by Lois Richer
“I’ll load the seeder,” Grady muttered, turning away. “You can finish lunch.”
She jumped up the moment he shut off the auger, and shoved the containers back into the bag her mother had sent.
“I’ve got to get back to work now.” Maggie dragged herself back up on the seat of the tractor and shifted gears with only a slight grinding. “Tell Granny I’ll be done about six,” she yelled, gathering her hair in a bunch and stuffing it under the hat he had given her. “You could fix up that broken screen on the back door, couldn’t you, Grady? And the gate by the back pasture?” Her eyes were cool and formal as she gave him a list of chores for the afternoon.
Grady could see where the sun had burned the tip of her nose. At least she’d had sense enough to wear long sleeves. As he watched her drive away, Grady felt a sadness creep up on him. Maggie McCarthy was earthy and natural and very, very beautiful. In addition to her physical attributes, she was warm and caring. Exactly what he’d hoped for when…He cut the thought off before it could go any further. There wasn’t much point dwelling on a future that would never be.
Grady wheeled around to pick up the sack and thermos of half-drunk coffee that Maggie had left behind. She’d eaten the pie voraciously, he remembered. As if she hadn’t had breakfast.
“Come on, Katy, me girl,” he called in his best Irish accent. “Time to get home. We’re going to fix those front steps this afternoon.”
“Can I help?” The child gazed up at him eagerly, her fingers slipping into his. “I like building things.”
“Good.” He grinned, holding her door open. “You can measure for me. I can’t see a thing without my glasses.”
“Why don’t you wear them, then?” she demanded, frowning.
He grinned, enjoying the child and her quick repartee. “Because I hate glasses,” he told her succinctly. “Probably the same way you hate braces.”
She quirked an eyebrow at him, studying his face for a while as she snapped her bubble gum in loud annoying clicks.
“Maybe,” she agreed, nodding. “But at least you can take them off. I’ll never get rid of these things!”
“Never is a long time,” he murmured, trying to remember back to his own childhood. “It only seems like things will never end, Katy. But everything does.” He should know. Not that long ago his life had come to a complete and utter standstill, and he didn’t know yet if he would ever get it back.
“Granny told me the Bible says there’s a time for everything.” Katy sighed, slipping off the seat as he pulled to a stop by the side of the house. “I wish the time would come when we’d stop being poor.” Her voice dropped to a murmur as she bent to pet the big collie nudging at her leg. “Then maybe I could stop worrying.”
Grady stopped and waited for her to continue. But when Katy kept her eyes downcast, staring at the ground, he brushed a hand over her mussed-up hair and asked the question straight out.
“What have you got to worry about, Katy McCarthy?” he whispered gently as she kicked the hard dry ground with one foot. “Can’t you tell me?”
She looked up at him and Grady was astonished to see huge tears in her eyes, poised at the ends of her golden lashes. “If I tell you, you can’t say anything. Not to anybody. Promise?”
Grady held his hand over his heart and nodded.
“My mom’s gonna sell our farm,” Katy whispered loudly. “And when we move to Calgary, I won’t be able to have my horse or Bettina and her babies or even Laddie.” She threw her arms around the dog and hugged it desperately. “And I don’t want Brian for my new daddy. I don’t want a new daddy. I just want to stay here forever and ever.”
“I know it’s hard, little one,” he murmured, brushing the tears off her freckled cheeks. “But whenever I get really scared and I don’t know where to turn next, do you know what I do?”
Katy shook her head, blond strands flying everywhere.
“I pray about it,” he told her quietly. “The Bible says that God cares even about those little brown sparrows over there and that He knows just when they need something. So I figure, if He knows what they need, He must know what I need, too. And if He knows, He’ll figure out how to get it to me at just the right time. So I ask Him to help me not worry about it anymore.
“Do you think you can do that, sweetie?” He watched the bright blue eyes start to glow.
