Second-Chance Bride (Dakota Brides Book 3)(9)

Kit scrubbed potatoes and Milo scraped carrots. She let Milo turn the meat that she browned in the fry pan. She let Kit put in flour and add water to make gravy then left the meat to simmer while the vegetables cooked.

Everything was ready.

“When will Papa come?” Kit asked.

“He’s working.” The first words Milo had spoken since his angry eruption.

Freyda did not know the boys well, but she sensed anger building in Milo again. She hoped she could forestall it. “Let’s go tell him the meal is ready.” She had no idea if he would want to stop to eat or if he wanted to work until dark.

The boys raced from the house and out to the field. They stopped at the end of the field. Ward reached the spot where they waited. He stopped and bent over to hug both boys.

Freyda blinked back the tears stinging her eyes. At least Milo and Kit knew their father loved them.

Ward straightened. “The boys say supper is ready.”

“I don’t know what you prefer. Do you want me to feed the boys? Do you want to come in now? Do you want to work until dark?”

He glanced to the west. “I will come in now.” He began to unhitch the team. She watched his every move so she could remember how to do it for herself.

The boys ran back and forth along the edge of the field.

Milo kick a clod and laughed when it exploded into a cloud of dirt.

The sound wrapped around Freyda’s heart. “It’s good to hear him happy.” She hadn’t meant to say the words aloud and hoped Ward would not hear them as criticism.

He nodded and prepared to take the horses to the barn. “Come on, boys.”

They followed him. Freyda walked at his side, again watching how he handled the horses.

They parted ways at the yard. She went to the house. He went to the barn, taking the two boys with him. She stopped at the door. If he would invite her, she would go to the barn too and observe how he unyoked the animals. But he didn’t invite her and she didn’t ask.

She waited until she heard the tromp of boots to serve the meal. The table was set with three plates.

Ward ground to a halt when he saw the table. “There’s a plate missing.”

“I do not know what you mean.” Was this his way of asking her to join them?

“You will eat with us.”

“Thank you.” She put a fourth setting on the table.

“When you are here, you will eat my food.”

“And when you work at my place, you will eat my food.” That way there would be no owing.

“That’s settled.”

Lest he think she didn’t have a say in the arrangement, she added, “It’s a satisfying agreement.”

“Boys, let’s pray.” He waited until his sons folded their hands together. He glanced at Freyda as if to ask her opinion. She answered by bowing her head.

He offered a short grace. “Amen.”

She handed him the bowl of potatoes, not knowing if he expected to be served first.

“Help yourself,” he said.

She did so.

“I helped with the potatoes,” Kit said.

“I got the carrots ready,” Milo added.

Ward smiled. “You did? Great. Soon you’ll be able to make the meal all by yourself.”

“Then I guess you won’t need me any longer.” Freyda did her best to sound cheerful but, in her mind, she had the same sense of being left out, left behind, as she had as a child. She knew it was foolish, but, still, it was there.

“Papa’s joshing,” Milo said. “We can’t cook. We can only help.”

She could have hugged the boy as she read the expression in his eyes. He understood her need to be accepted.

Just as she understood his need to be cherished and protected. At that instant a tenuous bond formed between them. It wouldn’t take much to break the connection, but it was a good start.

Kit watched Ward carefully as he took a bite of his biscuit. “Is it good, Papa?”

Ward nodded.

“Milo and I made them.” The boy wriggled on his chair.

Ward chuckled. “I am very proud of you both.” He rubbed their heads. He looked at Freyda. “Thank you.”

She wondered if he meant for the meal or for the pleasure the boys had helping with the meal. Not that it mattered. She had done both and it pleased her.

The meal over, Ward pushed from the table. “Do you mind staying while I do the chores?”

“Not at all.” She did the dishes while he was outside, making a game out of it so that the boys helped willingly.

Ward returned and she prepared to leave. “What time would you like me to return tomorrow?”

He scrubbed at his neck and looked toward the field. “I’d like to put in a long day—dawn to dusk—but I can’t ask you to come that early.”

“I’ll be here as soon as it’s light.”

“You sure you don’t mind?”

“We are both anxious to get our crops seeded.” The sooner his crop was in, the sooner hers would be in. It was as simple as that.

“Okay then. Good night.” The boys stood beside him in the doorway. “Say goodnight to Mrs. Haevre,” Ward said. They did so and Freyda hurried down the dusky trail to her house. She shut her chickens in and then realized she’d left the horses at the Robbins’s farm. Tomorrow she would remember to bring them home.