Читать книгу A Family For The Farmer - Laurel Blount - Страница 10

Chapter Two

Phoebe fell asleep on the ten-minute ride out to Goosefeather Farm and had to be wakened when they pulled up in front of the white farmhouse. Even Paul’s eyelids looked a bit heavy, and he leaned against the clapboards on the shady porch as Emily twisted the metal key in the ancient lock. She was a little surprised when she heard the tumblers click grudgingly back into place. Although her grandmother had given her the key several years ago, Emily had never actually used it. The truth was she’d never known this welcoming red door to be locked, and she was amazed that the key even worked.

She gave the children a snack of apple wedges and cheese at her grandmother’s big kitchen table and then took them upstairs and settled them in the spare bedroom for a nap. It was proof of their exhaustion that they accepted this arrangement without a fuss. Phoebe flopped on top of the blue-and-yellow quilt covering the bed nearest the window, cuddled her tattered stuffed rabbit close to her, sighed once and promptly fell back asleep. Paul arranged himself more carefully in the other twin bed, tracing the pointed stars of his matching quilt with a thoughtful finger.

“Are you going to take a nap, too, Mama?” he asked.

She wished. “No. I’ve got some thinking to do.”

“Oh.” He nodded sagely. “But thinking’s hard work, and you’re tired. You might better rest awhile first.” After that pronouncement he closed his eyes and stuck his thumb in his mouth.

Emily kissed him gently, smiling at her son’s unique mixture of innocence and maturity. His preschool teachers had already labeled Paul gifted. That might explain why he often seemed so much older than his years. Emily still worried that being the son of a single mom was making her little boy grow up too fast. His manly little efforts to take care of his mother and sister made her both proud and sad.

She left the door to the twins’ room ajar and crossed the hall to the bedroom that had been hers. Like the rest of the old-fashioned farmhouse, it hadn’t changed much in the last six years. Its generous windows faced west, and the early-afternoon sun slanted warmly across the wide oak floorboards. The violet-sprigged curtains were the ones her grandmother had let her choose from a catalogue years ago. Now they were looped back with faded lavender ribbons to show off a view of the farm’s rolling fields and trim little barns. Emily’s books were still lined up on the white shelf underneath the window, and her teacup collection was arranged along the wide windowsill. Outside this room, Emily’s life had rushed forward like a runaway train, but in here time had held its breath.

She doubted her grandmother had left things this way because of sentimentality. Grandma had just been allergic to change, and she’d never paid much attention to the inside of the house anyway. Sadie Elliott had always preferred to be outside spoiling one of her beloved animals or puttering around in her garden. She’d never known quite what to do with her indoorsy granddaughter, but Sadie had still insisted on the annual visits, rightly guessing that Emily’s mother was far too busy chasing men to supervise her daughter during her school vacation. And while Emily had never particularly enjoyed spending her summers on the farm, she’d grown to love her outspoken grandmother fiercely.

She could remember exactly where she’d been standing in the coffee shop when Mr. Alvarez relayed the message that her grandmother had died. Emily had dropped the metal tray she’d been sliding into the glass showcase, and muffins had rolled in every direction. Caramel pecan, the Tuesday special. When she got her next paycheck, she’d discovered that Mr. Alvarez had docked her pay to cover the cost of the dropped muffins. Compassion wasn’t her boss’s strongest trait. If she stayed on the farm for the summer, she’d almost certainly lose her job.

If she stayed. She couldn’t believe she was even considering it. She rummaged in her purse and brought out her cell phone. Forcing herself not to think about the minutes she was squandering, she sank down on the white chenille bedspread and dialed her friend Clary Wright’s number.

Clary answered on the first ring. “Well,” she said, “you’re using your cell phone, so I already know this is something big. Either your grandmother was secretly a millionaire and left you wads of money, or that rattletrap car of yours conked out and you need your roomie from the big city to drive to the boonies and rescue the three of you. Which is it?”