“Yes.” She nodded at last. “I think so. And my Sunday school teacher said that if we really believe in something and ask God for it, and work as hard as we can, God will help us get our heart’s desire.” She suddenly bounded up the stairs. “I gotta go do somethin’, Grady. I’ll be back to help you in a while.” And with one final bound through the door, Katy had gone.
Chapter Three
Tired and sore, Maggie stood in the doorway and marveled at the two children seated on the living room floor. The two best things in her life sat watching the television. They were identical twins, the doctors had assured her nine years ago. Alike in every way.
Huh! A lot they knew. Keeley and Katy were as different as night and day. Always had been. Keeley was quiet, thoughtful; slow to react and very stubborn. She liked to spend time thinking about things. Katy, on the other hand, favored her father. Roger had never been one to stifle his opinion, and Maggie had learned early on in their marriage to do things his way first, regardless of her own opinions.
“Now that was a nasty thought,” she chided herself. “’Love hopeth all things, believeth all things, endureth all things.’ Remember that.” She slipped her shoes off and started up the stairs to take a shower, ignoring the stiffness in her arms and legs just as she ignored the grumbling complaints and hissed warnings coming from the two on the floor.
“Girls,” she murmured, peering over the balustrade. “No arguing. Not tonight. I’m just too tired.”
“Yes, Mother,” they recited together, and Maggie smiled as she moved upstairs, knowing that Keeley would soon have Katy involved in some computer project. Either that, or they would both end up out in the barn, waiting for the new little lamb to appear. “And peace will reign,” she told herself. “For a little while, at least.”
“Did you get finished?” Kayleen asked from the bedroom after Maggie had showered.
“Yes, it’s done at last,” she muttered, entering her room and towel-drying her wet hair. “Now maybe we’ll get a little break before we have to start the spraying. If I can find the money for it.”
“You’ve still got some of that flax to sell,” her mother reminded her, sorting out the piles of laundry onto the bed.
“Yes, but that’s about all that’s left. Then I’m tapped.” Maggie changed into a cotton chambray sundress that was faded and worn but extremely comfortable. Then she gathered her hair into two tortoiseshell combs, letting the thick strands curve and coil as they wanted. “And it isn’t going to be long before we have to start haying.” She groaned, slipping one hand to her back at the thought of it.
“Count your blessings, dear. At least you’ve got Grady. By the way, Glynis Logan called this afternoon from Banff. She’s sold two more of your quilts.” Kayleen’s eyes were sparkling with some pent-up secret and Maggie’s eyes widened at her excitement.
“Okay, give,” she demanded. “How much?”
“She sold the one you did of the mountains for fourteen hundred dollars,” Kayleen said jubilantly. “And they’ve commissioned a smaller one, too.”
“Fourteen…oh, my word,” Maggie breathed, grabbing her mother’s hands and squeezing. “Maybe the kids can go to camp this summer, after all. Of course, I have to pay for those parts first, and then there’s the feed store bill. Where in the world…?” Her voice trailed away and she wiped away a tear of relief. “I’m just glad the Lord found a buyer. That store has been a godsend for me.”
“Do you have anything else that could go? Glynis said she’s had a real run on your quilts with the big influx of tourists this year.” Kayleen studied the pair of well-mended cutoffs in her hand. “Which
one owns these?”
“Katy.” Maggie grinned, whisking her own underthings into a drawer and smoothing the quilt she’d fashioned for herself years ago. “The knees were gone anyway, so I cut them off. That child goes through clothes faster than I use sunscreen.”
“Mom! Grady’s here,” Katy bellowed up the stairs.
Maggie rolled her eyes expressively at her mother before slipping on her sandals, walking out of the room and downstairs. “You don’t have to bawl like a calf, Katy. I have perfectly sound hearing. Besides, it’s not polite.” She smiled guardedly, her eyes whisking over Grady’s dusty clothes. “Nice job of the steps,” she murmured. “I’d been meaning to get to them.”
“I thought somebody already had.” He grinned mischievously. “There were about five pounds of nails in those short stubby pieces. And every one of them was bent.”
