The children nodded in unison.
Emma smiled, fighting back the tears. "I thought so. There are buckets in the shed."
A few seconds later, the children had disappeared, leaving the door wide open. Emma got up and closed it.
"May I get you a cup of coffee and some breakfast?" she asked.
"A cup of coffee would be real nice, ma'am. Thanks."
"I have flapjacks, bacon and biscuits--"
"Thanks, but I don't really have time. I have chores--"
"It's already made," she insisted, indicating the plate of flapjacks and basket of biscuits on the table. "And it'll only take a minute to whip up some eggs."
"Well, since you put it that way ... I appreciate it. I spent all night out looking for them."
Emma sighed in relief. At least she could keep him here until she found out the truth. For the next few minutes she bustled about, aware that he was scrutinizing her every move. A fluttery sensation filled her insides when she caught him looking at her, and she felt herself grow warm. Heavens, what was wrong with her?
Dismissing her disconcerting emotions, she forced her mind back on the problem at hand. How could she broach the subject? This was none of her concern, but she couldn't allow him to take the children without knowing what he planned to do with them. He had every right to tell her to mind her own business, but she'd only worry if she didn't ask.
"Mr. Jenkins--"
"Call me Sam.”
She smiled softly, then turned to take a plate from the shelf above the stove. Filling it with food, she set it in front of him. "Sam," she said, perching on the chair facing him. "I realize I have no right to interfere, but I must tell you how concerned I am about the children."
His dark brows lifted. "Concerned?"
"The children told me you're sending them away."
"That's right," he said, lifting the mug of coffee and taking a long drink.
Emma was speechless for a moment. She'd expected him to deny it.
"They think you don't want them," she went on.
"That's not the case. But I am sending them back east to live with their grandparents for a while."
"I see."
Sam slathered butter on a biscuit and popped it into his mouth. "Mighty fine meal, ma'am," he said when he'd finished. "You're a mighty fine cook."
Emma flushed. She'd never been able to accept compliments graciously, and didn't quite know how to respond. Turning, she busied herself filling up his coffee.
"Mr. Jenkins ... Sam ... The children ran away because they don't want to go."
"You think I don't know that? And believe me, I don't want them to go."
"Then why, if I may ask, are you doing it? Surely you can see how upset they are if they're willing to run away rather than go."
"It isn't that simple."
"Of course it is."
"You don't understand--"
"I understand perfectly. They don't want to go. You don't want them to go. What else is there to understand?"