Emily felt her lips tilting up at her friend’s familiar voice. Clary was just what she needed right now. “Neither one. Right now I really just need a listening ear.”

“Uh-oh. You must need one pretty badly to be using those precious minutes of yours. What’s up?”

Clary listened as Emily filled her in on the terms of the will. “Wow. So, what did the letter say?”

“I haven’t opened it yet.” Emily glanced at the envelope lying beside her on the bedspread. “I think... I think I’d like to make up my own mind about what I want to do before I read it. That’s why I called. I don’t have a clue what I’m supposed to do here, Clary.”

“Now that’s a switch.” Clary’s laugh bubbled through the phone. “You’ve never had much trouble knowing your own mind, Em. I’m always the one calling you.”

“Well, this isn’t exactly an easy choice.” Emily glanced out the window at the tidy barnyard. “On the one hand this could make a real difference for the twins and me. Financially, I mean. There’s over a hundred acres here, not to mention the farmhouse and the barns. I have no idea how much it’d sell for, but...”

“Whatever it is, it’s a lot more than you’ve got right now,” Clary finished for her. “You’ve been praying for the money to start up your own coffee shop, Em. Maybe this is the answer you’ve been waiting for.”

Emily had thought of that, too. “It’s possible, I guess. But it seems like a pretty strange way for God to answer. I stink at farming.”

“You only have to hold things together for the summer. How hard can it be?”

How hard can it be? Emily wanted to laugh, but it really wasn’t funny. “Harder than you can imagine. You’ve never lived in the country, Clary. You don’t know about farms.”

“Maybe not, but I know about you. You’re a working single mom of twins, Emily! Farming should be a snap compared to that.”

“But if I stay here for the whole summer, I’ll lose my job at Café Cup for sure.”

“True,” Clary admitted after a thoughtful second. “But you know, maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Mr. Alvarez takes advantage of you.”

Emily sighed. Clary, who tended to flit from job to job, had worked at Café Cup herself. Her accident-prone nature and the boss’s skinflinty tendencies hadn’t been a good combination. “You just don’t like him because he fired you.”

“Not true. I don’t hold grudges. You know that. No, this is all about you. How many of your muffin recipes are on his menu now? Five?”

“Six.”

“And aren’t those his best sellers?”

“Usually.” Emily felt a tiny flush of satisfaction.

“But he pays you the same as the other waitresses, right? Even though you’re creating these unique recipes and baking half his product? I’m not sure I’d pass up this opportunity just to keep a job like that.”

“But if I lose my job, how can I pay my half of our rent?” Emily felt panicky just thinking about it.

“Don’t worry about that. I can stretch my budget a little bit and handle the rent by myself for a while.”

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t ask. You never do. And this time I’m not taking no for an answer. Listen.” Clary’s soft voice took on an uncharacteristic firmness. “You can do this, Em. I know you can! And what’s more, I know you’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t at least try.”

Clary had a point. Emily ended the call and set the phone down on the snowy bedspread. Well, she couldn’t put this off forever. She took one steadying breath and tore up the envelope’s flap.

Her grandmother’s message was written in blue ballpoint pen on a plain sheet of notebook paper. Sadie Elliott had never been one for frills or preambles. She got right to the point.

I know right now you’re probably pretty hot at me, but you’re just going to have to get over it.

You’re not much on trusting folks, Emily-girl, and I understand that. But you’re going to have to trust me on this one thing. I had my reasons for leaving things the way I did. Believe it or not, I did it because I love you, and I want what’s best for you. And like all old folks, I think I’ve got a better idea of what that is than you do, so I couldn’t resist taking one last opportunity to meddle a little.

You’ve got plenty of spunk and grit in you, Emily. I admire that—probably because you got those things from me. You’re also stubborn as a country mule. That part you got from your grandpa. When that man made up his mind about something, he was harder to move than a sack of bees.

You settled on an opinion about Pine Valley and Goosefeather Farm a long time ago, and I don’t think you gave either of them a fair shake. I always felt like you were made and meant for this old place, but you were too bullheaded to consider its good points and too busy mooning after the likes of Trey Gordon to notice what the good Lord put right under that pretty little nose of yours.

