Always Dakota - Debbie Macomber [33]
“I’ll join you,” Jeb announced.
“Don’t mind if I do myself,” Norm Urlacher said, trailing Jeb and Joshua into the kitchen.
“I should probably supervise,” Dennis said, following the others. “I want whipped cream on mine,” he called, halfway through the door.
“We just ate,” Sarah complained to Maddy and her mother-in-law. How anyone could get up from a table laden with a meal fit for royalty and be hungry less than half an hour later was beyond her.
“While they’re in there,” Irene said, “let’s suggest they do the dishes.”
“Good idea!”
Soon the three of them were laughing, their excitement about the pregnancy dulling the pain of Calla’s rejection.
Margaret Clemens’s housekeeper wasn’t at all pleased that Margaret had taken it upon herself to invite Matt Eilers to Thanksgiving dinner.
Sadie muttered disparaging comments under her breath all morning as she worked in the kitchen, cooking the turkey, peeling potatoes, slicing green beans and making pumpkin pies.
“You can go now, Sadie,” Margaret told her when she’d finished preparing the last of the vegetable dishes and had set a pie on the counter to cool.
“And leave you alone with that scoundrel?” she bellowed, fists digging into her wide hips. “I think not.”
“Sadie.” Margaret could be just as stubborn. “Matt is a gentleman. Now, go home. Your family’s waiting.”
Still the housekeeper hesitated.
“Go,” Margaret insisted, shooing the older woman out of the kitchen. Sadie had been with the family for as long as Margaret could remember and was as close to a mother as Margaret had. She’d been a blessing, for sure, but distrusted strangers and single men. It didn’t help that Matt fell into both categories. He might have lived and ranched in the area for nearly five years, but as far as Sadie was concerned, he wasn’t one of them and shouldn’t be trusted.
With obvious reluctance the housekeeper removed her apron. “If you need help, you phone.”
“I will,” Margaret assured her, and edged her toward the door. As soon as Sadie was gone, Margaret sighed with relief, thankful she’d finally managed to get Sadie out of the house. This dinner was important, and the last thing Margaret wanted was a chaperone, especially since she was hoping Matt would see fit to kiss her again.
Her guest arrived promptly at four, the time they’d agreed upon. He brought a bouquet of flowers, along with a can of cranberries and a bottle of wine.
“Thank you, Matt,” she murmured, smelling the yellow and bronze mums. Feeling self-conscious, she led him into the kitchen, where she placed the bouquet in a vase. Might as well tell him now and be done with it. “I have a confession to make.”
“Already?” he asked, frowning. “I just got here.”
“I fell short on my part of the bargain.” It probably would have been better if she’d waited until later to own up. “I’m not a very good cook. I’d hoped—actually, I’d planned—to whip up the entire meal on my own, but Sadie convinced me to start with something less demanding before tackling a five-course holiday dinner. So…”
“So in other words Sadie made the turkey?”
Margaret nodded. Well, the turkey and everything else. It hardly seemed surprising that she was pretty much of a lost cause when it came to finding her way around a kitchen. After all, she’d never spent any time learning those skills—she was a rancher, not a cook. The important thing was that, dinner aside, he’d chosen to spend the day with her.
Matt glanced at the table already set. “I’m glad not to be alone today. That’s what really matters—not the turkey.”
His words seemed to echo her thoughts, which flustered her so much, she said the next thing that popped into her mind. “Would you like a beer before we eat?”
“Sure.”
Hands and heart trembling, she removed two cans from the refrigerator, emptied them into tall tumblers, then took him to the library. It was her father’s favorite room, and hers, too. They sat in the high-back leather chairs, on opposite sides of the brick fireplace. She’d laid a small fire earlier and lit it just before he arrived. It provided a comforting warmth…and a sensation