out. The field’s pretty near dry, though. It shouldn’t take us too long.”
Rounding the corner of the barn, he turned to grin at her. “We’ll put Pete on top to stomp down the pile as we go. He gets a big kick out of helping.”
To Johanna’s way of thinking, Pete hadn’t gotten a big kick out of anything lately. He’d been subdued since yesterday afternoon, after the incident with the straw, and his smiles were few and far between anyway, as far as she could tell. Timmy, on the other hand, had behaved as usual,warming up to her without hesitation, even allowing her to help with tying his shoes and buttoning his coat.
“Where is Timmy?” Lifting her hand to shade her eyes, Johanna looked across the small meadow toward the orchard, then to the pasture behind the barn. “I haven’t seen him since breakfast.”
“He was playing in the haymow while I cleaned the stalls. I had him toss hay down to me for the cows a while ago. I suspect he’s still up there.”
“Will he ride on the wagon with me?” she asked. The thought of that small body pressed next to hers as they made the rounds of the hay field was an appealing one.
“Sure. It’ll be a good place for him. Keep him out of the way.”
Tate whistled a warbling three-note call and smiled once more at her. The second time he’d allowed that slow grin to slide into place in the past five minutes, she noted. The same grin he’d delivered last night, before he kissed her. She ducked her head at the remembrance.
“You callin’ me, Pa?” From overhead, the small, shrill voice answered, and Johanna blinked, looking up quickly to where Timmy’s head peeked over the edge of the window in the haymow.
“Hey, Miss Johanna, guess what?” he called, spying the woman below. “I found that old barn cat back in the corner, and he’s got babies back there. Three of ’em.”
“He has, has he?” Her laughter was spontaneous, Tate’s own following as they digested the child’s announcement. “They must be brand-new, Timmy,” she said, tilting her head back to see him. “Tabby was still pretty round last night.”
“You wanta come up and see, Miss Johanna?” Precariously, he leaned farther out the square hole in the side of the barn, and she drew in a quick breath.
“Tate?”
“Yeah, he’ll be all right, Jo.” Raising one hand, Tatemotioned the child away from the opening. “Back off, Timmy. You’ll break your neck if you fall from there, and I’m too busy today to take you to town to the doctor.”
“Oh, Pa! You’re foolin’ me,” the boy chortled, scooting back readily at his father’s bidding.
“Come on down, now,” Tate told him firmly. “You can ride the wagon and help Johanna drive the team.”
“Why can’t I drive?” From behind them, Pete’s voice was querulous.
His father turned and motioned to the boy. “Come here, Pete.” One hand rubbed at the youngster’s hair, smoothing it down where the wind had ruffled it. “I need you to keep the load even while I pitch the hay up to you. Can you do that?”
“I seen you doing it last summer,” the boy said. “I’m big enough this year.”
“You’re growin’ like a bad weed, son,” Tate told him, his arm sliding down to grip the narrow shoulders. “It won’t be long before you’ll be able to pitch hay like a man.”
The boy’s eyes glowed at the words, and he sidled closer to his father. “Timmy’s too little to help, isn’t he?”
“No, I’m not,” the smaller boy spouted, rounding the corner full tilt. “Pa said I can help drive the team.” Attempting to clamber up the side of the wagon, he glanced back over his shoulder at Johanna. “Just wait till you see those babies. They’re all squinty-eyed and runty-lookin’.”
Tate reached to hoist his youngest son onto the wagon seat. “What color are they, son?”
“One’s all different colors. The other two are black, mostly.” Timmy bounced on the seat, his feet dangling. “Are we gonna
Rounding the corner of the barn, he turned to grin at her. “We’ll put Pete on top to stomp down the pile as we go. He gets a big kick out of helping.”
To Johanna’s way of thinking, Pete hadn’t gotten a big kick out of anything lately. He’d been subdued since yesterday afternoon, after the incident with the straw, and his smiles were few and far between anyway, as far as she could tell. Timmy, on the other hand, had behaved as usual,warming up to her without hesitation, even allowing her to help with tying his shoes and buttoning his coat.
“Where is Timmy?” Lifting her hand to shade her eyes, Johanna looked across the small meadow toward the orchard, then to the pasture behind the barn. “I haven’t seen him since breakfast.”
“He was playing in the haymow while I cleaned the stalls. I had him toss hay down to me for the cows a while ago. I suspect he’s still up there.”
“Will he ride on the wagon with me?” she asked. The thought of that small body pressed next to hers as they made the rounds of the hay field was an appealing one.
“Sure. It’ll be a good place for him. Keep him out of the way.”
Tate whistled a warbling three-note call and smiled once more at her. The second time he’d allowed that slow grin to slide into place in the past five minutes, she noted. The same grin he’d delivered last night, before he kissed her. She ducked her head at the remembrance.
“You callin’ me, Pa?” From overhead, the small, shrill voice answered, and Johanna blinked, looking up quickly to where Timmy’s head peeked over the edge of the window in the haymow.
“Hey, Miss Johanna, guess what?” he called, spying the woman below. “I found that old barn cat back in the corner, and he’s got babies back there. Three of ’em.”
“He has, has he?” Her laughter was spontaneous, Tate’s own following as they digested the child’s announcement. “They must be brand-new, Timmy,” she said, tilting her head back to see him. “Tabby was still pretty round last night.”
“You wanta come up and see, Miss Johanna?” Precariously, he leaned farther out the square hole in the side of the barn, and she drew in a quick breath.
“Tate?”
“Yeah, he’ll be all right, Jo.” Raising one hand, Tatemotioned the child away from the opening. “Back off, Timmy. You’ll break your neck if you fall from there, and I’m too busy today to take you to town to the doctor.”
“Oh, Pa! You’re foolin’ me,” the boy chortled, scooting back readily at his father’s bidding.
“Come on down, now,” Tate told him firmly. “You can ride the wagon and help Johanna drive the team.”
“Why can’t I drive?” From behind them, Pete’s voice was querulous.
His father turned and motioned to the boy. “Come here, Pete.” One hand rubbed at the youngster’s hair, smoothing it down where the wind had ruffled it. “I need you to keep the load even while I pitch the hay up to you. Can you do that?”
“I seen you doing it last summer,” the boy said. “I’m big enough this year.”
“You’re growin’ like a bad weed, son,” Tate told him, his arm sliding down to grip the narrow shoulders. “It won’t be long before you’ll be able to pitch hay like a man.”
The boy’s eyes glowed at the words, and he sidled closer to his father. “Timmy’s too little to help, isn’t he?”
“No, I’m not,” the smaller boy spouted, rounding the corner full tilt. “Pa said I can help drive the team.” Attempting to clamber up the side of the wagon, he glanced back over his shoulder at Johanna. “Just wait till you see those babies. They’re all squinty-eyed and runty-lookin’.”
Tate reached to hoist his youngest son onto the wagon seat. “What color are they, son?”
“One’s all different colors. The other two are black, mostly.” Timmy bounced on the seat, his feet dangling. “Are we gonna
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