“Oh, she’s beautiful,” Abby breathed.
Tate was close enough that she could actually feel him laugh. “That wasn’t a she. It was the male. They’re barn swallows. Every spring they show up and use the same nest.”
“Did something happen to the mother?”
“No. She’ll be along in a minute. Both parents raise the young.” He dropped his hand. “Let’s go eat. I’m starved.”
Abby studied his back as she followed him the rest of the way to the house. Why had he shown her the birds? Was there supposed to be a message in there somewhere? If so, she wasn’t sure she’d gotten it. Surely he hadn’t meant he was going to help her raise the baby. A small sigh escaped her as they went up the steps. She had almost nine months to worry about it and there wasn’t much she could do now, anyway. She’d handle it when it was time, one way or the other.
Tate went right to the table and sat down, helping himself to the spaghetti, salad and garlic bread. “Looks good. Smells good too.”
“Thanks.” She took the chair across from him and filled her own plate. “I made some fried apple pies for desert. I hope that was okay.”
“Better than okay.” He spoke around a full mouth. “You’ll have Buddy’s undying gratitude. Where did you learn to cook?”
Abby gave a small shrug. “I did all the cooking before my mother died. We couldn’t afford any of that ready-to-eat stuff.”
“When did she die?”
“A little over a year ago. She had cancer.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“It’s okay. She was in a lot of pain for a long time. I guess dying was a relief for her.”
“And you’ve been working at Delly’s since then.”
It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. “Yes.”
“Wasn’t there some kind of help you could have gotten from the state?”
Abby bristled. “I don’t take charity. When my mother was hospitalized, I saw the way doctors, nurses and hospital officials treated her. Like she was a lower form of life because she was on state aid. They took away her humanity, humiliated her and withheld the pain medication she needed so desperately until the last minute. It caused her needless suffering. No one will ever do that to me. I’ll starve first.”
Silence fell as they kept eating and Abby’s nervousness increased. Was this how it was going to be every time they were alone together? Desperately, she searched for something else to talk about.
“What do you use the tractor for?”
Tate looked up. “Everything. Breaking, disking, cultivation, harvesting, pulling wagons. We couldn’t survive without it.”
“I thought ranchers just raised cows and horses.”
“We do that too. But with the drought, we’ve had to sell off more cows than I’d like. That means more cash crops than we normally plant and a lot more irrigation.”
“Cash crops?”
He took another bite and nodded. “Yeah. Things that we can sell, like cotton and soybeans. Most years we just plant Milo, corn, sorghum, and hay grass. Feed for the animals. We’ve got a couple of silos, so we can store our own grain. And sometimes, if the weather’s good, we even have enough to sell to other ranchers.”
It was the longest speech she’d ever heard him make and she was fascinated by the sound of his voice. It was obvious he loved what he did. “I haven’t seen any cows at all.”
“That’s because they’re all out on the range. We’ll be bringing them in later in the year for branding and dipping. Probably wait until around September to start that. Give all the cows time to drop their calves, and give me a chance to get the crops taken care of first.”
“You do all that by yourself?”
“Until Buddy gets out of school. Then he helps. And during round-up all the neighbors pitch in. Saves us all from hiring extra hands when we swap out the work like that.”
“What time do you get up in the mornings?”
“On the weekdays, by six. Weekends are different. Tomorrow’s Sunday, so I’ll be probably be gone a couple of hours earlier.”
“Gone?” Abby paused. “Where are you going?”
“Fishing. If I’m lucky we’ll have fresh trout for supper tomorrow night. That’s one thing I can cook.”
“You don’t have to,” she hastily assured him. “I can do it.”
“Nope. Family tradition. If you catch them, you have to clean ‘em and cook ‘em.” He took the last bite and blinked as Abby whisked the plate out from under him and carried it to the sink along with her own, returning with a platter piled high with fried pies. She seemed agitated and it suddenly occurred to him why.
Casually, he picked up a pie and took a bite, pausing to chew thoughtfully. “Tell you what. We’ll split the job. I’ll cook the fish and you can fix the stuff to go with it.”
“What kind of stuff?”
At least she appeared calmer now. “The usual. French fries, cole slaw, hushpuppies.”
“Hushpuppies?”
“Can you make corn bread?” He took a bigger bite of the pie, and licked his lips. Damn, it was good.
She nodded.
“That’s the hard part. When it’s mixed, just chop up an onion and put it in the batter. Then you drop spoonfuls into the grease.” He popped the last bite of pie into his mouth.
“Okay.”
It was the first time she’d ever smiled at him and it transformed her. Had he actually thought she was merely pretty? She was beautiful. When she smiled, two dimples appeared on her cheeks and her entire face lit up. Tate cleared his throat and wrenched his gaze away from her.
“Well, I’ve got some paperwork to do. I’ll be in the office if you need me.” Even before he got out the kitchen door he could hear her running water to wash dishes. If he didn’t keep an eye on her, she was going to work herself to death.
