Suddenly Bertrande pushed between them. “He bien, allons mangeri.” The old woman’s voice was comically querulous. Luke rolled his eyes, smiled at Joey, and offered his arm to his grandmother. As Joey closed the door behind her, she found him waiting, his gaze on hers was as inviting as his extended elbow. The feel of his hard muscle under her hand sent a shock wave coursing through her, and for a moment she leaned on his arm because she would have fallen otherwise.
Luke seemed not to notice. He was casual, relaxed, as if the presence of family and friends had broken once again through his outer shell. “I hope you’re hungry,” he said, looking down at Joey. “You’re going to get a chance to see how much the people of Val Cache like to eat.”
A rather loud rumble of her stomach answered before she could. “Everyone eats together?”
“Usually.” Luke steered the two women toward a building larger than most of the others, a long construction of wood from which light and noise poured in abundance. “This is a close-knit community. Meals are an important time for gathering, discussion, even doing business. And for the most part, it’s more economical to prepare and eat meals in one place.”
As Joey digested this, Luke stopped at the broad wooden door of the building and held it open, waving the women in ahead of him. The blast of heat, delicious smells, and raucous noise was almost overwhelming. Almost at once Bertrande detached herself and hurried across the room to gossip with a crony, Joey simply gazed about and tried to take it all in.
It seemed likely that every member of the village of Val Cache was here, laughing, talking and generally having a good time. There was a brief lull while the people acknowledged Luke’s appearance, but almost at once the dull roar resumed.
Luke took her elbow and steered her over to a table near the front of the room, closest to the fire and the wonderful smells that emanated from the corner where the cooking was done. He leaned close to her and pressed a piece of bread into her hand; Joey nibbled it absently. A hundred questions came to mind one after another, too many to be asked, at last she gave up and simply accepted.
Only the serious business of eating seemed to quiet the rambunctious crowd. Matrons with gray-shot hair and a few younger women moved among the long tables, serving generous portions of stew, freshly baked bread, and corn to the people who had finally found their seats. Joey shut her eyes and breathed in the smell, so welcome after three days on the trail. Without realizing it, she leaned into Luke where he sat beside her. His warm solidity made everything perfect, completely right, and all at once she was no longer a stranger, but in some strange way belonged.
Suddenly a small warm body pushed against her, and she found herself tipping sideways—somehow, in the process, ending up very comfortably steadied in Luke’s arms. A laughing Claire materialized on the bench beside them, two other children accompanied her, a boy of five or six and another several years older. They were all talking at once, adding to the general din. The eldest paused to give Joey a long, appraising stare of the sort she was beginning to become accustomed to, then he fell silent and looked expectantly at Luke.
Easing Joey away from him gently, Luke smiled at the boy. “Bonjour, Jean-Paul. How are things at school?”
As if his words had been a kind of signal, the boy grinned while ducking his head and glancing up under long lashes “Tres bien, cousin Luc. Mais les gens du Dehors…” The boy broke off with an embarrassed glance at Joey. “I mean, sometimes things are strange Outside.” Jean-Paul reddened and dropped his gaze.
Luke’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “I know that well, Jean-Paul.” He turned to Joey, still smiling. “Jean-Paul speaks fluent English—he’s been attending school in East Fork. One of the few who’s done so. That’s something we have in common.” He gave the boy a gentle, reassuring punch on the shoulder.