But there’s no point my going into all that now. Anyhow, it’s something you’ll have to figure out for yourself.

Maybe you’re right, and you never belonged here. Then again maybe you’re wrong. You know well enough what I always thought. Here’s your chance to find out once and for all which one of us is right.

As usual, I’m banking on me. I’m not much to look at, but I’m smart as a whip.

Praying God’s blessings on you and those sweet babies.

All my love,

Grandma

While she was reading, the tears Emily had been fighting all day had spattered down on her grandmother’s writing, making wet circles on the paper. She’d heard her grandmother’s voice just as plainly as if the feisty old lady had been sitting next to her.

She folded up the letter carefully and slipped it back into its envelope. She sat on the bed for a few minutes listening to the ponderous ticking of the grandfather clock at the base of the stairs and the occasional squawk of a chicken from the barnyard.

When nineteen-year-old Emily’s pregnancy test had come up positive, Grandma had set her lips together tightly and left the room for fifteen minutes. When she returned, she’d given her granddaughter a fierce hug and told her she was welcome to stay at Goosefeather Farm for as long as she liked. They’d raise the baby together with God’s help.

She’d never understood Emily’s unwillingness to take her up on that offer, and she hadn’t approved of Emily’s choice to return to Atlanta. Sadie’s concerns turned out to be right on target. When Emily got back to her mother’s apartment, she discovered that Marlene had followed her latest boyfriend to Florida, leaving nothing behind but a stack of overdue bills and a scribbled note saying that Emily was plenty old enough to manage on her own. If Sadie had known half of what Emily had gone through during her first months alone in the city, her grandmother would have driven her old Ford truck up there and hauled her granddaughter straight back to Pine Valley.

Sadie Elliott had been an independent woman herself, though, and she’d reluctantly allowed Emily to forge her own path. Still she’d never really understood why Emily was so stubborn in her refusal to return to Pine Valley or why Emily had gone to such great lengths to entice her grandmother up to Atlanta for holidays and birthday celebrations. Sadie had felt Emily was being unreasonable, and she’d said so on several occasions.

But Grandma hadn’t known everything.

Before Emily had gone to her grandmother with her suspicions, she’d already been to speak to Trey Gordon and his widowed mother, Lois. Naive as she’d been back then, Emily had banked on Trey’s boyish promises, and she’d confidently expected to be making wedding plans once the initial shock subsided.

Instead Trey’s socially prominent mother had wasted no time setting Emily straight. There would be no marriage. Her son’s bright future wasn’t going to be dimmed by tying himself to the likes of Emily Elliott, no matter what kind of fix she’d managed to get herself in. In Lois’s opinion Emily’s best option was to take herself and her problems back up to Atlanta. Given the sort of woman Emily’s mother was, Lois had no doubt Marlene would know how to deal with this. Trey had simply sat by without saying a word, letting his mother fillet Emily into quivering strips with her barbed tongue.

Trey had been killed in a drunk driving accident over four years ago, but apparently his mother had never forgiven Emily for having the audacity to expect her precious son to shoulder his rightful responsibilities. Lois had made that perfectly clear when she bumped into Emily on the morning of Sadie Elliott’s funeral. Emily had felt the chill radiating off Trey’s mother from all the way across the room, and it had been a profound relief when she’d finally been able to put Pine Valley in her rearview mirror and head back to the haven of the Atlanta apartment she and the twins shared with Clary.

Now she was supposed to stay here for the whole summer? It was a daunting thought.

She got to her feet and crossed over the creaking floor to the window that looked out over the farm. She could see her grandma’s milk cow grazing placidly in the pasture on the right-hand side of the house and the vegetable garden to the left with its tidy rows. The far field was dotted with black Angus cows. They were the farm’s bread and butter and depended on the hay fields, which were tucked out of sight behind the house.

It all looked so serene and orderly. Emily knew it was anything but.

