UNBROKEN PROMISE

~91~ Missed Monthlies

Oma woke feeling groggy, the weight of sleep still in her bones. She rubbed  her eyes and swung her legs off the bed, her bare feet meeting the cool floorboards.

The faintest aroma  of food, savory, rich, and warm drifted up the stairs. Fried chicken with a hint of onion and herbs. Her stomach growled softly as she followed the scent down the stairs.

When she reached the kitchen, she paused in the doorway. Logan was there, sleeves rolled up, setting the table with an ease that she admired. Golden brown chicken glistening beside mashed potatoes smoothed with butter, and green beans seasoned with a shine of bacon fat.

As soon as his eyes caught hers, his whole face lit up in a grin. He wiped his hands and crossed the room in a few easy strides. His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her close until her hand settled against his chest.

“How’d you sleep, darlin’? You feelin’ better?” His voice was low and rough with concern.

Oma gave a small nod, meeting his steady gaze. “Yes… I feel better now.”

He studied her carefully, his eyes scanning her from head to toe until he was satisfied. Only then did he nod and lean down to kiss her. First her lips, then resting his forehead to hers, brushing soft kisses over her cheeks.

Oma sighed, gently pushing him back with a hand on his chest. “Your food smells good. Did you make all this yourself?”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through her palm. “Course I did.”

“I didn’t expect you to,” she teased softly. “I thought we’d be eating at the main house.”

That earned her a deeper chuckle, a warmth rising in his chest. “Mama Becca made sure we knew our way around a kitchen. She said a man oughta be able to work a skillet same as a plow. We only stopped ‘cause we took on more rigorous task on the ranch.”

Oma tilted her head, curious. “So who did all the work before you both were old enough?”

Logan shrugged with a faint smile. “Ranch hands mostly. Mama Becca oversaw most of the finance, kept the men in line, and taught Jacob the ropes as he got older.”

“Wow…” Oma blinked at him, surprised. “No offence, but I wouldn’t expect a bunch of white Men to take orders from Mama Becca.”

Logan laughed and kissed the top of her head. “I ain’t gonna lie, we lost near every hand who didn’t like it. But the ones that stayed knew better.”

She smiled faintly at that, but he gave her one last squeeze and nodded toward the basin. “Now, before we talk ourselves to death, go wash up, woman. Food’s ready.”

When Oma returned and took her seat at the table, she studied the room with a raised brow. The floors had been swept, the laundry folded.

“You… finished up the chores?” she asked.

Logan smirked, settling across from her. “Yes, ma’am.”

“And the laundry too?”

“Yes, ma’am.” His grin widened, boyish now. “Curtains were dusty, so I washed those too.”

Her chest fluttered in spite of herself. She hadn’t even noticed the curtains. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He only shrugged, slipping his hand over hers. “Just my job. Don’t want ya worryin’ ‘bout nothin’ pilin’ up.”

She smiled, warmth spreading in her chest. He bowed his head and led them in grace, his thumb brushing her knuckles as he prayed.

The first spoonful nearly startled her. The chicken was crisp and juicy, the potatoes rich and smooth, the beans bright with flavor. It was wonderful. Delicious.