Daughter of Joy by Kathleen Morgan Read Free Book Online Page B

of his head, he walked to the back door and donned his jacket and black Stetson. “Save it. I’ll be back in about fifteen minutes anyway.” He paused at the door to pick up a covered empty milk pail. “If you’re needing some milk for making breakfast, I mean.”
    “Yes, I will, ” Abby replied. “Are flapjacks and bacon to your liking?”
    The corner of Conor’s mouth twitched. “After all the mornings of just a cup of coffee and maybe a slice of bread, most anything will be to my liking. That is, if you and Old Bess can manage to cook a meal without burning most of it.”
    “Old Bess?” Abby’s forehead wrinkled in puzzlement. “Who’s Old Bess?”
    With a jerk of his head, Conor MacKay indicated the big cookstove. Then, without further explanation or a farewell, he turned on his heel, opened the back door, and walked out.
    “Old Bess, indeed, ” Abby muttered, sending the stove a skeptical glance. “I’ve heard of naming your horse and even your hand gun, but naming a stove …”
    She grabbed up the lantern, a sharp knife, and long metal pan, and headed to the cellar door across the kitchen. The room was a dark, chilly place, with hastily dusted cobwebs still clinging doggedly to the corners. The family washtub and bathing tub were stacked against a far wall. Thick slabs of pork and beef, covered with muslin, hung from the rafters in the middle of the long room. It was there Abby went, to the chunks of smoked and salted bacon. With a few, quick slashes of her knife, she hacked off enough bacon for breakfast, then climbed back up the stairs.
    Fifteen minutes later, just as he had promised, Conor MacKay strode in with a pail of warm, foaming milk. He immediately poured the milk into a cheesecloth-covered pail sitting on a small table by the back door, then placed the empty pail on the floor beside it. Hanging up his coat and Stetson, Conor joined Abby at the stove.
    The mouth-watering aroma of frying bacon mixed tantalizingly with the smell of fresh coffee. He took one look at the fat strips of bacon sizzling in the iron fry pan, and smiled.
    Grabbing a dishcloth, Conor used it to pick up the coffeepot. “I need that cup of coffee now. Would you like one, too?”
    Abby glanced briefly over her shoulder, then returned her attention to the bacon. “Yes, please. I take mine black.”
    The coffeepot still clutched in his hand, Conor walked to one of the cupboards. Taking down two thick pottery mugs, he placed them on the table. After quickly pouring out the coffee, Conor added several teaspoons of sugar to his. Still stirring his coffee, he ambled over to Abby.
    “How much longer before breakfast?”
    “About ten more minutes.” Abby lifted crisp strips of bacon from the fry pan and placed them on a plate. “I’m just about ready to start making the flapjacks. Does someone need to go up and wake Beth, or will she know to get up on her own?”
    “I’ll go wake her.” Conor took a long draught of his coffee. He closed his eyes, almost sighing aloud in pleasure. Somehow, the coffee tasted better this morning than it had in a long time. “She expects me.”
    Abby glanced over her shoulder and smiled. “Well, I can’t think of a more pleasant way for a little girl to greet the new day, than by being awakened by her father. It’s good to have some special family traditions. Beth will remember and cherish them even when she’s grown.”
    Her reply nonplused him. “I suppose, ” he growled, not knowing what else to say but inordinately pleased, nonetheless.
    “One thing more, Mr. MacKay.”
    He had just lifted his mug for another swallow but paused, the coffee halfway to his lips. “Yes?”
    “After breakfast. What household chores would you like me to tackle first?” As if to soften any implied insult, she added. “Considering your, er, long-standing problems keeping a housekeeper, I assume some chores have piled up more severely than others?”
    His brow furrowing in thought, he considered her