Free Jane Bonander by Dancing on Snowflakes Page B

said with a wistful smile. “Alvin and I were never able to have children. Because of it, we grew to depend on each other. From the day we first met, almost forty years ago, he’s treated me like his queen. The only thing missing from our lives was children, someone to care for us in our old age.”
    Susannah felt a twinge of sadness for the woman. Her life would mean nothing if she didn’t have Corey. But then, she didn’t have a man in her life who treated her like royalty, either. Dark, black thoughts of Missouri intruded, pressing at the doors of her memory. Susannah excused herself briefly, anxious for something else to occupy her mind.
    Morning encroached on noon. Susannah pulled her bread from the oven, grateful at how it had risen. She still remembered one of the first loaves she’d ever baked, hard and flat as shoe leather. It had been so cold in the cabin, it hadn’t risen. And no one had told her to keep it next to the fire.
    Reflexively, she touched her cheek, the slap she’d received from Ma Walker still stinging as if it had just happened.
    Stupid, wasteful girl!
    Corey tugged at her skirt. “Outside, Mama?”
    With a sigh, she glanced at the door. She wanted to keep him inside and entertained, but he was accustomed to being outside, and she couldn’t very well explain to her guest that she didn’t want her son near Nathan, because she was jealous of the attachment. Jealous and afraid . . . She reluctantly let him go out.
    She stepped out onto the porch, dredging up the nerve to even say his name out loud. “Nathan?”
    When he turned, she felt that same fluttery feeling in the pit of her stomach that she had earlier down by the river. He’d begun to work in earnest, for he had unbuttoned his shirt She glimpsed the hair on his chest, and the fluttering inside her intensified. “Could you . . .” She swallowed, trying to moisten her dry mouth. “I mean, would you mind keeping an eye on Corey?”
    He gave her that now-familiar half smile and waved, flustering her further.
    While Mrs. Hatfield napped, Susannah made lunch: her fresh baked cottage bread, cheese, canned peaches and cookies. Glancing outside, she noticed Nathan was still working on the buckboard wheel. Corey sat beside him on the tree stump, playing quietly with several small blocks of wood. Mr. Hatfield stood by and watched Nathan work, talking incessantly, offering helpful little hints about how to fix the wheel. He went from one subject to another, barely stopping for breath. Susannah hid a smile, almost feeling sorry for Nathan.
Almost
.
    She arranged a tray, covered it with a cloth, and put it out on the table on the porch. As she took the steps to the grass, she heard Mr. Hatfield’s chatter, and Nathan’s occasional grunting response. She stood behind them, waiting to be noticed, unwilling to interrupt them—a gesture left over from days past. Even Corey was too busy to look up.
    Nathan had stripped to the waist and was bent over the wheel, studying the axle. She pulled her gaze to the safety of his shoulders, but the well-muscled expanse proved no safer at all.
    He stood, the wheel in his hands, and turned toward her. Sweat streamed over him, forking into tiny tributaries as it tunneled through the hair on his chest.
    Feeling breathless, Susannah looked away, but not before her gaze caught Nathan’s and held, briefly.
    Mr. Hatfield turned and smiled at her. He was a wiry little man, full of nervous energy. “Well, little lady,” he enthused, “I’ve been giving your man here some hints about fixin’ wheels, but he’s determined to do it his own way.”
    Her man? Susannah felt a knot in her stomach. “Oh, but we’re—”
    “Mama!” Corey slid off the tree stump and ran to her. She scooped him up and they rubbed noses.
    “Yessir,” Mr. Hatfield continued, “I shoulda stopped in that town back there an’ had it fixed, but by golly, my Lettie ain’t feelin’ too good, and I just wanted to get her home. Nice we