The Forever Man(17)

"You wanta come up and see, Miss Johanna?" Precariously, he leaned  farther out the square hole in the side of the barn, and she drew in a  quick breath.                       
       
           



       

"Tate?"

"Yeah, he'll be all right, Jo." Raising one hand, Tate motioned the  child away from the opening. "Back off, Timmy. You'll break your neck if  you fall from there, and I'm too busy today to take you to town to the  doctor."

"Oh, Pa! You're foolin' me," the boy chortled, scooting back readily at his father's bidding.

"Come on down, now," Tate told him firmly. "You can ride the wagon and help Johanna drive the team."

"Why can't I drive?" From behind them, Pete's voice was querulous.

His father turned and motioned to the boy. "Come here, Pete." One hand  rubbed at the youngster's hair, smoothing it down where the wind had  ruffled it. "I need you to keep the load even while I pitch the hay up  to you. Can you do that?"

"I seen you doing it last summer," the boy said. "I'm big enough this year."

"You're growin' like a bad weed, son," Tate told him, his arm sliding  down to grip the narrow shoulders. "It won't be long before you'll be  able to pitch hay like a man."

The boy's eyes glowed at the words, and he sidled closer to his father. "Timmy's too little to help, isn't he?"

"No, I'm not," the smaller boy spouted, rounding the corner full tilt.  "Pa said I can help drive the team." Attempting to clamber up the side  of the wagon, he glanced back over his shoulder at Johanna. "Just wait  till you see those babies. They're all squinty-eyed and runty-lookin'."

Tate reached to hoist his youngest son onto the wagon seat. "What color are they, son?"

"One's all different colors. The other two are black, mostly." Timmy  bounced on the seat, his feet dangling. "Are we gonna 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 your eggs. 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 Montgomery was 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 make them. A bowl of fresh applesauce appeared  from the pantry, and dinner was ready.

Timmy was glowing as he reported on the new kittens. Pete almost failed  to hide his smile of satisfaction as Johanna complimented him on his  work on the hay wagon. And Tate Montgomery sounded truly appreciative as  he thanked his Maker for holding off on the storm until the hay was in  the barn. In fact, so earnest was his gratitude, he almost forgot to  mention the food he was supposed to be praying over, which resulted in a  storm of laughter from the members of his family.

Deep inside, Tate Montgomery felt an explosion of warmth, spreading to  encompass his whole being. Life was good indeed. No wonder he felt as if  the sun were shining, even though the sound of rain was even now to be  heard on the tin roof over the porch. His heart lifted as he caught  Johanna's eye, again seeking the approval she had given him more often  of late with her sidelong glances.

Yessir, things were looking up.





A shiny black buggy parked next to the house was her first warning of  company as Johanna left the springhouse a few days later, carrying her  basket of butter. On the buggy's seat, Marjorie Jones perched, one foot  over the side as she reached for the step.

"Yoo-hoo, Johanna!" she warbled, attending to her footing.

"I'm out here," Johanna called, stepping briskly toward the buggy. "Is something wrong, Mrs. Jones?"

Marjorie's laughter was hearty. "My word, no," she said brightly. "Can't  a body come calling without a reason, Johanna? I just thought it was  time to visit."

Since the lady had not done so in more years than Johanna could count,  the theory had some holes in it, but she shrugged off that thought as  she climbed the steps to the porch. "Come on in, won't you? I'll fix a  cup of tea for us."

The kitchen was warm, the scent of dinner on the stove an inviting one.  Marjorie settled on a kitchen chair, having refused the parlor in favor  of the warmth to be found here.

"I declare, Johanna. It's been hard to imagine you as having a  ready-made family these days," Marjorie warbled. "I was just saying the  other day to Esther how glad I was for you, after you were so  brokenhearted over that Brittles boy. Land sakes, that was a long time  ago, wasn't it?"

Johanna brought the teapot to the table, placing it on the hot pad. "Ages ago. I'd almost forgotten him."

Marjorie darted a disbelieving look in her direction. "Really? I'd  thought you were quite taken with him. Planning a wedding, weren't you?"

Johanna shrugged, her eyes intent on the spoon she held. Measuring a  scant teaspoon of sugar, she stirred it into her tea. "We'd talked of  it, but I was awfully young. Besides, my father needed me here."