Free Wishing on Buttercups by Miralee Ferrell Page A

friendly enough this morning. “Thank you. Coffee sounds good, but I hate to intrude.”
    Mrs. Cooper stood and plucked a mug off a shelf. “Not at all. We are quite happy to have you. Katherine should be up soon and fixing breakfast, but we wanted to let her sleep. She looked a little peaked to me. Didn’t you think so, Wilma?”
    Wilma’s head bobbed, and a brown curl, sprinkled with gray, broke free from the knot at the base of her neck. “She certainly did. Besides, we had a lot to discuss and decided to make an early start to the day.”
    Jeffery halted in front of a chair, his hand poised above the back of it. “Then I really shouldn’t stay.”
    “Nonsense, young man,” Mrs. Roberts scolded in a light voice. “Take a seat and enjoy your coffee before it gets cold.” She plucked a cloth off the table, wrapped it around the handle of the coffeepot, filled the mug to the brim, then pushed it toward him. “Sugar or cream?”
    He eased into the chair and cradled the mug of steaming coffee between both hands, inhaling the fragrance. “Black is perfect, thank you. It smells wonderful. You ladies certainly know how to brew a fine cup.”
    Mrs. Roberts leaned close. “So tell us all about your novel. We’re dying to hear what you’ve decided to include about the happenings here. Is there going to be a romance or a murder?”
    Mrs. Cooper jumped in before he could take a breath. “Of course he is not going to kill off someone at our house.” She shuddered. “How could you suggest such a thing?”
    Wilma took a sip of her tea. “I think it’s a fine idea. We could help ferret out the killer, don’t you know? Mr. Tucker could sprinkle clues for us to follow.” She shivered and rubbed her hands together. “It would be positively delicious!”
    Mrs. Cooper set down her cup, and it clinked against the saucer. “Why, there is not a single person I would care to have die. I am horrified you would even suggest such a thing. Although I suppose …” A gleam lit her eyes, and she cocked a brow toward the stairwell.
    “What?” Mrs. Roberts clasped her hands on the tabletop. “What are you thinking, Frances? Maybe an itinerant peddler or a cowboy passing through mysteriously dies? Or perhaps outlaws come to town and hold up the bank—they could even take someone hostage.…” She almost bounced in her seat.
    “No, no, nothing like that,” Mrs. Cooper admonished. “I was thinking of the romance question. Now mind you, I do not read that type of novel, but if you insist on writing one, Mr. Tucker, I might have just the thing.”
    Jeffery controlled the urge to grin. Good thing he’d awakened over an hour ago and wasn’t facing this barrage with a sleep-befuddled brain. “And what would that be, Mrs. Cooper?”
    “Why, you and Beth! I must admit, after I got over the initial shock of seeing her in your arms, I decided it was quite romantic. The two of you would make a fine couple.” She aimed a gleeful look at Mrs. Roberts. “For your book, of course.”
    Mrs. Roberts glanced from Mrs. Cooper to Jeffery. “I think that’s a fine idea.” A sly grin crept across her face. “For a book.”
     
    Beth had been cooped up in her room for too long and couldn’t countenance allowing Lucy to bring her another meal. At the moment, she was grateful she’d made the effort, after overhearing the two scheming women. What were Mrs. Cooper and her aunt thinking, planting such a foolish notion in Mr. Tucker’s head? Surely he’d repudiate it.
    She took a quiet step into the kitchen and waited. Thankfully both of the conspirators’ backs were to her, and Mr. Tucker didn’t seem to notice her approach. But then he turned his head, met her gaze, and gave a slow wink. Neither of the other women seemed to observe the gesture. Was it possible she’d imagined it?
    “Ladies.” He leaned forward, assuring that both Aunt Wilma and Mrs. Cooper would keep their attention on him. “While that sounds like a most creative