Already weeds were impudently sprouting up between the plants in the garden, and each row of vegetables would end up requiring hours of labor before the produce made it to the local farmers’ market or to the farmhouse kitchen, where it would have to be processed and canned to be stored for winter eating. That cow would have to be milked night and morning no matter what else was going on, and the dairy pails and strainers would have to be scrubbed and sanitized daily. Those black Angus cows would need to be carefully monitored and fed if they were going to bring top price at the end of the summer. Then there were the goats and the chickens to look after.

And the hay field. Emily didn’t even want to think about that hay field. Haying was backbreaking work that required the use of a lot of complicated equipment that she couldn’t even imagine running on her own. She didn’t know much about any of this. She’d spent most of her summers on the farm trying to avoid this type of work so she could spend her time tinkering around in her grandma’s old-fashioned kitchen. And now she had the twins to look after, as well.

Her grandma had always counted on Abel Whitlock to do the toughest farm work, but Emily could hardly expect him to help out now, not when he stood to inherit the place if she made a mess of things. Besides, even if he were willing, she had no money to pay him.

She might as well face it. She was on her own. And that was fine, she told herself, lifting her chin a fraction. She was better off that way. Depending on other people was what generally got her in trouble.

Through the window Emily watched a hen that had somehow managed to escape from the coop, wandering the yard, clucking and pecking at bugs. She’d have to catch the silly bird before a hawk did and then try to block the hole in the chicken pen. She’d have to see the rest of the animals settled for the night, too, which meant she was going to have to take her first shot at milking a cow in years.

Then she’d have to go back to Atlanta and do her best to explain things to Mr. Alvarez. Given her boss’s temperament, she knew keeping her job was unlikely, but she’d see what she could do. She needed that job.

Because the minute the farm was legally hers, Emily planned to stick a for-sale sign in the yard, point her little car back toward Atlanta, and once again put Pine Valley and all its painful memories in her rearview mirror—this time permanently. For once in her life, Sadie Elliott had gotten things utterly and completely wrong.

Emily didn’t belong on Goosefeather Farm. She never had, and she never would.

* * *

Abel rounded the corner of Miss Sadie’s barn and stopped short in the wide doorway. Beulah the cow was clumsily tied into her stanchion, and Emily was crouched down beside her, trying to poke the stainless steel milking pail under the bulging udder. The twins were standing a respectful distance away watching the process with doubtful expressions.

For a moment Abel was distracted by the picture they made. The fading sunlight reached through the slats of the barn wall to highlight Emily’s honey-colored hair, which was gathered into a messy knot on the top of her head. The twins were mostly in shadow with only their faces picking up the light.

Abel’s fingers itched for a sketch pad. There was so much here he could carve: the curves of Emily’s face, the sturdy, childish shapes of the twins...

The cow shifted irritably. Abel blinked, and his mind shifted abruptly back into gear. “Emily, look out there! You’re on the wrong side. She’s going to kick you!”

As if on cue the Jersey lifted one fawn-colored leg and struck out sideways in Emily’s direction. Emily fell backward, her breath escaping her in a loud huff, while Beulah focused on aiming her second kick at the empty pail.

The pail landed next to Emily with a loud clang that set the hens clucking worriedly. Abel crossed the barn in three strides and knelt down beside Emily, whose gray-green eyes were wide.

“Did she get you?” Abel asked as he helped Emily back to her feet. “She can be an ornery old girl. You have to watch her.”

“I’m all right.” She stepped away from him, dusting off her pants with quick, irritated motions. “Stupid cow.”

“Beulah’s smart enough. That’s the problem. If she was stupid, she’d be a lot easier to handle.” Since Emily seemed unhurt, Abel turned his attention to the cow. He placed a reassuring hand on Beulah’s flank and murmured to her, settling her with his familiar touch and voice. The Jersey gave a long-suffering sigh and rolled her big brown eyes reproachfully in his direction. About time you showed up, she seemed to be saying.