Chapter Five
Tate pulled his clothes on quietly, then slipped from his room, carrying his boots in one hand. Daylight was still several hours away, but he didn’t mind. Early mornings, before the world started stirring, were his favorite time. And he’d spent Sunday mornings fishing for so many years now that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to break the habit even if he wanted to.
He dropped his boots in the kitchen, ready to make a pot of coffee to take with him, then stopped. There was already a full pot simmering under the coffeemaker. Next to it was a plate containing four cellophane-wrapped biscuits. Homemade ones, with slices of bacon in the middle.
When the hell had she made them? He picked one up in puzzlement. It was still warm. And there wasn’t a single dirty dish in sight. In fact, the kitchen was spotless. More so than at any time since his mother had died. Abby must have stayed up most of the night working. It couldn’t be good for her or the baby.
Putting the biscuit down, he turned and climbed back up the stairs, stopping at Abby’s room and knocking softly. When there was no answer he pushed the door open and moved quietly to the side of the bed. She was sound asleep, the setting moon casting silvery shadows over her. She had kicked the blankets to the foot of the bed and was curled up on her side, one knee pulled tightly into her chest, the other leg stretched out straight.
Her dark hair was spread partially on the pillow and partially tangled over her face, but he could still see the long lashes that brushed her cheeks, and the lightly curled fist next to her head. Her left hand lay relaxed, palm up on the sheets. Such a small, delicate hand. For that matter, all of her looked tiny in the big bed. She barely took up a quarter of the space. It made her look young, more like twelve than…what?
All at once it occurred to him that he didn’t know how old she was, that he really didn’t know anything about her at all. Except that she was carrying his baby. A fierce wave of emotion swept over him, staggering in its intensity. It took him a moment to identify it. Why was he suddenly feeling so damn protective? Because she was pregnant, or because she looked so helpless? Maybe it was a little of both.
A light breeze ruffled the curt
ains from both open windows and washed across her. With a tiny murmur of sound, she pulled in both arms and tucked both legs up tight against her body.
Smiling at her action, Tate reached down and pulled the blankets up over her, tucking them in around her shoulders. With one final glance at her face, he slipped from the room and back downstairs.
* * * * *
Abby took the mop out to the back porch and propped it against the wall to dry. She’d spent the entire morning cleaning the bottom story of the house and now it shone like a new dime. Everything but Tate’s office. She’d left it alone, afraid she might misplace something he needed.
It was amazing how much pleasure she got from cleaning something that actually looked good when she finished. And how much pleasure she’d gotten when she saw the biscuits and coffee were gone.
She hadn’t been at all sure she was doing the right thing when she’d gotten up early to make the food, but he’d taken them. That had to mean she hadn’t done anything wrong. She had eaten several before returning to bed and what was left after Tate departed, Buddy had polished off in short order.
She glanced toward the barn before going back inside. Occasionally, a faint noise drifted from that direction and she knew Buddy was still tending the stock. Maybe this would be a good time to do some of her homework. She had several lessons due later in the week and she didn’t know when she’d have another chance.
Back in her room, she got down on her hands and knees and slid the cardboard box out from under the bed, piling the contents in orderly stacks on the mattress. She selected the history and math books, some paper and pencils, and then glanced around the room. There was nowhere to set up the cheap typewriter she’d spent two dollars on at a garage sale. She’d just have to take them downstairs to the kitchen table and hope no one came in.
Carrying the books and supplies in one arm, she picked up the typewriter by the white handle. The blue case was made from cheap plastic, as was the rest of the typewriter. It wasn’t much more than a child’s toy, but it worked and that was all that mattered.
She went back down the stairs, pausing in the kitchen door for a quick look. The house was still empty. Treating it like it was made of solid gold, she lifted the top off the typewriter and rolled the answer sheet under the carriage. History first, she decided, opening the book to the chapter on World War II. Soon she was so absorbed that she lost track of time.
“What are you doing?”
A small squeal of surprise erupted from Abby and she almost threw the book across the room.
Buddy was looking at her with a great deal of curiosity.
“Nothing.” She finally started to breathe again. “Just reading.”
“Reading what?” He strolled casually to the table and glanced down at the cover. Abby caught the faint scent of horses drifting from him. “History? Why are you reading this stuff when you don’t have to?”
Abby could feel her face turning red even though she fought it. “I do have to. I’m trying to get my G.E.D.”
“G.E.D.?”
She nodded. “General Education Diploma. I’m taking correspondence courses.”
“Oh.” He hesitated. “You any good at this stuff?”
Abby looked down at the book and gave a small shrug. “I like history and science, but I’m afraid the math is getting away from me.”
“Really?” He seemed to brighten. “I’m pretty good at math but I suck at history. I’ll make you a deal. I’ll help you with your math if you help me with history. I’ve got to turn in a final report in a couple of weeks.”
“On what?” She couldn’t stop the spark of interest that ran through her.
“Chivalry.” Buddy rolled his eyes. “About the only thing I know about the topic is that guys used to throw their clothes in mud holes for women to walk on.”
