Captured by Love (Michigan Brides #3)(22)

Of course, the islanders and local Indians hadn’t wanted to part with their precious stores of winter food. But they were given little choice. They either had to hand the food over to the fort commissary and accept a pittance of reimbursement or face having their food confiscated without any payment at all.

Either way, everyone had suffered. They’d had a shortage all winter. And Angelique was obviously still hungry.

His mind returned to the bundle she’d left on the table last night, the small meal she’d brought to Maman. Had she sacrificed for Maman again?

“Come back to the farm and join Maman and me for breakfast,” he said. “I’ll make you the best fish cakes you’ve ever eaten.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “You? Cook?”

“Oui. You’re not going to believe this, but I’ve turned into an exquisite cook.”

“You’re right,” she teased. “I don’t believe it.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to come back and try my cooking for yourself.”

She looked up at the position of the sun and then peered in the direction of town. “I have to be somewhere at half past three.”

“You’ll be back in plenty of time.” His muscles tensed in anticipation of her answer. More than anything he wanted to make a meal for her, to show her his appreciation for all she’d done for Maman over the winter. And he wanted to feed her, to see the hungry look on her face replaced by satisfaction.

“Please, ma cherie. I haven’t killed anyone with my cooking . . . yet.”

“That’s reassuring.”

He grinned.

She hesitated only a moment longer before smiling back. “How can I resist, especially after your promise not to kill me?”

“Good. Let’s go then. I’ll race you back.”

“We can’t race anymore.”

“Why not? Are you afraid I’m still faster than you?”

“Pierre Durant, you are still as arrogant as ever, aren’t you?”

“Just telling the truth, that’s all.” He loved that she could take his teasing and then give it back to him in full measure.

She lifted the hem of her skirt, giving him a glimpse of her bare feet. He looked down at his boots. She didn’t have any shoes? “Maybe we’ll have to wait to race for another day—”

She jolted forward and dashed through the brush, leaving him staring after her.

“Last one back has to gut the fish,” she called over her shoulder.

He took off running, and as he was chasing her, he realized he was truly glad to be home. Gladder than he’d ever imagined.





Chapter

7



Pierre sat back in the kitchen chair, folded his arms across his chest, and let contentment fill his empty belly.

Angelique raised a last forkful of fish cakes to her mouth. With eyes closed she took a long sniff as she had for each bite, and then she closed her lips around the fork. She chewed slowly, savoring every tiny granule of fish and potato that he’d pressed into the patties.

He hadn’t been able to resist watching her eat. It had been like gazing upon a beautiful sunset.

“This is so good, Pierre,” she said again through her mouthful, as she had at least a dozen times since starting the meal.

Maman’s smile was achingly wide, and her eyes brimmed with tears, as if listening to Angelique’s enjoyment of the meal was almost as pleasurable as eating it herself.

He’d insisted both the women eat everything he’d cooked. He knew he could always scrounge up some food from his men and eat later. And if need be, he’d buy more supplies from the British.

For now, it was enough to watch Maman and Angelique—especially Angelique—enjoy each bite.

She opened her eyes. The impact of her pretty lips curling into a satisfied smile crushed into him and squeezed his chest.

“You were wrong,” she said.

“I’m never wrong.”

“You were this time.”

Sunlight streamed through the faded curtains and touched the loose curls of her hair, turning them into a lush reddish brown. He was glad that at some point in the race back to the cabin, her mobcap had fallen to the back of her neck, allowing her hair to tumble down around her face again.

“You’ve almost killed me with your cooking.” She set the fork on her empty plate and sat back in her chair.

“What? I almost killed you? Impossible.”

“Yes. You killed me with the pleasure of it.” Genuine admiration shone from her eyes. “I can’t remember a time when I’ve enjoyed a meal as much as this.”

The warmth of her praise spread over him like the sunshine. It filled him and seeped down to his toes. He picked up his coffee cup and took a sip, letting the rich flavor add to the gratification that had settled over him in a way he hadn’t experienced in a long time.

“I think I especially enjoyed it because for once I didn’t have to gut or fillet the fish.” She held her mug of coffee between both hands and inhaled the freshly brewed aroma.

He didn’t want to think about the bitter acorn-shell tea he’d thrown out onto the grass or the last time Maman and Angelique had tasted real coffee.

“Of course you only won the race because you cheated,” he said.