He almost hadn’t come at all. He’d dawdled a full forty-five minutes after his normal chore time wondering if he should. In the end his concern for the animals had won out. Emily didn’t know the routines, and she didn’t know where the feed was. He didn’t know if she wanted his help or not, but he knew she needed it. So, like it or not, she was going to get it.

“Maybe I’d better milk her out for you tonight.” He righted the toppled pail with one hand and scooped up the three-legged milking stool with the other. “Cows are kind of particular about their milking routine, Beulah more than most,” he explained, stepping over to the other side of the fidgeting cow. “She’ll probably behave herself better for somebody she’s used to.” As he settled in on the correct side, he could feel the cow relaxing. She took up a mouthful of grain and began crunching calmly, looking as if she’d never tried to kick anybody in her life.

Abel, on the other hand, felt as jumpy as a cricket in a henhouse...and a whole lot less welcomed. Emily was still standing in the spot where he’d left her, and the twins, their eyes big with curiosity, were watching him clean off Beulah’s full udder with the wipes Miss Sadie kept on hand.

Abel had never spent much time around kids, and the few he’d run into here and there hadn’t left all that favorable an impression. These two seemed different. He liked the no-nonsense way the boy had of summing things up, and Emily’s little girl had a real special sparkle to her.

He liked them just fine, but that didn’t mean he knew how to talk to them. It didn’t help matters that they kept staring at him wide-eyed like two tawny little owls. Fortunately for Abel, milking was a great way to avoid eye contact. He kept his gaze focused on the streams of creamy liquid that jetted into the bucket with a ringing hiss as his practiced hands did their work.

Paul walked over and hunkered down next to him, watching the process with a wrinkled nose. “I don’t think I like milk anymore.”

“Me, either,” said Phoebe, who was keeping a safe distance.

“Aw, now. You’ll hurt Beulah’s feelings talking like that. Anyhow, I expect you’ll change your mind when you taste this milk. Beulah’s milk is the best in the county, maybe even the state. You’ll see.”

“Paul, back up. I don’t want that cow to kick you.” Emily sounded irked.

“He’s all right. She’s not in a kicking mood anymore,” Abel said evenly. “She was just reminding you that cows like to be milked from the right, that’s all.”

“How does a cow know the difference between right and left?” Paul was skeptical. “Even Phoebe doesn’t know that yet.”

“I do, too, know that!”

“You don’t, either.”

“Children.” Emily’s voice held a tinge of desperation. “Why don’t you go look at the chickens for a few minutes and let me speak to Mr. Abel?”

“Chicken feed’s in that big metal can over there. You can throw some to ’em if you want to,” Abel suggested. The twins scurried off excitedly.

“Stay outside the pen,” Emily called. “That rooster might be mean.”

“He is that,” Abel agreed. “Newman’s about the meanest rooster I’ve ever seen. Your grandma was the only one who could handle him.”

Emily fixed him with chilly eyes. “What are you doing here, Abel?”

“It’s milking time. I thought you might need a hand.” He’d been right, but he figured it was the better part of wisdom not to point that out.

“I can manage on my own.” Emily tilted up her chin as if daring him to argue with her.

He wasn’t going to. According to the information that had filtered down through Miss Sadie to him over the last six years, managing on her own was Emily’s specialty. This woman had plenty of grit. She was just a little low on know-how.

And maybe gratitude, come to think of it.

“I’m not saying you can’t handle things by yourself, but it’s been a while since you had to deal with this kind of stuff, and now you’ve got twins to look after in the bargain. I know the ropes around Goosefeather, and your grandma was good to me. I’m just trying to help you out a little.”

“Yes, well. Your helping me is kind of a conflict of interest right now, isn’t it?”

Abel felt temper flare inside him. The tempo of his milking upped a little, but he kept his voice carefully calm. “Not the way I see it, no.” There was a pause, punctuated by the hiss of the milk foaming in the half-full bucket and the excited clucking of the hens as Paul and Phoebe tossed cracked corn through the chicken wire.

