Clara couldn’t bear it. She set up the guest bedroom for him, insisting, even against Gideon’s objections, that her son be close at hand so that she could care for him. After his father and brothers left, Clara perched on the edge of the bed next to Dallas and brushed the hair off his forehead. His face was turned away, staring out the window with no expression. She could only guess what he was thinking. “It must be hard for a working man like you to be in bed during the day,” she said, thinking of Gideon and how much he’d fussed that summer he broke his arm. Dallas let out a humorless laugh. “Actually, it’s pretty comfortable. Kind of glad for the excuse to do nothing.” Not sure what to make of it, Clara kissed him on the cheek, and went back into the kitchen. Her men had left crumbs from their sandwiches everywhere and dirty dishes in the sink. She’d never resented it before, but suddenly she was wondering why she hadn’t taught four grown men how to wash a plate. As soon as she finished cleaning up, she put on some water for tea and got out her prettiest set, an English teapot with pink flowers and matching cups and saucers.
