Leftover Love by Janet Dailey Read Free Book Online Page A

instructed.
    Bending, Layne opened the oven door to peer inside. A long sheetpan of biscuits sat on the middle rack of the hot oven. The dough had risen, but the tops hadn’t started to brown.
    “Not quite.” She carefully closed the door.
    “There’s jam and honey in the refrigerator.” With the bacon turned, Mattie started breaking eggs into a mixing bowl with pancake meal. As Layne walked past her to the refrigerator, Mattie’s glance made a skimming sweep of Layne. “I’d forgotten what it’s like to be young.” Her mouthquirked briefly in a wry line. Layne gave her a curious look, wondering what had prompted that remark. “There you are with lipstick and mascara, and most of the time I don’t do more than run a brush through my hair. Of course, it would take a ton of makeup to cover all these freckles.” She sent another glance at Layne. “You’re lucky you don’t have any, even though you’ve got that hint of red in your hair.”
    “I like your freckles. They make you look young.” With her hands full of jars of preserves and honey, Layne pushed the refrigerator door shut with her hip.
    “That’s nice to hear. Inside you always feel young, but it’s the outside that gives you away,” Mattie declared while she vigorously beat the pancake batter. “In another couple of years I’ll be fifty. Life seems to be over before it’s begun.”
    “Do you have any children?” The atmosphere in the kitchen seemed to lend itself to personal questions.
    “No.” Mattie set the bowl on the counter and began to scoop up the strips of crisp bacon. “John couldn’t have any.”
    “Were you ever sorry?” Layne pretended a mild interest while she studied the woman closely. It didn’t surprise her that Mattie had made no mention of the child she’d given up.
    “Sorry? I don’t know.” She shrugged vaguely. “Does it ever do any good to be sorry about something in the past? It’s over and there’s nothing you can do to change it, so why make yourself miserable with regret and forget all the good things that did come your way?”
    “I guess that’s true.” But Layne experienced a twinge of disappointment. She realized she was clinging to a girlhood wish that her natural mother regretted giving her up for adoption. It had nothing to do with what was wise or practical. It was strictly emotional.
    There was the clump of boots on the steps outside theback door just as Mattie began to ladle the pancake batter onto the greased grill. “I timed that right.”
    Two men filed into the kitchen ahead of Creed Dawson. The first was an older, heavyset man in his fifties with iron-gray hair. The weight of his big torso seemed to be carried on the big trophy buckle of his belt. Coats and hats were peeled off and hung on wall pegs by the door.
    “Mornings” chorused around the kitchen in an exchange of greetings. The second man self-consciously combed a hand through his hair, flattened by his hat, and grinned widely at Layne. In his middle twenties, he was slim and sandy-haired. Layne smiled back as she stopped at the oven to remove the biscuits, baked to a toasty golden brown.
    Creed pulled out a chair at the table. Layne had never seen him when he was not wearing his hat. The springing thickness of his hair was the rich brown color of roasted coffee. Its wayward order seemed to invite a hand to smooth it into place. Layne smiled to herself at such a fanciful idea and piled the hot biscuits onto a plate.
    When she approached the table, Creed made very brief introductions. “Stoney Bates,” he said, first indicating the older man to her. “Hoyt Weber, Layne MacDonald.”
    The older man, Stoney Bates, merely nodded to her as he scooted his chair up to the table, but the young cowboy was not the silent type. “After looking at these two characters every day,” he said with a gesture at Creed and Stoney, “your face is going to be a welcome addition.”
    “Thanks.” She laughed at the compliment.
    There had