“Yes, well—” Maggie strode toward the kitchen to hide her red face “—I’m afraid carpentry is not my forte.” She heard him mutter something. “I beg your pardon?”
“He said ‘That’s for sure,’” Katy told her innocently, glancing up from the television show she and her sister were watching.
Maggie glared at her tall and lean hired help and watched his teeth flash in a grin that wasn’t in the least apologetic.
“Sorry.” He shrugged. “Did you get the seeding finished?”
“Yes.” She sighed, pouring out two cups of coffee and cutting two huge wedges of the triple-layer chocolate cake her mother had baked that afternoon. “Finally.” She motioned him to a chair and sank into one across from him, slicing into her cake with abandon. “Man, I’m hungry.”
“You missed supper,” he murmured, sipping his coffee as he watched her. “I could have done the seeding, you know. You’re not all that strong. Missing meals probably isn’t a good idea.”
“I’m a lot tougher than I look,” she told him defensively. Her shoulders lifted proudly. “I have to be. Besides, I like to finish what I start.”
Maggie saw the frown that marred his craggy good looks and stopped eating her cake.
“Why don’t you let me carry some of the harder jobs for a while?” he asked, his voice low and thoughtful. “I think you and your kids need to spend some time together, too.”
“I spend as much time with them as I can.” Maggie glared at him. “It isn’t enough but it’s the best I can do right now.” She snapped the fork onto the plate with a decisive click.
“I’m not criticizing, Mrs. McCarthy. I just thought since school would be out soon, maybe you could ease up a bit. I’m perfectly willing to take on the heavier stuff as part of my duties.”
Maggie automatically picked up one of his hands and noticed the blisters and welt that screamed redly across his palms. Regret twigged at her conscience.
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” she murmured, brushing a thumb across the largest blister. “You’re obviously not used to this kind of work.”
His eyes were glowing with a kind of inner light that she didn’t understand. When he finally pulled his hand away, Maggie could feel the loss right down to her toes. Silly to feel so strongly about him injuring himself, she told herself. She paid him to work.
“I haven’t done it for a while,” he agreed softly. “But I’ll toughen up fast. I don’t have this delicate white skin to watch out for.” Seconds later his hand touched her arm. “What have you done to yourself?”
“Oh, that.” Maggie shrugged, looking down at the long angry welt on her upper arm. “I scraped myself on something a couple of days ago. It’s fine now.”
“It doesn’t look fine,” he spat out harshly. “It looks like it could have used some stitches.”
Maggie felt funny, watching the way his eyes flashed when he looked at her like that. Quickly she moved to the sink and rinsed out her cup before placing it and the other dishes in the dishwasher.
“It’s fine,” she told him hurriedly. “I’m no beauty anyway, so what’s another little scratch? We farm girls get used to that stuff.” She turned back to the table, striving to look him in the eye.
“You’re kidding, right? You could give several well-known movie stars a pretty good run for their money.”
Maggie shifted uncomfortably under his intense scrutiny. “I’m sure,” she mocked, her face heating. “Anyway, I appreciate all the repairs you’ve made around here, Grady. It’s nice to have the screen door fixed at last, and Mom said you managed to get the stove working again.” She wiped off the table and flung the dishcloth into the sink.
“Tomorrow’s Sunday so we’ll all be going to church. We’d like you to join us, if you want. We usually leave around nine.”
Grady nodded and Maggie took the matter as settled. She opened the door to her workroom and switched on the lights then turned back as she suddenly remembered something.
“Oh, by the way,” she added, stopping when she realized that he’d followed her, had almost run into her from behind. “Sorry.” She stepped backward automatically and kept going when she realized how close he was. “Uh, Grady?” His big brown eyes flew from the quilting frame to her face. “This is my private work area.” She waited until he absorbed that. “I don’t let anybody else in here.”
“I want to check out the window,” he told her quietly, staring with interest at the bright array of colors laid out on the makeshift cutting table. “What do you do in here?” he asked, staring at the clutter that covered every available surface.
