keep ’em all? Aunt Bessie says one cat’s enough to have around, doesn’t she, Pa? But I’ll bet we got enough room for more than one in the barn. It’s a lot bigger than Aunt Bessie’s shed.”
“Yeah, but Aunt Bessie has a dog, too,” Pete volunteered.
Johanna thought of the pleasure the two children had gained from Sheba over the past weeks. “You have a dog,” she offered.
“She’s yours, Miss Johanna. Pa said so.” Pete’s words were as sour as his expression.
Johanna shrugged. “She still manages to do her job, doesn’t she, Tate?”
His grin when he heard the softening her words implied was welcome. “She’s still a good herd dog, Jo, even though the boys have spoiled her a little.” Tate tossed the pitchfork on the bed of the wagon and offered Johanna his hand as he helped her climb to the seat.
The wagon jostled over the ruts, the horses straining to pull it from the wet ground behind the barn. Soon it was free. Settling into a trot, the matched pair followed the lead of the woman holding the reins and the wagon turned toward the hayfield.
“It’s going to be a late dinner, I’m afraid,” Johanna said, slicing side pork with swift slashes of her butcher knife.
“That’s all right We’ll all pitch in and help, seeing as how you spent your morning out in the field with us. What do you say, boys?” Tate’s color was high, ruddy from the wind and the sun combined. He walked silently across the kitchen floor, his boots left outside the door. From behind her, Johanna felt his presence, even as he spoke in her ear.
“Can we have some eggs with that pork, ma’am? The ones from this morning are all wiped clean.”
“I ought to use the older ones first,” Johanna said, casting him a look over her shoulder.
“Let’s have the fresh ones, Jo. I’ll take the others to town to Mr. Turner. He won’t know the difference, and wouldn’t care if he did. He’ll be tickled just to get youreggs. He told me he never gets an old egg from your basket. They’re guaranteed fresh every time.”
Subduing the flush of pride she felt at his words of praise, she stepped away from him, reaching to take down the smaller skillet from its hook. She’d not been able to think of much else since last night, other than the man behind her, no matter how hard she tried to erase him from her thoughts. He just kept creeping back, insinuating himself into her every breathing moment. She clamped her lips together, shaking her head against the memory.
“You going to use that skillet, or bash me in the head with it?”
Startled, she whirled and caught a glimpse of him ducking the pan she held. It fell from her nerveless fingers, and she covered her mouth with the other hand. “Oh, my word! Tate Montgomery! You almost made me—” She halted abruptly as he swooped to pick up the skillet, his laughter in her ears.
“You need to keep your mind on your business, ma’am. We almost had eggs all over the floor.”
She’d come within inches of catching the blue speckled bowl with the edge of her skillet. The knowledge that he’d so easily managed to upset her concentration set her teeth on edge.
“Just move out of my way while I’m cooking.” Her command was firm, and he bowed to her authority.
“You’re the boss here, Johanna. I’ll just sit myself down over here and keep an eye on things while you get my dinner on the table.”
She watched as he made his way on stocking feet to the chair at the head of her table. The place he deserved as head of the house. She thought how different he was from the man who’d last held that title.
Never could she remember her father passing out compliments or taking hold of things the way Tate Montgomerywas doing. Or making cheerful small talk at meals. Or treating his child as a person worthy of love.
The eggs fried up quickly as soon as the side pork was finished. The pan of biscuits came out brown and broke apart fluffy, just the way her mother had taught her to
“Yeah, but Aunt Bessie has a dog, too,” Pete volunteered.
Johanna thought of the pleasure the two children had gained from Sheba over the past weeks. “You have a dog,” she offered.
“She’s yours, Miss Johanna. Pa said so.” Pete’s words were as sour as his expression.
Johanna shrugged. “She still manages to do her job, doesn’t she, Tate?”
His grin when he heard the softening her words implied was welcome. “She’s still a good herd dog, Jo, even though the boys have spoiled her a little.” Tate tossed the pitchfork on the bed of the wagon and offered Johanna his hand as he helped her climb to the seat.
The wagon jostled over the ruts, the horses straining to pull it from the wet ground behind the barn. Soon it was free. Settling into a trot, the matched pair followed the lead of the woman holding the reins and the wagon turned toward the hayfield.
“It’s going to be a late dinner, I’m afraid,” Johanna said, slicing side pork with swift slashes of her butcher knife.
“That’s all right We’ll all pitch in and help, seeing as how you spent your morning out in the field with us. What do you say, boys?” Tate’s color was high, ruddy from the wind and the sun combined. He walked silently across the kitchen floor, his boots left outside the door. From behind her, Johanna felt his presence, even as he spoke in her ear.
“Can we have some eggs with that pork, ma’am? The ones from this morning are all wiped clean.”
“I ought to use the older ones first,” Johanna said, casting him a look over her shoulder.
“Let’s have the fresh ones, Jo. I’ll take the others to town to Mr. Turner. He won’t know the difference, and wouldn’t care if he did. He’ll be tickled just to get youreggs. He told me he never gets an old egg from your basket. They’re guaranteed fresh every time.”
Subduing the flush of pride she felt at his words of praise, she stepped away from him, reaching to take down the smaller skillet from its hook. She’d not been able to think of much else since last night, other than the man behind her, no matter how hard she tried to erase him from her thoughts. He just kept creeping back, insinuating himself into her every breathing moment. She clamped her lips together, shaking her head against the memory.
“You going to use that skillet, or bash me in the head with it?”
Startled, she whirled and caught a glimpse of him ducking the pan she held. It fell from her nerveless fingers, and she covered her mouth with the other hand. “Oh, my word! Tate Montgomery! You almost made me—” She halted abruptly as he swooped to pick up the skillet, his laughter in her ears.
“You need to keep your mind on your business, ma’am. We almost had eggs all over the floor.”
She’d come within inches of catching the blue speckled bowl with the edge of her skillet. The knowledge that he’d so easily managed to upset her concentration set her teeth on edge.
“Just move out of my way while I’m cooking.” Her command was firm, and he bowed to her authority.
“You’re the boss here, Johanna. I’ll just sit myself down over here and keep an eye on things while you get my dinner on the table.”
She watched as he made his way on stocking feet to the chair at the head of her table. The place he deserved as head of the house. She thought how different he was from the man who’d last held that title.
Never could she remember her father passing out compliments or taking hold of things the way Tate Montgomerywas doing. Or making cheerful small talk at meals. Or treating his child as a person worthy of love.
The eggs fried up quickly as soon as the side pork was finished. The pan of biscuits came out brown and broke apart fluffy, just the way her mother had taught her to
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