She blinked at him. “A recipe?” For what, to make cakes for Miss Truman? She chided herself. What he did was none of her concern.
He took a little notebook and a stubby pencil from inside his jacket. “I’ve been told you’re one of the best cooks in Chandler, so I thought maybe you’d know how to make biscuits. Mind if I sit down?”
“No, of course not.” She put her iron down. “What do you want a biscuit recipe for?”
“I just need it. Now, let’s see, you need flour, but how much?”
“How many biscuits do you want to make?” She walked to stand by the table.
“Enough for six kids, so how much flour?”
“Why can’t their mother make biscuits?”
“She’s sick. How many biscuits can I make with fifty pounds of flour? Do I need anything else? I just add water, right?”
“Flour and water makes glue, not biscuits.” She sat down across from him.
“Oh, right, glue,” he said, writing. “I need yeast, don’t I?”
“Not for biscuits. Whose children are they?”
“One of the freighters who used to work for your father. Your father fired him, and the poor man has six kids to feed and a sick wife. I got their father a job hauling a load of corn to Denver, but there’s nobody to take care of the kids, so I thought I’d go cook something for them. Now, about these biscuits—if you don’t use yeast, what do you use?”
“Did you go to Reverend Thomas at the church? He always has people ready to help. One of the women—”
He gave her a sad look. “I thought of that, but I feel responsible for these people. Maybe if I hadn’t taken the job with your father, the driver wouldn’t have been fired. You see, I helped make out the job estimate that got the new contract for your father. So, about these biscuits—”
“Why did my father fire him?”
“The fewer people he has to pay, the more money he makes,” Jace said simply. “Baking soda? Is that something that goes into biscuits? What about lard? You wouldn’t know how to make flapjacks, would you? You use yeast in them?”
Nellie stood. “No, you don’t use yeast in pancakes. Mr. Montgomery, I’m going with you.”
“With me?”
“There seem to be six hungry children who need help, and I’m going with you to give them that help.”
“I’m not sure you should.”
“Why not?” she demanded.
“I’m afraid your father might not like it, and what about your reputation? Driving twenty miles out into the country alone with me, and you’ve heard what a womanizer I am.”
“It seems that these children’s hunger was caused by my father, therefore it is my Christian duty to help them.” She looked down at him, at his dark hair and eyes, at his broad shoulders. “My reputation is nothing compared to hungry children. I must take my chances with you.”
He leaned back in his chair and smiled to show the dimple in his cheek. “We all must make sacrifices at times.”
Nellie put out of her mind that she was leaving a heap of Terel’s dresses yet to be ironed. She pulled the pastries out of the oven, started to let them cool, then, on impulse, dumped them all into a canvas bag. Tomorrow there would be no home-baked goods for Terel’s tea, and supper tonight was almos
t sure to be late.
She wrote a hurried note to her father telling him where she was going, then turned to Jace. “I’m ready.”
He smiled at her again and distracted her so much that she didn’t see him take the note she’d written and stick it in his pocket. “I have a wagonload of food outside so we can leave now.” Before anyone sees us and stops us, he thought.
“With baking powder?”
“Sure,” he said, having no idea what was in the wagon. He’d just told the grocer to fill it and never looked at the contents.