Emily sighed sharply. “I just don’t think this is a wise move right now, Abel. Your helping, I mean.”

“That kind of depends on what you call wise, I guess,” Abel said, stripping the last drops of milk from Beulah’s deflated udder. He lifted the heavy pail from under the cow’s belly and topped it with its clean lid before setting it safely to the side. “Maybe you and I have different takes on it. Like right now it seems to me you’re looking a gift horse in the mouth, and that sure doesn’t seem all that smart to me.” He angled himself under the cow and carefully applied the spray that would help protect her from mastitis.

“Sorry, but it’s been my experience that gifts, horses or otherwise, tend to come with strings attached.”

“Mama!” Phoebe’s excited voice called over from the chicken pen. “Did you say horse? Is there a horsie here? I love horsies!”

“No, hon. No horsies,” Emily called back.

“Can we get one? Please?”

“Good heavens, no! The last thing I need around here is something else to feed and look after,” Emily added under her breath.

“You’ve got a lot on your plate all right,” Abel agreed. “That’s why I think it’d be foolish of you not to take what help you can get.” He stood up, unhooked Beulah from her stanchion and gave her an affectionate slap on her bony rump as she ambled peaceably out of the barn to graze in the evening cool. “And just so you know, I don’t do gifts with strings, Emily. Either I give them or I don’t. Look, I know you’re mad about how Miss Sadie left the will, and I can’t say that I blame you. I’m none too happy about it, either.”

“Yes. So you said.”

There was something in her voice, some subtle tone of disbelief that jarred a little of his temper loose. It wasn’t the first time somebody had distrusted him, far from it, but it sure stung coming from Emily Elliott of all people, here in the one place where he’d always been trusted and relied on in spite of his last name.

“It’s the truth, but I reckon you can believe it or not as it suits you. That doesn’t change the fact that you’re going to need some help around here at least at the beginning. I’m willing to give it. If you’re as smart as I think you are, you’ll put your feelings about all this aside and take me up on it. Otherwise I think you’re going to find yourself going under pretty quick.”

Emily looked at him with her indecision written plainly on her face. She had an independent streak a mile wide, and apparently she’d gotten burned often enough not to trust people easily. Her suspicion was warring hard with her common sense, and from the look of things, it might take a while for the dust to settle there. In the meantime, Miss Sadie’s animals were already about an hour behind their normal eating schedules. They’d wasted enough time as it was.

He had opened his mouth to say so when suddenly a bloodcurdling child’s scream came from the direction of the chicken pen.

“Phoebe!” Emily bolted toward the noise.

“Newman!” Abel overtook Emily in two strides and was inside the chicken coop in a flash. He pushed himself between the five-year-old and the angry bantam and swept up the sobbing little girl in his arms.

“There, now,” he said to Phoebe, keeping his eyes on the tiny rooster, who was stalking around in the corner of the coop, his bright feathers standing out in an angry halo. “It’s all right. I’ve got you.”

“He tried to claw me!” Phoebe snuffled moistly into Abel’s neck.

“She went in to get an egg.” Paul spoke from outside the pen, his voice shaking. “I told her not to, but she wouldn’t listen. And then the rooster started chasing her and flying up at her!”

“He was protecting his hens. It’s what good roosters do. Newman’s just not smart enough to figure out that you’re not going to hurt them, is all.”

“He’s a bad, bad bird!” Phoebe peered around Abel’s neck at the little rooster, who crowed fiercely and ruffled his feathers. Phoebe promptly buried her face again, and Abel felt her little hands tighten.

Something in his heart shifted strangely at the feel of those tiny fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt, and Abel looked narrowly at the strutting rooster. Newman considered Abel’s expression, and some primal warning must have flashed in his walnut-sized brain. He settled his feathers and sidled into the depths of his corner, edging behind a fat black-striped hen, who squawked at him irritably.

It looked like Newman was nobody’s favorite today.

