Allie's Moon by Alexis Harrington

she
poured pancake batter onto the cast iron griddle. It was a working
man’s kind of breakfast, she realized. Neither she nor Olivia ate
this much in the morning. But Jeff was too thin—who knew when he’d
eaten his last decent meal before last night?—and she had hard work
planned for him. He’d need a big meal to sustain him until
lunch.
    She assembled a tray for him: a stack of four
fluffy pancakes dotted with butter, two fried eggs, three slices of
bacon, and coffee. When she pushed open the screen door, she
spotted him still at the lean-to, just finishing with the
razor.
    “ Mr. Hicks,” she called. He looked up
and she lifted the tray slightly. He hurried into the shirt she’d
given him. The sleeves were a bit too short, so he folded them back
to his elbows, exposing sturdy forearms dusted with blond hair.
Then he jammed the short tails into the waist of his jeans. Well,
she supposed the shirt didn’t really fit—at least it was clean and
whole, even if his jeans were not. But as he neared her she saw
that he still looked worn out, although his eyes were not as red as
they had been the day before. The most striking feature at the
moment, though, were a dozen or more nicks on his face. Some of
them slowly oozed blood, others were drying.
    “ Goodness, Mr. Hicks! What have you
done to yourself?”
    “ It’s nothing, ma’am.” He reached up
and pressed his thumb to a particularly nasty cut on his chin. Then
he shrugged like a self-conscious youth, and turned his profile to
her.
    But he wasn’t a youth. He was a man, and his
hand shook as if he had St. Vitus’ dance.
    Guilt scuttled through Althea. That was why
he hadn’t wanted to use the razor, because his hands trembled, not
because he was being stubborn.
    And she had insisted.
    She put the tray down on the tree stump and
searched her apron pocket for her clean handkerchief. “Here,” she
said quietly, pulling it out, “wet this at the pump. The cold water
will help stop the bleeding.”
    He took a step backward. “No, ma’am, I’ll
ruin it.”
    She was beginning to wish that he’d stop
calling her “ma’am.” “You won’t ruin it. It’s just an ordinary
square of white linen.” Olivia’s things were lacy and furbelowed.
Althea’s were plain and serviceable. She held out the handkerchief
for several moments, feeling as if she were waving it at a passing
train. “Go on, now.” Finally he took it from her.
    “ Thanks.”
    “ I’ll leave your breakfast here. Just
put the hanky on the tray when you’re finished with it. I can find
some other ones for you to use.” Knowing where those handkerchiefs
would come from, Althea’s gaze strayed briefly to the gravesite,
half expecting to see the earth swell and buckle as Amos Ford
rolled over.
    “ Thanks again, ma’am.”
    Althea nearly cringed. “Mr. Hicks, it isn’t
necessary to call me ‘ma’am.’ ”
    He grinned at her suddenly, briefly. It was
the first real smile she’d seen on his face. His eyes crinkled at
the outer corners and another five years came off his appearance.
She marveled at this attractive man who’d been hiding under the
shaggy hair and straggling beard. The funny flutter in her stomach
came back.
    “ All right, Allie. I’m not real partial
to ‘Mr. Hicks’ either. My name is Jeff.”
    Allie! She had not given him permission to
address her so informally. “My name is Althea, but you may call me
Miss Ford. Anyway, a woman my age can’t be called a name that
sounds so—so girlish.”
    He considered her with a slight squint. “You
don’t look like an Althea.”
    “ No? And what does an Althea look
like?”
    He pulled his thumb away from his chin to
check the blood there. “I’m not sure. But not like you.”
    She couldn’t believe that she lingered with
this silly conversation—she had work to do, a picnic to get ready
for, and a sister to mollify. Maybe it was the ache she saw in his
green eyes that kept her there. Or the way the sun glinted off