Page 21 of The Payback Adventure
As Abby described the game and events leading up to it, Elisabeth relished her sister’s success. Abby’s biggest wish was for her athletic ability to match her intellect. She wasn’t the most coordinated kid, but she gave it her all. Some kids didn’t care about that. To them, Abigail Wheeler was simply the class brain with glasses and the last one to be picked for a team—any team.
“Why didn’t you tell us before?” Elisabeth asked.
“I wanted to save it for tonight.” Abby grinned. “You’re next.”
“Let’s see.” Elisabeth was tempted to say finding Henry, but she didn’t want to give him the wrong impression. Not that he thought that way about her. Still, she couldn’t forget how he had stared at her a few minutes ago. Her pulse raced thinking about it. That was warning enough. Henry should not be her favorite thing. She had to remember what was most important—her brother and sisters. Toby had said no man would want all the extra baggage she brought into a relationship. And so far, he’d been proven right. But Elisabeth didn’t care. She wanted her siblings and loved them more than anything. And would continue to do so.
Henry might say he loved children so long as they weren’t his while being charming to them, but the charm would fade. And he would leave. At least the kids hadn’t really liked Toby.
“My favorite thing happened tonight,” she said, finally. “It was sitting here listening to all of you.”
Sam groaned. “You always say that.”
“It’s the truth.” And it was. More than anything, Elisabeth wanted to make this a happy home for her brother and sisters. Nothing gave her more pleasure than listening to their favorite things, even if it turned out to be seeing Aaron Eliot’s blood.
“And sweet.” The look in Henry’s eyes was anything but sugary and sweet. “Just like you.”
“And the pie,” Caitlin added.
He laughed. The deep, rich sound rumbled its way straight to Elisabeth’s heart. Forget about more ice cream. She needed a tall glass of water with lots of ice. He winked at her. Her blood started to boil. Make that a pitcher or, better yet, a water tower full.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Water wasn’t Henry’s normal nightcap, but it was better than juice. Or milk. With a glass in hand, he went into the living room.
Saturday night on the farm was quiet, peaceful, and boring. One night of this would be fine. But thirty? Forget it. Somehow, he would have to liven things up.
Not only for him but also for Elisabeth.
She’d been cleaning ever since the kids went to bed. First the dishes—by hand because they had no dishwasher—then the kitchen, and now the living room.
He wasn’t sure how he could help her—his housekeeper cleaned for him—but Elisabeth paid him to work, not sit around. “Do you want some help?”
“I’m almost done, but thanks.” She folded a pastel rainbow-colored afghan and laid it over the back of the couch. “You should relax. Get used to being here. After tonight, you’ll have a lot of work to do.”
He didn’t consider driving a tractor work, but he appreciated the hospitality. She had gone out of her way to make him feel welcome, even though he was bunking in an eleven-year-old’s personal landfill.
Henry sat on the old recliner. It was comfortable despite the rips and tears and scribbles with colored markers on the tan-colored upholstery. He took a sip of water and set his glass on the maple end table next to the milk-jug lamp Caitlin had shown him how to turn on with a clap of his hands. This place was going to take some getting used to.
Henry leaned back and studied the photos on the fireplace mantel. One picture caught his eye. A baby wrapped in a blue blanket was being held by a couple. Sam, Henry guessed. And his parents.
It was none of his business, but Henry wanted to know more about the Wheelers. Especially Elisabeth. Something about her intrigued him, something beyond the way she looked, and he wanted to figure out what. “You said your parents were gone. Where did they go?”
She picked up a baby doll from the floor. “Heaven.”
He should have guessed. No one would leave these children on their own with a farm. Henry struggled for the correct words to say. He had a reputation for being smooth, but smooth wasn’t happening. He’d try sincere. “I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.” She placed the doll in a plastic laundry basket containing toys. He thought back to the playroom he’d had built for Noelle when she visited. She wasn’t even two yet but had more toys than all three Wheeler children.
“What happened to your parents?” Henry was prying, but he didn’t care.
Elisabeth brushed broken pieces of crayons off the coffee table and into a shoebox. “My father and stepmother were killed in a car accident on Highway 18.”
“My parents were killed, too,” he admitted, remembering the pain, the frustration, and the confusion that had followed. “In a plane crash.”
She glanced up at him with compassion in her eyes. “Death is always difficult. My mom died of cancer when I was little, so my stepmother raised me, but it just seems harder when it’s…sudden. Unexpected.”
Even though he hadn’t been close to his parents, it had been a difficult time for Henry. If not for Brett and Laurel and Cynthia and his other friends… Henry owed them so much. Sending them on adventures had been an easy way to pay them back. And he was an excellent matchmaker. “You must have been so young when this happened.”
