She’d just seasoned the potatoes and dumped them in the skillet that still held some of the sausage drippings when Seth walked in with two milk pails full of the frothy white liquid.
“Gut matin,” she greeted him.
He nodded acknowledgment as he set the pails on the counter.
Phoebe wiped her hands on her apron and went to the pantry. “I’ll get the milk strained and into jars right away. Edna showed me where everything was stored yesterday.” She backed out of the pantry with a cheesecloth and several large glass jars.
Seth didn’t step away. Instead he picked up one of the pails. “Here, let me help. These are heavy.”
So while Phoebe held the cheesecloth-draped funnel over the mouth of the jars, Seth poured the milk from the pails. When the pails were empty and the jars were safely in the refrigerator without incident, Phoebe breathed a little sigh of relief. Then she realized the potatoes had been left unattended a little too long and rushed to the stove.
In her haste she forgot to use a pot holder as she grabbed the handle of the skillet and let out a yelp of pain.
Seth moved with surprising speed for a man of his size and deliberation. “Was is letz?”
Before she could answer he saw her hand and his brow drew down in concern. “We need to tend to that right away.”
“But the potatoes—”
With an irritated frown he swiftly turned the stove off and moved the skillet to a cold burner. Then he ushered her to the sink where he ran cool water over her hand. Despite the fact that he still wore that stern expression his touch was oddly gentle and comforting.
“There,” he said after a few minutes of holding her hand under the water, “that should have cooled it down. How does it feel?”
He looked up then and met her gaze. Bent over her hand as he was, their faces were almost level. Up close, those smoky-blue eyes of his were even more captivating than they were from a distance, especially when they were focused entirely on her.
“Gut matin.”
Phoebe’s head jerked up as if she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t.
Edna came farther into the room and then frowned. “What happened? Are you hurt?”
Phoebe rushed to reassure her. “It’s nothing serious. Just a little burn.”
Edna grimaced. “I’m sorry I overslept. I should have been here to help you.”
“Nonsense. You know that I’m perfectly capable of having one of these little accidents no matter who happens to be around.” Then she cut a quick, guilty look Seth’s way. What did he think of her remark?
But he’d already turned to fetch something from a small cabinet where they stored medical supplies. “Here,” he said as he returned. “A little of this salve and a loose bandage for a day or two and you should be fine.” He paused for a moment and then nodded as if coming to a decision. “It’ll be easier if I do it for you.” And without waiting for her response he opened the tin of salve and gently spread a generous dab on the reddened skin. Then he took the gauze and wrapped it around her palm.
Afterward, when he’d turned to put away the medical supplies, Phoebe gazed at the stove. “I can finish the potatoes and scramble the eggs, but I’d need to be able to get both my hands in the dough to make the biscuits. I guess we’ll have to do without today.”
She had the impression Seth wanted to respond to that, but Levi entered the kitchen just then. And he’d obviously overheard part of their conversation, because the first words out of his mouth were, “I’ve been known to bake a passable pan of biscuits before. I’ll be glad to give it a try, especially if our charming housekeeper will guide me.”
“Offer accepted.” Phoebe gave him her sweetest smile. “But Edna is better with biscuits than I am so I’m sure she’ll be happy to oversee your efforts while I get the rest of our breakfast prepared.”
Levi gave her a look that said her smile hadn’t fooled him, but he turned to Edna and put a hand over his heart. “Aenti, I would be truly honored if you would lend me your expertise.”
Unmoved by his theatrics, Edna inhaled on an exasperated note and shook her head. “Actually, I’m afraid trying to bake biscuits now would take too long.”
Phoebe raised a brow in challenge. “Not if we do fried biscuits.”
This did manage to draw a smile from Edna. “Gut idea.”
Levi looked from one to the other of them. “What are fried biscuits?”
“Something Phoebe’s mamm sometimes cooks. They’re quite gut.” She turned to Phoebe. “You get the cooking oil ready while Levi and I prepare the dough.”
Phoebe moved to do as she’d been told but as she looked for the right frying pan, she found that Seth had quietly stepped up beside her.
“Which one?” he asked.
She met his gaze in surprise, then waved a hand toward the frying pan she thought would work best. He fetched it, set it on the stove then grabbed the oil. “How much?”
She answered, still not sure what she thought of his help. Was it purely because he was being considerate of her burn? Or was he concerned how she would do with one hand after messing up so many times with two?
By this time the other brieder were drifting in. Phoebe fielded their questions about her bandaged hand and then put them to work—setting the table, fetching whatever jams, syrups and butter they wanted to spread on their biscuits, pouring up glasses of milk.
Meanwhile she went to the refrigerator to grab the eggs but found Seth there at her elbow again. “Tell me what you need.”
Deciding to just be grateful for his help and not overthink it, Phoebe gave him a smile. “A dozen eggs, some of that sour cream and the stick of butter I put in the freezer earlier.”
His brow went up as she named off her ingredients but he did as she requested without comment. Under her direction he cracked the eggs into a large bowl and then whisked them until they were nice and fluffy.
She nodded in approval. “That looks gut.”
His lips quirked at that. “I have scrambled eggs before,” he said drily.
She grinned. It felt kind of strange to be the one giving directions rather than the one taking them. “Now add a nice dollop of sour cream to the eggs while I get the grater.”
