Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 47222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
“Port?” I ask her. Strange addition to a dinner table.
Gesturing to the small bottle, Darcy smiles shyly.
“It’s not much, but my father liked port after dinner sometimes. I don’t care for the stuff but thought you might like it. Since I don’t have beer or wine or anything.” Again, embarrassment creeps across her delicate features.
I am beyond touched by the thoughtfulness of the gesture and tantalized by the aroma of the delicious meal in front of me. “Thank you, sweetheart, for your kindness and hospitality.”
She beams at me.
“I knew you’d be hungry and you need to get your strength up.” She smiles at me, a genuinely happy smile. “So you’re most welcome, Mister whatever your name is.”
I think quickly. There’s no sense in using my real name when she obviously doesn’t recognize me. “Ranger. Ranger McLeod. No ‘mister’ necessary.”
With a smile, Darcy and I dig into the dinner, me hungry from my recent accident and her because of her long day of farm work.
The meal is delicious, clearly made with a great deal of patience and knowledge about cooking.
“So where did you learn to cook like this? It’s amazing.”
Darcy blushes with pride. “Pa used to cook most meals when I was little, but once I realized how hard it was on him, working the farm all day and then coming back to feed me, I figured it was the least I could do to contribute.” She laughs, a sweet sound. “Lots of mistakes were made in the process, trust me.”
I can’t help but be impressed, because here was a young woman, obviously just out of girlhood, who had spent the entire day working only to have also prepared a full meal for a complete stranger.
Sweet as all get-out, I repeat myself from earlier.
We continue to eat our meal in silence, with the occasional anecdote coming up or comment on the weather.
“Sorry I’m so awkward.” Darcy offers as she reaches for her third biscuit. I eye her round figure appreciatively. Damn, I love a woman who can eat.
“What are you talking about?”
“This.” She indicates the meal. “You, me. I just don’t see a lot of people, so it’s been a long time since I talked to someone who wasn’t the cow or horse.”
I cock a black brow at her.
“Gets kind of lonely, doesn’t it? Farm life.”
“Yeah, at times,” Darcy murmurs, looking a bit sad all of a sudden.
I reach for a biscuit and slather it with butter. “There are times when I’m surrounded by folks, though, and that can also be real lonely.”
“The last time I was surrounded by folks was back in high school,” Darcy laughs. “So I’ll take your word for it.”
We smile at each other and enjoy the last bites of dinner. Once she finishes hers, Darcy rises to start putting dishes and pans into the sink.
“I can help. Here – ” I start to get up, but the young woman practically pushes me back into my chair.
“No, no. I’ve got it. You’re injured, so just relax.”
When I start to protest again, she holds a finger to my lips. “Not another word.” We’re both clearly a little surprised by the bold move, and Darcy quickly retreats to clean up our meal.
Part of me is offended by her lack of desire for help, but I’m also worn out, feeling better after the delicious dinner but still weaker than I’d prefer.
Plus, the view ain’t so bad.
Sitting at the table affords me a good view of Darcy’s figure. I smile appreciatively as she moves around the kitchen with ease. But I notice that, again, she appears exhausted. There are dark circles around her otherwise lovely brown eyes and her body is somewhat stooped from a hard day’s grind.
With Darcy otherwise occupied, I look around the kitchen more carefully. It’s shocking how dilapidated it is. What should have been cheery yellow paint on the walls has faded to a pale and spotty white. The kitchen faucet leaks a slow, steady, drip, even after Darcy has turned it off. The doorframe is cracked and the buzzing from the refrigerator is not a good sound. In fact, the very chair I’m sitting in has a loose leg, and I’ve been balancing as carefully as possible on it throughout dinner.
Finally, Darcy sits back down across from me at the table, having brought me a small brandy snifter for the port. It’s not the right glass but I don’t have the heart to tell her. Instead, I reach for the burgundy liquid and take a long whiff before I pour it into the glass and take a sip. It’s smooth and heady, and I’m grateful she was willing to share her father’s special drink with a stranger.
Darcy is watching me as I sip on the drink, so I offer her a taste. She shakes her head fiercely. “You’ve never tried it?”