Jane Bonander Read Online Free PDF Page A

the soul of a poet. Truth to tell, he hadn’t felt poetic for a very long time.
    He had questions aplenty. Among them, how did Dawn Twilight come to be at this place, with this woman whom she called Mama? Maybe his questions would be answered in the morning, when he paid a visit to the bank. And John Frost. It had been five years since he’d received the last verification of funds he’d mailed. Sometimes it had taken two or three years for his mail to catch up with him, but five …
    Time had softened the pain of his wife’s death. It no longer dug at him with serrated edges , bloodying his conscience. He still hurt, probably always would, but finding Dawn Twilight was like pressing a cool, healing compress over a wound that refused to heal.
    Now he had to find a way to announce who he was. He would need time. Couldn’t simply blurt it out, for that would drive the girl away. And, he thought with a scornful smile, he would no doubt find a stake driven through his heart by Liberty O’Malley if he moved too quickly. But he would make his move. Slowly. Steadily. The woman would be first. He had to break down her defenses, and he had no doubt that she had many. He’d already felt her reticence, and she had no idea what he was up to. He couldn’t tip his hand. He had too much riding on the outcome.
    The woman was a beauty, though. Standing with her in the quiet room, staring at the big bed, he’d felt a surprising surge of desire. With her hair mussed and her face high with color, she’d been damned tempting. Like she’d just had a satisfying tumble between the sheets.
    He swore and shook himself, continuing to study his daughter through the open window. With Mumser snuggled in her arms, she was curled up under a weeping willow, the branches drooping around her as if already protecting her from outside forces. Perhaps from him. He sighed.
    “Dawn?” Liberty O’Malley’s voice called from the porch below.
    His daughter’s gaze went toward the house. “Yes, Mama?”
    “It’s time to get at your sums, dear.”
    Dawn’s distress was visible, even from the third-floor window, “But, Mama—”
    “No buts. You’ve wasted enough time. And Miss Parker is willing to help you if—”
    “I can’t let the teacher help me, Mama!”
    There was a moment of silence. “Dawn, I don’t want to argue with you anymore. The sooner you learn to do sums, the better life will be for both of us. Schoolwork is more than writing stories and poems, and it’s time you realized that.”
    “But what about the berries? I promised Mahalia—”
    “Bert and Burl have gone into the woods to pick the berries, dear, now take that … that dog up to Mr. Wolfe. He’s in the room on the third floor.”
    A smile tugged at Jackson’s mouth as he stepped away from the window. He went to the desk and rolled up the top. He was sitting there, pretending to struggle with something when Dawn Twilight knocked on the door.
    Libby stepped into the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee. Mahalia stirred what smelled like pudding on the stove, the wooden spoon making smooth figure eights over the bottom of the cooking pot to prevent burning.
    Libby peered into the vessel. “Tapioca? Isn’t that a bit bland for your taste, Mahalia?”
    Mahalia snorted. “You’ll never catch me eatin’ the likes of this.” She grimaced. “How you white folk can swallow such tasteless bird shit is beyond me.”
    Libby gave her a sweet smile. “But it’s nice of you to think of the boarders once in a while. Since,” she added, arching an eyebrow, “that’s who you’re supposed to be cooking for in the first place.”
    Mahalia lifted her chin, appearing offended. “I just try to expand their culinary experience.” Suddenly her face changed, and she gave Libby a wicked grin.
    “What’s that look for?” Libby slumped into a chair by the table and watched the steam rise from her coffee.
    Mahalia shrugged expansively. “It’s nothin’. We just ain’t