and walked right up to the bed. She placed a hand lightly on the book, forcing Chloe to look up again.
“Would you like to join us in the kitchen?” She carefully enunciated each word.
The girl shook her head.
Was she declining the offer? Or had she merely not understood? Janell quickly wrote the same question on the slate and turned it so Chloe could read it.
Chloe again shook her head.
Janell erased the slate and this time wrote I have fresh bread. She paused and then added Your uncle is at his sawmill right now.
Chloe seemed to think about that a moment, then nodded and set her book down. When she climbed off the bed, the cat uncurled, then gracefully jumped to the floor and followed.
Once in the kitchen, Chloe pulled up a chair next to Alex while Janell sliced off another piece of bread. Once she’d served the girl her snack, she put a bowl of water on the floor near the stove for Smudge.
How was Mr. Chandler going to manage the care of these children? They’d obviously need lots of attention for the foreseeable future, attention he’d never be able to provide on his own. At the very least he needed a housekeeper. A wife would be even better.
Did he realize this? If not, he was in for a rude awakening.
Of course, he might take offense at her bringing up such a topic—she’d noticed he didn’t always take kindly to her advice. But to do him credit, he did listen, and that was a good quality for a husband to have.
Besides, when it came to the welfare of the children, she was willing to risk his irritation. And if she were to be entirely honest with herself, she rather liked getting the occasional rise out of him.
For just a moment she found herself wondering what it might be like to be married to such a man, a man so different from—
She abruptly pulled her thoughts away from that precipice. Time to grab back on to that control she’d worked so hard to maintain over her emotions since leaving Illinois.
She’d never had this happen before, not in all the time she’d been in Texas. What was it about Mr. Chandler that had allowed him to slip past her control so easily?
* * *
Hank headed out of the mill, pausing to give Gus a scratch behind the ears. The sawmill’s resident dog was tame with people he knew, but the mostly-boxer was an excellent guard dog. Hank never had a problem with strangers or troublemakers hanging around the mill.
With a last rub of the dog’s fur, Hank straightened and headed for his wagon. From what he’d seen of the operation and the books just now, Simon Tucker had done a fine job of keeping the mill running while he was gone. And that set his mind at ease.
He climbed in the wagon and turned Hector, the horse, toward home. Simon had assured him that he could continue to pull double duty as long as Hank needed him to, but Hank didn’t want to take advantage of him. Simon had a family of his own to look after, one that included ten children and a wife. So he’d assured Simon he’d be back at the helm by Monday. Surely Aunt Rowena would be here by then.
But of course, that wasn’t the final solution. Aunt Rowena had her own home and friends in Clampton. She’d agreed to help him until he could make other, more permanent arrangements. He couldn’t see her staying for more than a few weeks—a month at most.
His original plan had been to find a housekeeper, one who would take on the care of the children as part of her duties. But when he’d learned about the sizable debt Enid and her husband had left behind, a debt he felt honor bound to make right, he realized he would no longer have the funds to do that.
The entire situation left him with the rather unappealing option of getting married. Just the idea of going through the motions of finding the right kind of woman and then convincing her to marry him was somehow distasteful.
He rubbed his chin in thought. But if he could convince the schoolteacher to take on that role, it would certainly save him a lot of trouble and time.
Not just that—she was uniquely equipped to deal with Chloe, and the kids already knew her. He admitted he wouldn’t mind having her around on a regular basis himself. Yep, marrying Miss Whitman would certainly solve a lot of his problems.
Would the starchy schoolteacher be willing to consider an offer from him?
Well, it certainly couldn’t hurt to ask.
As he let the horse have its head, Hank wondered why he hadn’t taken much notice of Miss Whitman before. He’d always had the somewhat vague impression that she was a typical schoolmarm—rather spinsterish and pragmatic.
Well, he’d seen now that there was much more to her—a certain spark that lit her up from the inside. Even her bossy tendencies weren’t altogether unappealing when it came down to it. And she certainly knew how to deal with children. He’d pick an opportune moment and come right out and ask her. Tonight, if at all possible.
When Hank arrived back at the house, he tended to his horse and wagon first. When at last he was done, he headed to the pump by the water trough to wash up. He’d been gone longer than he’d planned—how was Miss Whitman faring with the kids?
Probably much better than he would have been.
When he stepped inside, he found her and the two young’uns at the table in the kitchen. Miss Whitman appeared to be teaching them how to do some complicated cat’s cradle designs with loops of string laced through their fingers. And the kids—both of them—were actually smiling.
They looked like, well, like a family. And for just a moment he had a keen desire to fit into that picture. The tug of that longing startled him in its intensity.
Then the kids saw him, and the immediate change in their demeanor made it clear that he didn’t fit, that he was still someone who had yet to earn their trust, much less their affection.
He’d excused that reaction before because of what they’d been through. But this time it was harder to dismiss because he’d seen their relaxed attitude around Miss Whitman, a woman they’d just met hours ago and who had no blood ties to them at all.
So that meant it was personal, at least in part.
When Miss Whitman looked up, she, at least, gave him a welcoming smile. “Mr. Chandler. I trust you found all was well at your sawmill?”
He moved forward with a nod, entering the kitchen fully. “Simon’s a good second-in-command.” He glanced at the kids. “It looks like you all are enjoying yourselves.” He spotted the chalk and slate on the table. Did Miss Whitman plan to leave that here with them? It would sure make communicating with Chloe easier.
But they could discuss that later. “That stew smells good.”
Miss Whitman straightened. “I imagine you’re hungry.” She turned to the kids. “And I’m sure you are, too. Why don’t we get the table ready? Your uncle can show you where the dishes and cutlery are stored.” She picked up the slate and wrote on it as she talked, and now she turned it around so Chloe could read it.
Hank realized the kids were waiting for him to do as Miss Whitman had asked, so he moved toward the cabinets. He retrieved the dishes and utensils and handed them to the children, who then transported them to the table.
As they arranged things properly, Hank approached Miss Whitman at the stove. “Is there anything I can help with?”
She glanced over her shoulder at him, then nodded toward the counter beside her. “You can slice that loaf of bread and put it on the table, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course.” As Hank grabbed a knife he noticed there was already a portion missing from one loaf. “Looks like someone’s been doing some sampling,” he said as