Merry Cowboy Christmas (Lucky Penny Ranch #3)(25)

“I love cobbler. What can I do to help?”

“Sit right there and stay out of my way,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am. I think I can handle that with no problem.”

She added a can of cream of chicken soup to the broth. By the time the broth reached a boil, the dough was ready to start dropping in half a teaspoon at a time, and the little cobbler was in the oven.

“Do we eat it in bowls like soup or do we fix other things to go with it?” he asked.

“Mama always served it like soup with thick slabs of buttered bread, cheese cubes, and sweet tea.”

“Mine did, too, except that we didn’t have the cheese.” Jud carried his empty glass to the cabinet and refilled it.

She had her back to him, and when his hands snaked around her waist, she jumped to one side and whipped around, a spoonful of dough in her hand. He backed up quickly, hands raised like she was holding a gun, and chuckled.

“Don’t hit me with that. I’d have to either change shirts or eat bare-chested and it’s too cold for that,” he said.

“Jud, we can’t…you know…start something we can’t finish…” She stumbled over the words.

“I was moving you to one side so that I could get into the cabinet. I wasn’t fixin’ to throw you over my shoulder and carry you off to the bedroom.” He lowered his hands.

“Just tell me to move,” she said bluntly.

“Move, Fiona. I need to get another glass out of the cabinet to fill with ice and tea for you.”

She stepped to one side.

“Don’t be so touchy,” he said.

“Don’t be so handsy,” she smarted right back.

“I like kissing you.”

At that, she had no words.

When the dumplings were almost done, she pulled the bubbling, crusty pie from the oven and set it on a hot pad. “That will be good with a scoop of ice cream on top. It’s always better warm, but I can eat it cold, too.” She went back to dropping dumplings into the broth. “I like kissing you, too, and that’s the problem,” she blurted.

“A problem, why?” He leaned on the counter, his big biceps straining the sleeves of his plain shirt open to show a thermal knit under it that stretched across his broad chest.

Before she could answer, a blast of cold air brought Dora June through the door. A few snowflakes were stuck to a brand-new navy blue coat and stocking hat pulled down over her gray hair. “We’re home. And bless your darlin’ heart, you started supper.” She sniffed the air. “Is that cinnamon I smell?”

“I sprinkled a little bit on one of those quick peach cobblers and the dumplings will be ready in about ten minutes. Y’all need help with packages?” Fiona asked.

Dora June removed her coat and carried it to the coat rack in the foyer. “I ain’t had a new winter coat in twenty years. Truman can bring in the sacks. It’ll do him good the way he’s been fussin’ about how much money we had to spend. You’d think we were paupers. Maybe totin’ things inside during a snowstorm will cool down his temper.”

“Soon as he gets done, we can eat,” Fiona said.

“I’ll get my coat on and go help him.” Jud was out the back door in a flash.

Truman could be in a pout if that’s what he wanted, but Fiona fully intended to ignore him. It had been at least two, maybe three years since she’d had dumplings or peach cobbler and she wasn’t letting Truman O’Dell ruin it for her.

He glared at her when he and Jud toted in the first set of bags back to the bedroom. By the second trip, he just looked like a tired old man who wanted to eat supper, lean back in his favorite chair, and drift in and out of sleep while he pretended to watch television. Fiona felt so sorry for him that she could have wept.

When they sat down at the table, Dora June looked at Fiona and cocked her head to one side. Did she have dough on her chin or in her hair? Her hand went up to check.

“Fiona, you are the lady of the house. It’s your place to call on someone to say grace,” Dora June finally said.

“Truman, would you please?” Fiona blushed.

It was by far the shortest prayer she’d ever heard him say. When she raised her head, everyone stared at her again.

“What?”

“You want to dip the dumplings or should I?” Jud asked.

“Go ahead.” She’d spent a year eating at the cabinet or over the kitchen sink. The years she was married she had used her kitchen very few times. She’d forgotten all about the duties the lady of the house had in Dry Creek.

“Good dumplin’s,” Truman said after the first bite.

Fiona came close to dropping her spoon.

“Yes, they are and that pie looks real good, too. This is a treat to come home to food already fixed,” Dora June said.

“Thank you,” Fiona mumbled.

That was the extent of the conversation. Other than asking for something to be passed, they ate in silence, which was just fine and dandy with Fiona. She’d rather have quiet than an argument that would keep her from enjoying her supper. After they’d finished dessert, Jud refilled his sweet tea glass and carried it to his room. Truman muttered something about Dora June bringing a cup of coffee to their room when she had the kitchen cleaned and he disappeared.