“Oh, I do a little quilting,” she told him offhandedly. “Right now I’m doing a seascape in various colors and textures.” She frowned, laying a bit of rippled, sand-colored cotton against the pale aqua, lost in the colors. “It’s not quite right yet.”
The tension grew between her shoulder blades as Grady stared at the finished works that lay against the wall. She felt open, exposed. As if he had seen right inside her to her most private thoughts.
“I know it doesn’t seem like me.” She made a face. “No one, least of all me, expected that someone as clumsy as I could actually make something turn out. But they sell and that’s what counts.”
“Stop doing that!” His order was quiet but fierce, and Maggie’s eyes opened wide.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You’re always denigrating yourself. As if you’re some kind of country bumpkin instead of a beautiful woman who has managed to provide for her family as best she can. There’s nothing wrong with being a farmer, for heaven’s sake!”
He sounded exasperated, Maggie thought privately. Couldn’t he see that this kind of a life didn’t begin to compare with what could have been?
“This is beautiful work and it shows a very powerful creative spirit.” His brown eyes blazed into hers. “I strongly suspect that it’s that same spirit that’s gotten you through the past few years after your husband’s death.”
“Well, I couldn’t very well give up, now could I?” she spat out furiously. “I had the girls to think of.” She dared him to comment on that.
“Yes, you did,” he answered right back, his eyes shaded by the shadows in the room. It was clear Maggie’s position as his boss didn’t intimidate him in the least. “But a lot of women would have refused to break their nails on a relic like that tractor, never mind muck out animals and repair broken steps.” He looked up then and Maggie could see the admiration on his face. For some reason it angered her and she slapped her hands on her hips in a snit of fury.
“Don’t make me out to be a saint just yet, Grady,” she told him harshly. “I hate grunging around on this farm, looking like a beggar and owing every shop in town. I like silk as much as the next woman you know,” she answered snippily, watching his face. “If someone offered to buy this place and give me a job in the city that would provide for my kids and their needs, I’d jump so fast you wouldn’t see me for the dust.”
Maggie knew her face was red and she couldn’t help the sharp tone of her voice. “You come here in your fancy clothes and brand-new vehicles
offering to do a bit of charity work for us, and then you think you have permission to draw conclusions about our lives. Well, you don’t,” she snapped, angrily dashing away the tears that welled up in her eyes. “You don’t know how much I’d love to work in a nice quiet office where you put everything away at five and don’t worry about it again till the next morning.” She sucked in a breath and continued.
“Just once I’d like to be able to buy myself some decent clothes instead of having to sew up my own stuff. I’d like to take the girls on a real vacation and let them see how the other half lives. And once, just once,” she retorted on the last breath of air still pent up inside, “I’d like to have long smooth nails that weren’t torn down to the quick or blackened and filthy from greasy, dirty old farm machinery!”
She turned her back on him as the whole miserable weight forced her shoulders to droop in despair. It was hopeless; she should know that by now. She would never climb out from the mountain of debt that had accumulated around her.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured at last, keeping her hands up by her face as she sat at the old oak desk. “I’m just tired. I shouldn’t have dumped all that on you.”
“You’re probably very hot, too,” Grady muttered, striding over to push and shove at the window with several loud grunts of exertion, until it finally flew open and a fresh evening breeze wafted in. In just a few minutes the room temperature had dropped several degrees.
“Thanks,” she whispered, ashamed of her outburst.
“I suppose it must be difficult to keep it all together,” he mused, running one fingertip along the edge of her cutting table. “And then to have to work on these, too.” His eyebrows met in a grimace. “That’s a lot of pressure.”
“Oh, this isn’t work,” Maggie assured him, brightening as she gazed at the arrangement of fabric before her. “This is what I look forward to at the end of the day. I guess I should be thankful that I have a paying hobby.” She glanced up apologetically and found his eyes strangely glittering as they focused on her face.