Her Hesitant Heart - By Carla Kelly Page 0,49

and agreement that she remembered from her early teaching days, when she had been the novice.

“I’ll expect you here every morning after guard mount,” he said. “I like to go Saturday mornings, too, and just read to them.”

She nodded, overwhelmed. Private Benedict got up to give her a cup of tea, and some bread and butter. She accepted them gratefully.

“Major Randolph arranged for my own stash of food, in case some of my pupils come here unfed,” he said, sitting down with a cup of coffee. “Maybe it’s for teachers, too, although I expect you to have breakfast every morning.”

It was gentle reproof from someone with little rank, much younger than she was, and no real teaching skills beyond willingness and interest, but she took it to heart, grateful for his kindness.

“I’ll bring my own lunch,” she said with playful dignity that made him laugh.

They were sitting there discussing lessons for tomorrow when Major Randolph made his way through the warehouse to them. Private Benedict watched him.

“I never met a better man,” he said, his voice low.

“I’m not sure I have, either,” she whispered back. “He wants me to succeed.”

“Then I expect you will.”

Susanna thought about Private Benedict’s comment as she put on her coat and bent her head a bit, even before the major held open the warehouse door for her. She knew the wind was coming.

Surprise. The afternoon was still for a change and there was something indefinable in the air. She glanced at her escort. “Dare I mention the word spring?”

“No. This is the January tease,” he said. “Seize the moment, I say, because that’s all it will be.” He extended his arm for her and she took it. “We’ve been invited to dinner at the Rattigans’. I don’t know what your plans are, but you’ve seen me at work in my kitchen, and I never turn down meals fixed elsewhere.”

“Wise of you,” she murmured. “Besides, I am not certain I can face my cousin yet. Maybe after dinner.”

“I’ll go with you. No sense in facing Emily alone.”

Susanna stopped, overwhelmed again at his kindness.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, all solicitation in a way that seemed both professional and friendly at the same time.

She shook her head, not even certain she could put into words the sheer pleasure of having someone who wasn’t bent on destruction take an interest in her. “It’s hard to explain,” she said, as they walked toward the footbridge spanning the Laramie.

“Try.”

She thought a moment as they strolled across the footbridge. “You’re not measuring me for a coffin.”

“I couldn’t possibly,” he replied promptly.

“Would Hippocrates revoke your oath?” she teased.

“Hippocrates has nothing to do with my regard for you,” he said suddenly, then looked at her as if he was as surprised as she was by what had come out of his mouth ….

We’re both too old to blush, Joe thought as Sergeant Rattigan showed them into his parlor and Susanna beat a hasty retreat to the kitchen, where Maeve was putting the final touches on dinner. Happy not to contemplate his impulsive comments of mere moments before, Joe sniffed the air appreciatively.

“Sergeant, I could live on this planet far beyond my alloted three score and ten, and my kitchen would never yield such fragrance,” he said.

“It might if you remarried, Major,” Rattigan said.

Joe had heard this from others, with such a statement usually followed by more embarrassment, and apology, as everyone tried to step carefully around his widower status. Not Sergeant Rattigan, drat the man, who regarded him calmly, puffing on his pipe with a thoughtful expression not owed entirely to the comfort of tobacco.

Rattigan’s expression changed from thoughtful to tender when they heard the women laughing. For a moment, Joe envied the sergeant his charming wife.

“There aren’t any spare Maeve Rattigans,” Joe said, which might have sounded like bald envy, except he knew Rattigan understood.

“True,” the sergeant said. “Mrs. Hopkins is equally charming. Don’t you agree?”

Joe Randolph could not deny he had been considering the matter, on some level or other. Trust a sergeant to slice through the Gordian knot of convention and platitude, laying the matter bare. That’s what sergeants did.

Joe was spared a reply by the timely arrival of Maeve herself, who set a concoction of government beef and other anonymous ingredients on the table in the front room. He took a deep breath, appreciative. Susanna carried in biscuits and that was dinner. Joe hoped there would be plum duff, that homely dessert of the military, and Maeve did not disappoint.

The