Your Dream and Mine by Susan Kirby Page B

Thomasina sensed she wasn’t the only one in the room with unsettled nerves.
    “Did you make it to the soup supper last night, Thomasina?” Mary asked.
    “Yes. We had a nice time.”
    “I sold your landlord a couple of tickets. Did he show up?” asked Milt.
    “No,” Thomasina said. “The boys who helped me move had some trouble with their truck. He fixed it for them instead of going to the supper.”
    “Snow job.” Milt sighed. “What’s Trace mean, letting a little half-pint like Deidre scare him off?”
    “He didn’t look all that scared Saturday night,” said Will. “I stopped by just as he was leaving to pick her up for their dinner date.”
    “Dinner date?” echoed Milt. “Really? That’s more like it! Deidre’ll know our boy’s worth this time, or I’ll eat my hat.”
    “You better keep your hat on your head where it belongs, and your nose out of other folks’ business,” Mary warned.
    “Anybody home?”
    “Back bedroom, Trace,” Will hollered back. Mary narrowed her eye at Milt in silent warning. “Bring a chair, Trace.”
    Thomasina heard his footsteps returning. Her nerves tweaked as she measured the steady, deliberate movementthat gobbled up the safety zone. He set his chair down beside her, greeted the others by name and at Mary’s invitation, crossed to the dresser for a cup of coffee. Scuffed boots, faded jeans, short-clipped hair curling ever so slightly, she took stock with a covert glance.
    “Hi again,” he said, catching her at it
    Thomasina acknowledged the greeting with an upsweep of lashes. For a moment, it was as if they were alone in the room. Her heart stirred at the grace in his eyes and the contrite tilt to that long upper lip. His chair creaked as he folded himself into it, stretched his legs out in front of him and cradled his coffee cup in his lap. As easy as breathing, he shifted his attention to Will. “Thought we were cutting a tree down today.”
    “We are, just as soon as Dad finishes his breakfast,” said Will. “He wants to watch.”
    Milt put his nose in the air. “I smell gasoline.”
    “I ran out of gas,” said Trace. “Didn’t Thomasina tell you?”
    Thomasina ducked her head and sipped the last of her coffee. “Used the chain saw gas, and had to go back to town for more,” Trace finished.
    “Careless of you. ’Course sometimes a guy gets distracted, and doesn’t notice he’s sitting on Empty,” added Milt with a cagey grin. “Hear you missed the soup supper.”
    “Yep, and my belly’s been complaining ever since.”
    “Get you a wife, and your belly can find something new to complain about.” Milt ignored Mary’s censoring glance, cackled and defied it, saying, “What’s this I hear about you and little Deidre O’Conley?”
    “Avery,” Will supplied Deidre’s married name.
    “There’s oatmeal on the stove and more fruit in the refrigeratorif you’re hungry, Trace.” Mary talked over both of them.
    “No thanks, Mary. I would take some sugar for my coffee, though.”
    “I’ll get it,” said Thomasina. She jumped up and away.
    Trace waited a moment, then patted his stomach. “On second thought, that oatmeal sounds pretty good. No, no. Stay where you are, Mary. I can wait on myself.”
    He whistled his way down the hall, through the living room and into the kitchen. Thomasina turned from Mary’s hutch with the sugar bowl in hand. The cereal dishes were in the hutch, too. Trace caught the door before she could close it and reached for a dish. “Where’s Mary keep her spoons?”
    Thomasina’s brown velour gaze rose as high as his chin as she pointed out the drawer. He crossed to the stove, and spooned cereal from the pan on the stove, then lifted his eyes to hers with slow deliberation. “Glad you could make it.”
    His voice was so low, Thomasina wasn’t sure she heard him right. She lifted her face and saw that she had not misunderstood. “A deal’s a deal.”
    “In that case, let’s make another deal. Want to?