Free The Christmas Journey by Winnie Griggs Page A

in the bed. “Freddie Boggs. He’s the son of one of the local farmers. He helps out at the livery when I can’t be there.” A telltale rumbling lifted one corner of her mouth. “From the sounds your innards are making I’d say you’re ready for this broth.”
    “It’s that loud, is it?”
    “Uncle Grover probably heard it clear down the hall.”
    He winced as he tried to sit up.
    She put out a restraining hand. “Hold on. Let me help you.”
    “I’m not helpless,” he grumbled.
    “Wasn’t saying you were, but no point overdoing it first thing out the chute.” She grabbed a quilt from the foot of the bed and folded it into a large, plump rectangle. Then she slipped a hand under his back and provided some support and a little extra push as he sat up.
    Once she had the blanket in place, she stood back. “How’s that?”
    “Comfortable. Thanks.” His gaze scanned the room, pausing to study the large pin-covered maps decorating the far wall, before moving on to the mismatched furniture and the wooden train on the top of the chest of drawers.
    Finally he turned back to her. “So just where am I?”
    “I told you, you’re at our place. The boardinghouse.”
    “But whose room is this?”
    She could tell by the way he looked at her that he’d already guessed. There was really no reason for her to feel so selfconscious, but her cheeks warmed anyway. “Mine.”
    He frowned. “And where are you staying?”
    “One of the extra guest rooms upstairs.”
    “So not only do you come to my rescue twice against those thugs, but you give me your room as well. Seems my debt to you keeps mounting.”
    If only he would stop staring at her so…well, so fiercely.
    “Don’t get to feeling you’re getting special treatment. The only reason we put you here is because it’s on the first floor and saved us having to cart your delirious carcass up the stairs.”
    She pulled her chair closer and picked up the bowl and spoon. “And it’s not like I haven’t done this before. Whenever any of the family takes sick they end up in here. It’s easier for Cora Beth to keep an eye on the patient when they’re close to where she spends most of her days.”
    “And at night?”
    How did he know just what questions to ask to get her all flustered? “We took turns sitting with you.” Better not to dwell on how difficult the past two nights had been, how worried she’d been—they’d all been—over his condition.
    Jo ladled up a spoonful of broth and gave him her cheeriest smile. “If you think this smells good, just wait until you taste it. Cora Beth is one of the best cooks in these parts.”
    He swallowed and smiled in agreement. “You’re right. It’s delicious.”
    “Like I said, Cora Beth has a real knack for cooking. Come Thanksgiving week, the whole house is going to fill up with some of the most toothsome smells you can imagine. Plumb makes my mouth water just thinking on it.”
    “Your sister introduced herself as Mrs. Collins. Where’s her husband?”
    “Philip died just on four years ago.”
    “And so you moved in with her to help out.”
    “You have that backward.” Jo wasn’t quite sure why his misguided assumption bothered her. “This is the home my grandfather built and where we grew up. My sister moved back in here with us.” She ladled up another spoonful. “When Philip died, Cora Beth had a two-year-old kid, another on the way and not much in the way of funds.”
    “So you took her in.”
    She shrugged. “She’s my sister and family takes care of each other. Besides, Ma needed help running the place, not to mention that she liked having her grandchildren close by.”
    “Liked?”
    He sure didn’t miss much. “Ma passed away a year after Philip.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    “Nothing for you to apologize for—it wasn’t your fault. Besides, she got to see her youngest grandkids born and spend time with them. And her passing was easy. She simply went to bed one night and never woke up.”