by Tracy Krauss
“You don’t like chick flicks?”
“In the privacy of my own home? Sure. In present company? Not a chance.”
“I get it. Saving face again. I’m more of an action guy, myself, anyway.”
“As long as the special effects aren’t overdone. And there aren’t too many car chases or explosions.”
“Picky, picky!” Thomas laughed, pulling out his wallet and leaving some bills on the table.
“Oh, I can get mine,” Rachel objected, grabbing her purse.
“I got it,” Thomas raised a hand. For a “non-date” the evening was turning out even better than he had planned.
****
“Did Bonita go to bed early?” Ivor asked Betty as they settled down to watch the news. “Last time I checked, her door was still closed.”
“I thought she decided to go to youth group after all,” Betty said. “That’s what she told me.”
“And you let her?” Ivor asked. “It would have been good for her to stay home for a change. Think about her attitude.”
“I thought you said it was okay,” Betty replied. “If I’d known I wouldn’t have said yes.”
“Hmph,” Ivor grunted. “I guess it’ll have to be okay this time.”
“These kids are causing more grey hair all the time.” Betty shook her head.
“At least you have hair.” Ivor laughed, kissing his wife.
****
The movie was entertaining, if not memorable, and Thomas and Rachel emerged from the theater amidst a jostling crowd of chattering moviegoers. “I was going to suggest another coffee before we head back to Marshdale, but I guess I better not take advantage of the babysitter any more than I have already,” Thomas said. “She might not be so quick to agree the next time I call. That and I’d hate for Ryder to make it home before I do.”
“It was fun. Bad special effects and all,” Rachel teased.
“Yeah. Sorry about that.” Thomas grinned.
They’d reached his SUV and he held out the key toggle, unlocking the doors with a beep.
The ride home seemed to go quickly. They discussed the movie, laughing at some of the more ridiculous parts and reliving the tense moments. Thomas was acutely aware of Rachel’s presence in the small vehicle; her well-proportioned body, the vulnerable pout to her mouth, the way her hair hung loosely around her face and shoulders in a dark cloud. She’d loosened it from its confines sometime during the movie and it made her look even more attractive than she already was, if that were possible.
He smiled over at her once, but for the most part kept his eyes on the road. Taking it slow might be more of a challenge than he had thought.
Chapter Fifteen
It was official. Rachel was now totally and completely confused. She’d hoped—even anticipated—that Thomas would kiss her before he dropped her off. Thankfully, Mrs. Beatry was tucked in bed with all the lights off when they drove up, but to her disappointment, he just smiled and waved as she exited the vehicle.
Maybe he wasn’t feeling it the same way she was. He did seem interested though, and he’d suggested a second date. It was probably for the best. Take it slow. He had responsibilities—other things to think about. And so did she; namely, her date with Con McKinley.
Pushing any feelings of guilt aside, Rachel turned to the task at hand. She decided to dress casually for her visit to Con’s farm. Most people around Marshdale seemed comfortable in jeans on almost any occasion, so she felt confident in her choice of jeans and a simple sweater.
Con pulled up in front of Mrs. Beatry's house in his four-wheel drive pickup truck and Rachel raced for the stairs before Mrs. Beatry could intercept him. She reached the sidewalk just as he was coming around the vehicle. He smiled that disarming smile of his and she could feel the butterflies in her stomach starting up again. “Hi. You’re prompt today,” Con said as he opened the passenger door.
“Just trying to avoid Mrs. Beatry,” Rachel explained, trying not to blush. “You do realize this is only going to add to her grand list of speculations.”
“We haven't given her anything to speculate about yet,” Con said with an easy smile.
Yet. It meant nothing, of course, but she could feel the telltale color rising in her cheeks. She busied herself with the seatbelt, allowing her hair to swing over her face in an attempt to hide her embarrassment.
Con was again wearing the tan cowboy hat, jeans, and a denim shirt. Nothing fancy, but my, oh my, he looked good! He gripped the steering wheel with one hand as he pulled away from the curb. He, at least, seemed relaxed.
“So? You like living with Mrs. Beatry?”
“It’s all right.” Rachel shrugged. “It’s close to work.”
