was an overreaction, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. “And all the responsibility you carry,” she added.
“What if something happened to you?”
“It’s cheap transportation. And I’m careful.”
“Famous last words,” she said with a chill in her voice.
His sea-green eyes held her gaze, his head angled to one side as if trying to figure her out. Well, he could try all he wanted. The only time their paths might cross again would be at a Noble Foundation fund-raiser for the hospital. He didn’t need to know more about her than her name.
“We can eat,” Beatrice announced, taking Gracie from her husband’s arms. “Why don’t we unwrap your present when we have dessert,” she said to Gracie, setting the gift aside. “Rachel, you get your usual spot. Eli, you can sit across from her.”
Beatrice shepherded them all toward the cozy eating nook whose floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the kitchen garden. Rachel sat in “her” chair, noticing the place setting.
When the Nobles first moved to Chestnut Grove from their old home, Rachel and her mother had gone touring the local market. Rachel stopped at a booth that displayed brightly colored earthenware dishes, each place setting unique. Her mother insisted that Rachel choose one for each of them and a couple for her aunt, uncle and cousin. The dishes only came out on family occasions, never when they had company.
Rachel gave her mother a quick glance now, recognizing the not-so-light hint her mother was giving her. At any other time she might have been amused, but Eli and his irresponsible motorcycle had unnerved her.
Beatrice suddenly busied herself buckling Gracie into her specially made high chair, making sure she was comfortable.
“This looks lovely, Beatrice,” Charles said, holding out his hand to his daughter on one side, Eli on the other. “We usually say grace before our meal,” he explained to Eli.
“That’s fine with me. So do the Cavanaughs.”
That seemed an odd way to talk about his family, but Rachel didn’t have time to wonder. Her father had squeezed her hand, and she bowed her head as he began to pray.
She heard her father talking to God, but couldn’t join in on his heartfelt prayer. Though she had been born and raised with faith, she had drifted away over the past few years. She didn’t need God, or what He supposedly offered her and she knew He certainly didn’t need her. Her parents weren’t happy with her choices, but she was thankful they kept their distance. And probably prayed over her.
“Help yourself, Eli,” Beatrice said when Charles was done. “We don’t stand on formality here. The only rule we have is start with what’s in front of you and pass it to the right.”
“And finish what’s on my plate, I imagine,” Eli said with a quick grin at Beatrice.
“If you can,” Rachel muttered, grimacing at the bowl set nearest to her.
“Don’t pay attention to the carnivore,” Beatrice said, fluttering her hands in dismissal of Rachel’s comment. “In spite of being raised with gourmet cooking, Rachel’s idea of a well-balanced diet is cake in one hand and a burger in the other. I pity the man she ends up marrying.”
“Well, it’s a good thing I don’t have a man,” Rachel said with a warning glance at her mother as she passed on the bowl of soybeans. “Or any intention of getting one.”
“As you said, famous last words, my dear,” Beatrice threw back, unfazed by Rachel’s pronouncement. “One day you’ll swap that impersonal condo of yours for a house with a yard like Eli’s. A nice cozy colonial.” Beatrice turned to the doctor. “I understand that you’re in the process of fixing it up?”
“Actually, my brother Ben has been working on it. He’s the carpenter.” Eli took a small helping of what looked like corn with a pained expression that made Rachel smile in spite of herself. “He’s been nagging at me to make some decisions about the kitchen, but I’m not sure if I want to go modern or stay with the colonial theme.”
“Rachel might be able to help you there,” Charles said, ignoring the prod of Rachel’s foot, beaming at Eli like he was already a favored son. “She’s very good at interior decorating.”
Rachel didn’t know where that had come from. Her parents didn’t like the eclectic mix of masks, rugs and memorabilia from her many trips that graced her condo. Said it made her place look like a museum, not a home.
“I know what I want. My biggest problem, however, seems to be finding time to make the decisions,” Eli said, glancing at Rachel as if he too understood what was going on.
“No woman pushing you to get done?” Charles asked.
Rachel gave her father a harder nudge.
Which he also ignored.
She shot her mother a warning glance to make sure she didn’t join in. But her mother was trying to coax some food into Gracie, who sat in her chair, back rigid, lips pressed together.
“I’m not ready for a woman yet” was all Eli said.
Rachel was thankful when the conversation moved on to traffic downtown, the changing pace of life, and a smattering of politics, and then to some of the fund-raising activities the Noble organization had been involved in.
“There’s the annual Noble Foundation picnic coming up soon. You’ll have to make sure to attend,” Beatrice said, carefully lifting Gracie out of her high chair. “Rachel takes care of it and has it here, on the plantation.”
“You make it sound like I do it single-handedly,” Rachel admonished her mother. “I have a large staff that does a lot of work, as well.”
“But you don’t delegate enough. I thought hiring those two assistants to replace Anita would ease your workload, but if anything, you are even busier.”
“They’re still so new, Mom. I can’t just hand them the files and expect them to deal with all of it.”
“They are well trained.”
“They need just a bit more experience.” She gave her mother another warning look. They did not need to discuss this in front of a complete stranger.
“I love you dear, but I also know you,” Beatrice said, as if ignoring Rachel’s warning, “and you have to stop thinking you can control everything. Sometimes you have to let go and let God.”
“I don’t want to delegate to Him, either,” Rachel muttered. “Can we change the subject?”
Beatrice only sighed, smoothing Gracie’s hair. “Do you want to hold Gracie?” she asked.
Rachel glanced at the toddler who lay passive in her mother’s arms. This was not a subject she was comfortable with, either. She knew she should accept, but she was scared she’d do something wrong.
“She won’t hurt you,” Eli said quietly, as if sensing her apprehension.
His comment hung between them.
Then in her peripheral vision she saw Gracie twitch. The child’s arms splayed out, her legs became rigid. She gave a pathetic little wail.
“Gracie. C’mon, girlie.” Beatrice tried to make her sit, but she wouldn’t. Or couldn’t.
Rachel’s heart jumped in her chest at the sight of the girl’s head thrown back and her body stiff.
“Massage her legs. It looks like a muscle spasm,” Eli said, his voice calm, in control. He squatted beside Beatrice, demonstrating.
Beatrice did what he said, and Rachel breathed a sigh of relief as Gracie’s body slowly relaxed.
“See? Not that bad.”
“No. I was a bit frightened, though.” Beatrice glanced at Rachel. “You