Legacy of Love

* * *

Brandon heard the clatter the moment he stepped into the house. Something metal, he guessed. Pots and pans, most likely, considering the racket came from the direction of the kitchen.

“Get out of there,” commanded a very tired and very upset female voice. Anna’s voice. “Get out!”

His pulse quickened. Someone had broken into the house and was threatening her. Brandon raised his ebony cane to use as a weapon and headed for the kitchen. The room had a swinging door to assist with dinner service. He now realized this could be used to advantage. He pushed it open a crack to get the bearings of the intruder and prepared to whack the man over the head.

He pressed his face close to the opening and peered into the well-lit room. From this vantage point, he could see only cupboards.

Bang!

“You horrible, stupid thing,” Anna exclaimed. “Why won’t you come out?”

Come out? That didn’t sound like an intruder. Brandon let the door close and lowered the cane. Maybe she’d found a mouse. It was entirely possible, given the age and dilapidation of the house. At least she wasn’t screaming at the top of her lungs. He admired that in a woman. It would be more difficult to play the hero, though, since a mouse could easily outmaneuver a man with a bad foot.

A thundering crash came from inside the kitchen, followed by Anna’s cry of despair. “I give up.”

He thought he heard a sob. He definitely smelled something acrid. Smoke wafted out of the kitchen. That had better not be supper, or he’d be eating crackers tonight. Annoyed, he pushed on the door, intending to have a word with her, but before he got it halfway open, Anna gave out a little sob.

“Why do I have to ruin everything?”

Her plea wrenched his heart. Poor girl. The oil stove must have overheated. It hadn’t been used regularly in years. The oil lines might have gummed up or the valves stuck. He could do without supper for one night.

He opened the door to see what could only be described as an explosion. Flour and bits of dark brown goo covered the stove and worktable. Anna sat at the table, dejected, head buried in her hands.

“What happened?” he asked.

Her head jerked up, and she stumbled to her feet. “Bran—Mr. Landers. I, uh, I—I—I’m sorry for the mess.” She swiped at her cheeks.

Not tears. Nothing made him feel more inept than a woman in tears. Should he try to comfort her, or would she only lash out at him? He’d never chosen correctly in the past. Moreover, an employer shouldn’t comfort a young female employee. Except Anna wasn’t exactly an employee. She was a vibrant young woman who lived on his property.

He flexed his hands, unsure what to do. Deep down he longed to take her in his arms, but he shouldn’t. In fact, they shouldn’t be alone together in his house. Youth might be ignoring convention these days, but he would not. Yet he couldn’t turn her out in this state. Where was Mrs. Simmons when he needed her? It was after six o’clock. Anna wasn’t supposed to be here.

What should he do? He couldn’t stand to hear her sob.

He absently picked up a glob of the brown gooey stuff. It smelled rather good as a matter of fact, rich with cloves and spices. He tasted it. The moist cakelike substance melted on his tongue.

“Whatever this is, it’s delicious.” He tasted another bit and then another. “Quite excellent,” he mumbled, mouth full.

She hiccuped and lifted her head. “It is?”

“It is,” he said between bites. “What is it?”

“Plum duff,” she sniffled, wiping her red swollen eyes on her dress sleeve.

Didn’t she even have a handkerchief? Brandon pulled out his and handed it to her.

She promptly wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “Thank you.” She then offered back the handkerchief.

He grimaced. “You keep it.”

She withdrew her hand and tucked his handkerchief into her apron pocket, her eyes downcast. “I’m sorry I made a mess of things.”

He hated to see her spirit crushed. She had stood up to the Neideckers. Why would a little cooking disaster set her spirits so low?

“No problem.” He cleared his throat. “None at all.”

That didn’t appear to appease her, for she continued to stare at the black-and-white linoleum floor.

“Well, then,” he tried again, “whenever I’m faced with a problem, I assess the situation, figure out what went wrong and determine a new course of action.”

At last she lifted her gaze. Though her lashes were dewy, her expression had narrowed in puzzlement. “Even if I understood what you just said, what does it have to do with my problem?”

He’d done it again. Without thinking, he’d taken charge as if he was still in the army.

“Pardon me,” he apologized with a flourish. “I meant, let’s figure out how to solve the problem.”

“Oh.” Her full pink lips made him want to think of something much more interesting than cooking. “I don’t suppose you know how to make plum duff in a few hours rather than a week.”

He had to acknowledge he didn’t.

“Or how to get it out of the mold.”

Again his knowledge fell short.

“Then you must know how to clean burned sugar out of an oven.”

It wasn’t a question, and he hated to admit he had no idea. “Hot water?”

Her hands went to her hips. “Just what I suspected. All thought and no action. If you can’t cook or clean, how exactly did you plan to help me?”

That was the Anna Simmons he’d liked so much that day at the mercantile, though he had to admit he wasn’t quite as keen that she’d directed her biting comments at him.

“I could help you clean if you tell me what to do,” he offered weakly.

She rolled her eyes. “In your business suit and coat?”

He looked down at his fine attire. Father would have been shocked to hear what Brandon had just offered. No Landers had ever done servants’ work. When Brandon was no more than five, he’d made the mistake of helping the housekeeper wipe down walls. After shaking him violently, Father had made Brandon say over and over that he would never do that again.

Brandon eyed the cobwebs in the corners of the old kitchen. Look where that thinking had got Father.

“I’ll change,” he said.

She filled a pail with hot water and grabbed the bicarbonate of soda from the cupboard. After hefting the pail from the sink, she set it on the floor in front of the oven with a heavy clunk.

“You’ll leave me alone,” she said, hands back on those lovely hips. “I have work to do.”

That was a command. A wise man would obey. Brandon had always thought himself wise. Until now.