Page 16 of Wagon Train Promises
“I’ve been known to have a few.”
His eyes sparkled. He laughed.
Yes, he’d gotten the reference to their earlier conversation. His quiet chuckle bubbled inside her. She tried to pull away from his gaze. Tried to deny the sensation in her heart of joy and?—
The biscuits!
She spun away, her breath racing in and out, and hurried to check on them.
They were golden brown. She lifted them out with a long-handled spoon and set them on the nearby platter. Without looking toward Cecil, she plopped in the rest of the unbaked biscuits and returned the Dutch oven to the heat.
Meanwhile, Cecil put water over the fire to boil.
“Should we get Hazel up to have tea with us?” he asked.
Louise’s heart stopped its silly bouncing. Of course, he wanted Hazel to join them. And by rights, she should, too. But the woman was exhausted.
“I thought of leaving her to rest until Petey wakes up.”
“Of course.” He found tea leaves in the box of supplies and added them to the hot water.
Shouldn’t he sound more disappointed? Or was he that eager for the fresh biscuits? She brought over a jar of preserves. Then they sat down with biscuits and jam ,each with a cup of fragrant tea.
He followed his first bite with a swallow of the hot liquid and sighed. “Good. Thanks.” He hoisted a biscuit to indicate what he meant.
They ate in silence that grew increasingly uncomfortable.
“This reminds me of my grandmother.” Cecil broke the awkward silence.
“How’s that?” If he meant because she reminded him of an old woman, she might be hard-pressed to remain calm, eventhough her training had forced her to deal with all sorts of cantankerous people without reacting.
“She had to have her morning coffee, but afternoon tea was a must until the end. Tea with cookies or biscuits or cake. Always a sweet of some sort. I remember one time—” A smile tugged at his lips. “She was too weak to bake, but there were no cookies. I’d never baked before, but she said there was no time like the present.” His grin seemed to invite Louise into his memories.
“Even in her weakened condition, she was as stubborn as one of those oxen.” He nodded toward the animals grazing by the trees. “Sweet and cooperative unless they’re required to do something they don’t want to.” His gaze remained on the animals, or perhaps he was seeing into his past. Remembering?—
“I said I couldn’t make cookies. I’d make a mess of it.” Warmth filled his eyes as he looked at Louise. “You know what she said?”
Of course, she didn’t. She shook her head.
“She said, ‘Cecil Miller, I am going to sit right here at the table and make sure you do it right. Now pull out that cookbook and open it to the page.’ I asked what page. With a smile, she said, ‘You’ll see it.’
“And I did. ‘You mean the one all spattered with grease?’
“‘Ignore that and start measuring,’ she said.
“‘Gramma,’ I protested, ‘I’ve never seen you use this recipe.’”
“She laughed. The soft, sweet laugh I heard all through my childhood. ‘You’ll soon learn it by heart, too.’” He grew quiet, pensive.
“Did you?”
“I did. Raisin-oatmeal cookies. I still think they’re the best cookies I’ve ever tasted.”
“Partly because of the memories, I’d venture to guess.”
His smile was so full of fondness that it made her swallow hard. “You’d be right.”
“You could make them here.”