Emily was beside him now, tugging Phoebe free of his arms and carrying her out of the coop. She knelt down in front of her daughter and checked her over with worried hands.

“I think he just scared her.” Abel shot another meaningful glance at the rooster, who meekly lowered his head and pretended to be interested in pecking at a piece of straw. Abel retrieved the egg that had caught Phoebe’s attention and latched the coop door securely behind himself.

“That’s why we told you not to go into the coop, young lady.” Emily’s voice was tense and stern. “You could have gotten hurt. That rooster could have put your eye out.”

In spite of himself Abel couldn’t help smiling a little. Emily was a mother all right. Mothers were always concerned about somebody putting an eye out. At least that was what he’d heard. Since his own mother had lit out when he was ten, he didn’t have a whole lot of firsthand knowledge in that department.

“I wanted to get the egg,” Phoebe wailed, fresh tears starting.

“And here it is. There’ll be more of them come morning. Next time, though, you’d better wait and let me go in there with you. Okay?” Abel handed over the smooth brown egg, and the tears stopped instantly.

“I’m going to go put it in the ’frigerator!” she exclaimed happily, and she and Paul dashed out of the barn toward the house.

“If that egg makes it all the way into a carton, I’ll be amazed,” Emily muttered under her breath. Then she glanced up at Abel. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“I guess Grandma’s rooster’s made your point for you. That scared me to death. Doing the chores around here and keeping an eye on the twins at the same time...well, it’s going to be a lot to manage. I couldn’t live with myself if Paul or Phoebe got hurt because I wasn’t paying attention.”

She was probably overestimating the damage one pint-size rooster could have caused, but he figured it wouldn’t be to his advantage to mention that. “Neither could I.”

“I guess if your offer still stands...” She trailed off.

“It does.”

“I don’t know how we can work this out, though. I can’t pay you. At least not until the farm sells.”

Until the farm sells. The words stabbed at him, but he shoved the pain aside for the moment. “I’m not asking for any pay.”

“Well, you’re not working here for free. That’s out of the question.” Emily’s chin went up mulishly. She didn’t want to be beholden to him. That was plain enough.

This was going nowhere fast, and he had hungry animals to tend to. “You’d better get on back in the house with the little ones. You’ve probably got some egg to clean up by now.”

The distraction worked. A tiny smile tickled around the corners of her lips. “You’re probably right.”

“Here. Take this milk on in with you and get it strained and chilling. You remember how to do that, don’t you?”

“Sure.” Emily reached over and took the full pail he held out to her. He winced a little when he saw her adjust her slim frame to balance its heft. He should offer to carry it for her. He’d always brought the milk pails in for Miss Sadie.

But he had a feeling Emily needed to feel like she was carrying her weight, so he let it go. “While you’re tending to that, I’ll finish up with the animals. I’ll come up to the kitchen for a minute or two when I’m done, and we’ll hash out some kind of arrangement. All right?”

Emily hesitated. She’d never been much on being told what to do, but she finally gave in. “All right.” She turned, carefully managing the milk bucket so it wouldn’t slop over on her pants, and headed back toward the farmhouse.

Abel began to measure out feed to take to the goats in the west pasture. Judging by the level of pellets in the big can, he’d need to make another trip to the feed store soon. Beulah was running low on her alfalfa hay, too, and that stuff was wickedly expensive and not something they could grow on-site.

As he began to think about everything he needed to explain to Emily, he felt his stomach tense up a little. There was a lot to managing even a small farm like Goosefeather. Stepping in cold turkey would have been a challenge for anybody, but for a city girl like Emily, it was going to be next door to impossible. Unless she was willing to accept his help, she was never going to meet the county extension agent’s standards for animal and crop care.

And then there was the whole business about her plans to sell the farm. He’d expected that, but hearing her say it out loud had set him back a pace or two.

He sighed, hoping Emily had the sense to put on a pot of coffee after she finished straining the milk. When it came to talking and explanations, he was every bit as far out of his comfort zone as Emily was out here dealing with Beulah.

He had a feeling this might take a while.