mostly