An Improper Situation (Sanborn-Malloy Historical Romance Series, Book One) Read Online Free PDF Page A

Nothing will do them better than that nap,” Reed said without turning. Charlotte looked at his broad, muscled back. Unfortunately, his tone was once more one of irritation. A sigh escaped her. Being with people was downright draining.
    His face as it turned to her held none of the tenderness she’d witnessed for the children. Instead, the coldness had reentered his sharp glance despite her assistance with their bathing.
    “I’ll let you get to your work, Miss Sanborn, and I’ll see about the supper.”
    She hesitated. “Do you really know how to do that?”
    He looked surprised, his expression softening. “What? Cook?”
    “ Well, yes. Most men . . . that is, I don’t think I know of any around here who could do for themselves. But then, my circle of male acquaintances isn’t that large. Still . . .,” she shut her mouth to stop the babble.
    “ I assure you, Miss Sanborn, I can cook—not a great number of dishes, but a limited repertoire learned at the insistence of my mother, two aunts, and three sisters who were determined to enlighten me when I would have preferred to spend my whole day playing outside. Shall we go down?” His tone seemed to have softened, too.
    She nodded and swept past him feeling foolish for having questioned him. As for his “limited repertoire,” she had no doubt that it was wider and better than her own. At the bottom of the stairs, she hesitated again, but he simply went past her into the kitchen without inviting or asking for her help.
    She shrugged. Well, it was what she wanted. She returned to her study, closed the door, and forced herself to concentrate. Despite the distractions, the piece on the farmers’ recent political gatherings was going well. She dove into it and forgot all else.
    That is, until the grandfather clock in the hall chimed, letting her know that nearly two hours had passed. She heard Reed Malloy call up the stairs, “Supper, you sleepy heads. Last one at the table does the dishes.” She heard his step outside her door, but he paused only a moment before continuing to the kitchen, followed moments later by what sounded like a herd of bison coming full chisel down her stairway.
    So, she was not to be invited to this repast in her own home. And the smells coming from the kitchen made her stomach start to pang with hunger. Her last real meal had been noontime the day before at the Fuller Hotel dining room in town. This morning she’d had nothing more than a tinned biscuit. She looked hopefully into the tin perched on the edge of her desk. Empty, as was she.
    Charlotte could hide in her study and starve to death or go out and ask to join them. After all, it was her kitchen. The alternative was to drive into town—but that would look ridiculous to her visitors.
    She pushed aside the strand of hair that was always falling out of the knot and stood up. Land sakes, she hated being humble.
    She didn’t bother going to the kitchen. Charlotte could hear them in the dining room, her dining room. Not that she minded, not that she ever used it. In fact, it made her think of being very young and of adults and white lace tablecloths and fine china.
    She remembered her mother making her and her brother be on their best behavior, even though their father sat with his nose in a book and, much to her mother’s annoyance, didn’t even notice when Thaddeus dropped his peas on the rug.
    Charlotte pushed the door open quietly, trying to shake off those old thoughts. Her glance quickly took it all in: Reed Malloy at one end of the table, her mother’s end, still in his shirt sleeves, and the children on either side now dressed more casually for having dressed themselves.
    He was serving them mashed potatoes from her grandmother’s pink-flowered china bowl; it looked absurdly feminine and fragile in his large hands. Thomas was talking animatedly about the animals he’d seen from the train window during the trip.
    Reed looked up after a second and saw her. Thomas froze