Laughter bubbled out of her. “I think there’s a little more to it than that. Here, there’s a whole chapter on chivalry and it even has a list of books at the end for further reading.” She offered him the book, wondering why he was looking at her with a dazed expression on his face. “Is something wrong?” She was starting to get embarrassed again.
Buddy cleared his throat. “Uh, no.” He took the book and looked over the list. “Wonder if they’d have these at the library?”
“Probably. At least some of them.”
“We could go after I get out of school some evening. The library stays open until nine.”
Abby paused. “You want me to go with you?”
“Sure. I’ll need all the help I can get finding these books. And we can pick some up for you on algebra while we’re there.”
“Well, I guess it would be okay.” She hoped her voice sounded surer than she felt. What if someone made a remark about her being there with Buddy? She was used to the humiliation. He wasn’t.
“Great. I may as well get my books and start working too. Keep Tate from yelling at me again.”
“He yells at you?”
Buddy grimaced. “Only when I don’t do my homework. Tate’s a real stickler for education. Guess he got it from Mom. She was the same way.” He left the room, returning shortly with a stack of his own books and sat down next to her.
* * * * *
Tate left his fishing rod in the tack room of the barn, then carried the stringer of trout to the back door. Voices drifted through the screen as he deposited the fish in a cooler full of water and he leaned to one side to look into the kitchen.
Abby and Buddy were sitting side by side at the table, their heads so close together they were almost touching as they studied a paper in front of them. Books were spread out everywhere.
“Show me how you got that answer,” Abby said.
“It’s easy. Just remember to do all the operations inside the brackets first. See? XY squared plus X equals 2XY squared. Then you multiply that by the numbers outside the bracket.”
Abby’s pencil scratched for a second then she laughed in delight. “I did it!”
“And you got it right.”
Buddy was staring at her with rapt attention and Tate grinned wryly. Apparently his little brother had discovered the same thing he had last night. When Abby smiled the whole world seemed to light up with her. All he needed was for Buddy to develop a crush on her, but if he was any judge, it was already too late to head him off at the pass. Buddy definitely looked smitten.
Leaving his muddy boots on the porch, Tate opened the door and stepped inside, catching it before it could slam. “This must be a first. You’re actually doing homework before I force you into it.”
Buddy looked up and grinned smugly. “Abby and I are studying together. She’s getting her G.E.D. you know. I’m helping her with math and she’s helping me with history.”
“Is that right.” He glanced at Abby.
She had leaped to her feet at his first words, her face a deep pink. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was that late.”
“It’s not that late. Go ahead and finish what you’re doing.” Even he could detect the trace of irritation in his voice. With Buddy she seemed comfortable, even laughing out loud. But let him walk into the room and she panicked. What did she think he was, some kind of monster?
No, the logical part of his mind answered. You’re the stranger who took her virginity and got her pregnant. He couldn’t blame her for being easier around Buddy than she was around him. He barely caught the sigh that was trying to escape.
Abby was already gathering up her books. “I’m finished. I’ll just put these upstairs and then start supper.”
It sounded like she ran all the way and irritation hit him again. When Buddy started closing his books, Tate glowered at him. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Putting these up. I’m almost done. I thought I could help Abby with supper.”
This time the sigh made it all the way out. Buddy never volunteered for kitchen duty. He could see where this might get to be a problem. “If she needs help, I’ll help her. Since you’re so c
lose to being done, you might as well go ahead and finish your homework.”
“Aw, Tate. I can do it later.”
He shot him a glare that had Buddy settling back into his seat with a grumble. After waiting a second to ensure there would be no more protest, he pulled open a drawer and rummaged until he found his cleaning knife.
By the time he’d cleaned, gutted and filleted the fish, Abby was back in the kitchen, stirring something in a bowl. “What’s that?”
She glanced up. “Cake. I thought it could bake while the rest of the food was cooking.”
Buddy’s head came up like a pointer who’d scented a covey of quail. “Chocolate? With icing?”
She gave him a quick smile. “Yes.”
Tate arched an eyebrow. “At the rate you’re cooking, none of us are going to be able to fit through the door in six months.”
Abby froze, her eyes huge as she stared at him. “I can cook less.”
He stopped her just before she dumped the batter in the sink. “Abby, it was a joke. You aren’t cooking too much.”
She kept her gaze on the bowl in her hands. “Are you sure?”
“Positive. You’re doing fine.” He waited a second, but when she didn’t go on stirring, he turned to the door. “I’m going to run upstairs and take a fast shower. I’ll put the fish on to cook when I get done.”
“Okay.”
Tate started up the stairs in deep thought. He’d told her yesterday that things would get better, even promised they would. At the moment they seemed to be deteriorating rapidly. Maybe it was time they had a talk. Somehow, he had to convince her that she didn’t need to be afraid of him.
* * * * *
Tate waited until the last dish was put away after supper and the kitchen was again spotless. Buddy had gone to his room earlier and the sounds of Country Western music now drifted down from the floor above. Alone with her, he’d had to squelch the urge to offer to dry the dishes. The way things stood right now, she’d probably believe he thought she was doing it wrong.
“Finished?”