Gypsy Magic (The Little Matchmakers) by Judy Griffith Gill Read Free Book Online

her hands, soothing. Gypsy noticed again the child who hovered silently in the corner, watching her with big, poignantly familiar eyes. “Kevin.” She smiled. “You’re a hero. You saved my life.” Her smile drew him to her although he cast an uneasy glance at his father who was busy at the stove. When he saw his father look in his direction, he melted back into the shadows.
    “Drink that coffee.” Lance Saunders stalked from the stove to where she sat, still holding the mug. The man must have great peripheral vision. “There’s sugar in it to combat shock, though I think brandy would be better.”
    She shuddered. “I see,” he said, his tone still sardonic. “Count yourself lucky, then. I don’t have any.” He stood over her this time until she took two healthy swallows of the coffee, before striding back to the stove. The scent and sound of bacon sizzling in a pan told her she was hungry, after all. But bacon? She couldn’t eat bacon! Long years of habit dictated she carefully watch her diet.
    She sipped more slowly, and for the first time she was able to take stock of him.
    Shaggy hair, stubbled jaw, at least twenty-four hours’ worth, she estimated. His eyes, she recalled, when he was berating her, had glittered greenish gray, set in dark, hollowed sockets in a weary face. He was tall—several inches over her own five-ten, and seemed muscular. His jeans were almost, but not quite as dirty as those his son wore, and he had not buttoned his blue denim work shirt. His feet slapped around the cabin in black flip-flops, though she thought he’d been wearing hiking boots before.
    As if sensing her scrutiny he turned slowly and returned her regard with an ironic expression before saying, “Well? Do I pass muster?”
    Confused, Gypsy, who was seldom confused by a man, dropped her eyes and drained her coffee mug. That having made her feel a lot better, she accepted a refill and continued sipping until the mug was empty again. By that time Lance was back with a plate of bacon and eggs.
    “Eat that, then we’ll talk,” he ordered and she knew it was an order, but because the aroma was so wonderful, Gypsy, who didn’t care to take orders from anyone outside the line of business, ate.
    “Forgive me for not having nice fresh bread to toast for you,” he drawled sarcastically. “Had I known you were coming I’d have…”
    “Baked a cake,” Gypsy supplied, remembering a song her grandmother used to sing. And, remarkably, Grandma had always, even if she hadn’t known Gypsy was coming, baked a cake. Or so it had seemed. Her mother disapproved, but Gypsy’s grandma always said a slice or two of cake wouldn’t make the child fat. Grandma always won.
    The man shot her a poisonous glare. “Yeah. What the hell was that all about? When you arrived here with Kevin, I mean. You said you’d come to bake a cake.”
    “I did?” What a ludicrous notion. She didn’t even know how to bake a cake, though she supposed, if pressed, she could follow the directions on a box of mix, but why she’d have said such a thing was beyond her. Actually, everything since she’d woken up to find Kevin pulling on her toes was beyond her.
    She set her empty plate aside. “Look, I feel much better now, so if I could, I need to go.”
    “I’ll take you,” offered a little voice and she looked down to see Kevin, who had crept close to her elbow. He took her hand and she stood, surprised at her own weakness and dizziness, and carefully picked up her plate from the bunk and started toward the table with it.
    “Kevin! That’s not what the lady meant,” Lance said, looking embarrassed. The little hand went limp in hers as the child slunk… Yes, she thought, that’s the only word for it, he slunk back to his corner.
    “That’s exactly what I meant!” she snapped at the man. “Kevin, will you please?” She extended her hand to the shadowy little figure and he crept out to stand beside her, his eyes downcast while Gypsy raised