The Bride of Willow Creek(29)

She made a point of not watching them undress and didn’t turn around until the scent of roses filled the kitchen. They had used a lot of her bath salts. “Who’s going first?”

“I am.” Daisy lifted her good leg over the rim and climbed into the water. “Oh, it smells so good!”

Angie gave her a washcloth and a cake of rose-scented soap. Molly was correct about the expense. But if Sam could afford beer and cigars, then she and the girls could afford bath salts and scented soap. She would explain that to him when the time came to replace her supplies.

Lucy kneeled beside the tub and wiggled her fingers in the water. “You look so funny wearing stockings in the tub.”

“You look funny wearing your petticoat and nothing else!”

Only minutes ago Angie would have wagered everything she owned that tonight would not end in giggles. Smiling, almost enjoying the moment, she asked if Daisy was ready for a hair wash. When Daisy seemed reluctant to get down to business, Angie reminded her that the water was getting cool and two other people were waiting for their turn.

Daisy ducked her head underwater and came up sputtering, rosy, and laughing. Her fine golden hair felt like silk beneath Angie’s fingers, and so did Lucy’s hair when it was Lucy’s turn to be shampooed.

Angie wrapped their hair in towels and sent them to their room to finish drying and get into their nightgowns while she popped into the cool water for a hasty wash. After toweling off and slipping into her wrapper, she ducked her head into the tub and reached for the shampoo.

When she was finished they sat beside the open oven door, letting the heat dry their hair.

Angie had seen Daisy’s poor twisted foot, of course. Her wet stocking had clearly revealed the inner and upward twist. And Angie had examined Daisy’s custom-made shoe. She’d felt her heart wrench in her chest, and she’d experienced a burst of hot anger.

How was it possible that Sam hadn’t saved enough for Daisy’s operation in five years? He could have sold his horse and his house and anything else of value that he owned. He could have robbed a bank. He could have done something.

The bath and the heat from the oven almost put the girls to sleep before their hair dried. Eventually Angie led them into their bedroom and pulled the covers up to their chins. For one uncomfortable moment they lay in bed staring up at her and she suddenly wondered if they expected her to kiss them goodnight. Before she could decide what to do, Daisy crawled out of the blankets, stood up, and threw her arms around Angie’s neck.

“Thank you,” Daisy whispered against her ear.

Angie had never been a mother or an aunt. Rose-scented hugs from a child were a new experience. Pleasant, but odd, too. Small arms around a person’s neck did strange things to the heart.

She forgot to have them say their prayers, but all in all she thought the evening had gone well. Disaster had been averted.

After draping the wet stockings, petticoat, and shimmy on the backs of the kitchen chairs, she put on a skirt and shirtwaist, pinned up her hair, and washed the supper dishes while she waited for Sam to come home.





Chapter 6

Two lamps burned inside the house, which meant either that Angie had forgotten to put Daisy’s night-light in the sink and blow out the other lamp, or she was waiting for him. On the off chance that she was waiting, Sam didn’t know whether to be pleased or worried.

Quietly, he opened the kitchen door, looked inside, and stopped short. Angie sat at the table, looking as fine as a woman could look and smelling like summer roses. She wore a dark skirt and a crisp white shirtwaist that curved over her breasts and made him wonder why he hadn’t noticed her magnificent figure before. Actually, he had noticed. Not that he wanted to. Thinking about Angie’s body, which he did far too often, was as futile an exercise as wishing he could change the past.

“Sit down,” she said, starting to rise. “I’ll fix you a plate.”

Now he noticed that she’d set a place for him at the table. He covered his eyes, drew a breath, then looked at her. “I ate supper at the Bon Ton.” After almost a week of going to bed hungry, he’d figured she was never going to leave him any food, so, resenting it, he’d spent fifty cents he hated to spend and he’d bought himself a big meal. Naturally, this would be the night she decided to relent and feed him.

That was the thing about women. The minute a man believed he could predict their behavior, they changed their way of doing things and cut the ground out from under him.

“We need to talk, Sam.”

That was another bad sign. Nothing good ever came out of a conversation that began: We need to talk.

“Is that coffee still hot?”