feel and… well, and be Baxter. He was a miracle.
"You were right, Dad. Girls don't like that stuff," Baxter chortled, looking over Dorie's shoulder at his
father.
"I said, some girls don't." His gaze was on Dorie's face
as she turned in the hay to look up at him. "Some don't mind it."
"How can you tell which do?"
"Hell if I know. You got homework?" The boy was in
kindergarten and never had homework, but he enjoyed being asked the
same grown-up questions Fletcher got asked.
"Nope."
"Chores?" His gaze left Dorie's face long enough to give
his son a significant look.
"I was gonna show Dorie Emily Pig," he said, then to Dorie
he added, "She's gonna have babies, too, but not for a while. You don't
have to see that. You can come after."
"Thank you. I'll look forward to it." And to asking her
mother to hunt down a pig pan for the birthday party.
"You can show her the pig later. Chores first, remember?"
"Yes, sir." He shuffled his feet through the hay on his
way out of the stall, then remembered, "Dorie's staying for dinner."
"So I heard," he said, his gaze returning to her face.
He'd seen the way she was looking at Baxter when he'd come
upon them, sitting in the hay, laughing. Before she got sick, Beth had
looked at Fletcher that way. He never saw that look on his second
wife's face and had begun to think it was simply another wonderfully
peculiar thing that had belonged to Beth alone. But here it was again
on Dorie's face. Such a profound expression of infinite tenderness and
pleasure.
"Hi," she said, getting to her feet as the barn door
slammed closed behind Baxter.
"Hi."
She'd expected a smile or some sign of pleasure at seeing
her, but when he continued to stare at her, his gaze skimming down her
body then returning to her face to study and probe some more, she felt
compelled to say it again. "I came to see the calf."
Ugh! Thin as air.
He nodded, and a slow grin curled his lips as an age-old
light danced in his eyes. He knew why she'd come.
"And then Matthew asked me to dinner again," she said
self-consciously. "He's very hard to say no to, you know."
Again he nodded, the grin growing broader.
"He reminds me a little of my mother."
Another cheeky nod, and he slipped his hand into hers
saying, "Come keep me company. I still have work to do."
She had prickling goose bumps waddling all over her body
from the expression on his face. If it were up to him, he would have
taken her there in the hay in front of the cow and the calf, but
clearly—and perhaps thankfully—Chores First was
engraved in stone someplace with all the other Laws of the Land.
He held the small barn door open for her, leading her away
from the house and the fenced-in yard. They crossed a dirt road to a
huge outbuilding, not as tall as the barn but half again its width. A
big, sliding metal door was partially open, and he finally released her
hand once he'd ushered her inside.
"What's this?" she asked, her eyes adjusting slowly to the
darkness.
"A tractor."
"Not that. I can see it's a tractor. What's this place?"
she asked, squinting to make out large heavy-looking objects.
"A machine shed. Harrows. Plows. Tires. Cultivator.
Planter. Spare parts." He looked around. "Junk. Combines don't fit, but
most everything else does."
That appeared to be true. The place was crammed full of
machinery. Most appeared to hook onto something else to be useful; they
didn't all have motors. Tools, ladders, cans, barrels—why,
there was even a kitchen sink in a corner, half full of dirt and dust.
"And what are we doing here?" she asked, scanning the
place, rubbing her palms together as if she were ready to dig in and
help. Her aversion to housework skipped over the sink, but she was
willing to try her hand at most anything else. "Where do we start?"
"Right here," he said, snagging her with one arm and
pulling her close. He smiled as he caressed the thin red scar on her
cheek, his gaze slipping easily into her heart to find the answer to
his questions.
"You were right, Dad. Girls don't like that stuff," Baxter chortled, looking over Dorie's shoulder at his
father.
"I said, some girls don't." His gaze was on Dorie's face
as she turned in the hay to look up at him. "Some don't mind it."
"How can you tell which do?"
"Hell if I know. You got homework?" The boy was in
kindergarten and never had homework, but he enjoyed being asked the
same grown-up questions Fletcher got asked.
"Nope."
"Chores?" His gaze left Dorie's face long enough to give
his son a significant look.
"I was gonna show Dorie Emily Pig," he said, then to Dorie
he added, "She's gonna have babies, too, but not for a while. You don't
have to see that. You can come after."
"Thank you. I'll look forward to it." And to asking her
mother to hunt down a pig pan for the birthday party.
"You can show her the pig later. Chores first, remember?"
"Yes, sir." He shuffled his feet through the hay on his
way out of the stall, then remembered, "Dorie's staying for dinner."
"So I heard," he said, his gaze returning to her face.
He'd seen the way she was looking at Baxter when he'd come
upon them, sitting in the hay, laughing. Before she got sick, Beth had
looked at Fletcher that way. He never saw that look on his second
wife's face and had begun to think it was simply another wonderfully
peculiar thing that had belonged to Beth alone. But here it was again
on Dorie's face. Such a profound expression of infinite tenderness and
pleasure.
"Hi," she said, getting to her feet as the barn door
slammed closed behind Baxter.
"Hi."
She'd expected a smile or some sign of pleasure at seeing
her, but when he continued to stare at her, his gaze skimming down her
body then returning to her face to study and probe some more, she felt
compelled to say it again. "I came to see the calf."
Ugh! Thin as air.
He nodded, and a slow grin curled his lips as an age-old
light danced in his eyes. He knew why she'd come.
"And then Matthew asked me to dinner again," she said
self-consciously. "He's very hard to say no to, you know."
Again he nodded, the grin growing broader.
"He reminds me a little of my mother."
Another cheeky nod, and he slipped his hand into hers
saying, "Come keep me company. I still have work to do."
She had prickling goose bumps waddling all over her body
from the expression on his face. If it were up to him, he would have
taken her there in the hay in front of the cow and the calf, but
clearly—and perhaps thankfully—Chores First was
engraved in stone someplace with all the other Laws of the Land.
He held the small barn door open for her, leading her away
from the house and the fenced-in yard. They crossed a dirt road to a
huge outbuilding, not as tall as the barn but half again its width. A
big, sliding metal door was partially open, and he finally released her
hand once he'd ushered her inside.
"What's this?" she asked, her eyes adjusting slowly to the
darkness.
"A tractor."
"Not that. I can see it's a tractor. What's this place?"
she asked, squinting to make out large heavy-looking objects.
"A machine shed. Harrows. Plows. Tires. Cultivator.
Planter. Spare parts." He looked around. "Junk. Combines don't fit, but
most everything else does."
That appeared to be true. The place was crammed full of
machinery. Most appeared to hook onto something else to be useful; they
didn't all have motors. Tools, ladders, cans, barrels—why,
there was even a kitchen sink in a corner, half full of dirt and dust.
"And what are we doing here?" she asked, scanning the
place, rubbing her palms together as if she were ready to dig in and
help. Her aversion to housework skipped over the sink, but she was
willing to try her hand at most anything else. "Where do we start?"
"Right here," he said, snagging her with one arm and
pulling her close. He smiled as he caressed the thin red scar on her
cheek, his gaze slipping easily into her heart to find the answer to
his questions.
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