A Family for the Farmer by Laurel Blount Page B

good.”
    â€œThanks.” The compliment seemed to settle her nerves. “I’m glad you like it. Like Paul said, making up recipes is kind of a hobby of mine.”
    â€œIf this is what you call a hobby, I think you should go pro.” He took another big bite.
    â€œI could say the same thing about you. I mean, I’ve seen you whittling, but I had no idea—” she gestured widely “—about all this. Your carvings are beautiful.”
    â€œI’m glad you like them.”
    â€œDo you ever sell your work?”
    â€œNow and again,” he replied evasively.
    â€œMaybe you’d sell me one of your small pieces. I’d like to take something back to Atlanta with me.”
    Now, why was she spoiling a perfectly pleasant morning bringing that thought up? “I’ll not take your money. If you see anything you’d like to have, take it as my gift, or I could make you something special if you want.” Instantly he knew just what that would be. A slender branch of dogwood caught in blossom.
    â€œThat’d be nice if you’re sure you don’t mind,” she said shyly. “But just something small. You know you should definitely find a market for these pieces.”
    â€œLike I said, I sell a few things here and there.” Abel took another big bite of bread and hoped Emily wouldn’t ask any more questions.
    The truth was, his business was booming. He had more orders on his computer than he could fill in a year’s time, and no matter how much he raised his prices, more commissions kept pouring in. Abel wasn’t sure exactly how to handle that or how he felt about carving for money instead of for the joy of it.
    It almost seemed dishonest to him to take so much money for something he loved to do, something he honestly couldn’t help doing. When he picked up the right piece of wood, he saw the finished piece curled inside it, and he just couldn’t rest easy until he’d chipped it free. The fact that people were willing to pay hundreds, even thousands, of dollars for his work was a genuine puzzlement to him.
    â€œWell, we’re taking up too much of your time. I’m sure you’re wondering why I came,” Emily began in a businesslike tone.
    Abel smiled at her. He’d designed this workshop to catch the best and brightest of the available light, and the sunlight was now highlighting her hair, making its strands sparkle warmly. It traced the curve of her cheek and accentuated her features like only natural light could do. Unfiltered sunlight could be a harsh critic, but it loved Emily.
    â€œNo, I’m not wondering. I’m just glad you’re here.” It was true, he realized. Opening his workshop door to find Emily and her children on his doorstep had been as sweet and unexpected as finding a bluebird nest in a tangle of brambles.
    She offered him an uncertain smile. “That’s nice of you to say, especially considering how I’ve been acting.” She firmed up her lips and looked him straight in the eye. “I came up here because I owe you an apology, Abel.”
    He shook his head. “No, you don’t.”
    â€œI do. I realized it when Phoebe let the goats out. You couldn’t have been any nicer to her about all that even though it took you forever to round them all back up. And you’ve been nothing but nice to me since I got here, and I’ve been fighting you at every turn. It’s just...” She took a deep breath and forged on. “It’s a little hard for me to trust people.”
    Well, that was an understatement. “People can disappoint you.” He watched her expression carefully. They were treading on delicate ground.
    â€œThat’s kind of the story of my life. But you’ve never disappointed me, and it isn’t fair for me to treat you as if you have. Or will. So, I’m sorry.”
    â€œDon’t worry about it. I never took it