“Everything is close to work in Marshdale,” Con reminded with a chuckle.
“True. But you know what I mean.”
“I suppose she’s filled you in on the family history,” Con continued, his mouth turning up at one corner in a crooked smile.
“Your family history? Actually, no. Not yet.”
Con looked surprised. “Really? Well, that’s a first. Mrs. Beatry loves sharing people’s dirty laundry. She’s taken it upon herself to keep the rest of the world informed.”
“I gathered. But, so far your secrets are safe.”
“Interesting. Maybe this is my chance to tell it my way for a change. Not that I have that much dirty laundry, you understand.”
“Whatever you say.”
“So tell me a little bit more about yourself.”
“There's not a lot to know,” Rachel hedged.
“Somehow I doubt that,” Con said. “Besides, we have lots of time. The home quarter is about twelve miles west.”
“Really. I’m pretty ordinary.”
“Besides being the 'bestest' teacher ever, or so my niece tells me—and I trust her judgment—you're pretty much a mystery. The local gossips haven't quite figured you out yet.”
“Local gossips?” Rachel raised her eyebrows. “You mean besides Mrs. Beatry?”
“What did you expect? This is Marshdale.”
“And just what, may I ask, is being said about me?”
“Not much.” Con grinned. “Except that every male from twenty to fifty has his eye on the new kindergarten teacher.”
Rachel’s mouth opened in disbelief as she floundered for an answer.
“Oh, yeah,” he continued more soberly. “There has also been some mention of you in connection with Friest.”
“Well, the gossips certainly have that one all wrong.” Rachel blushed in spite of herself.
“Good,” was Con’s simple reply.
Rachel’s heart skipped a beat as she digested the single syllable.
“So tell me about your family,” Con continued. “Do your folks still live in Toronto? Do you have any brothers and sisters?”
“My parents are divorced, but they’ve both remarried and yes, they still live in Toronto. I have two sisters. Michelle is a lawyer and Tiffany is an artist. They're both back in Toronto as well.”
“So you left the whole family and moved out west. You must miss them.”
As if. Rachel just shrugged. “It was time to move on. They're all very busy and what not.”
“So where do you fit in? As in oldest, youngest…”
“I’m the proverbial ‘middle child’. Michelle is two years older and Tiffany two years younger.”
“Hmm. A lawyer, a teacher, and an artist. Your folks must be proud.” “You could say that. Michelle is climbing the ladder, so to speak, as a corporate lawyer. She's always been the smart one. And everyone loves Tiffany. She’s starting to make a name for herself in the art world, or so I’m told. She's really quite talented. Everyone says so.”
“And then, of course, there's you. They must be very proud of you, too.” Con glanced over at her and Rachel felt herself blush again.
“Me? Oh, I’ve always been the plain one of the family.” Rachel laughed, waving a dismissive hand. “Plain and boring.”
> “Hardly plain and boring.”
“You know what I mean. What’s a teacher compared to a lawyer or an artist?”
“Teaching is a tough job. I know—I tormented mine plenty growing up.” Con laughed.
“I’ll bet.”
When she didn’t say any more right away he continued. “You always want to be a teacher?”
“I’m not sure.” Rachel shrugged. “It just seemed like a good idea. How about you?” She deflected some of the scrutiny back toward him. “You always want to be a farmer?”
“Ivor would have supported whatever I chose to do, but I think he hoped that I would take up farming, too. So it's all worked out for the best.”
“Speaking of Ivor, I couldn't help but notice the age difference between the two of you,” Rachel observed.
“He's eighteen years older than me.”
“Eighteen years! That's quite a gap. How'd that happen?”
“You're not asking me for the facts of life, are you?” Con teased, lifting an eyebrow.
“Be serious!” Rachel blushed again.
“According to my parents I was a miracle baby. My mother was told she would never have any more children after some complications when she had Ivor. But here I am. Fooled them all.”
“With such an age difference, Ivor must have been more like another father figure than a brother.”
“That’s truer than you know. Did Mrs. Beatry already tell you all this?” Con lowered his brows suspiciously.
Rachel shook her head. “No. I told you, she never mentioned anything about you. Yet.”
“Yet.” He grinned. “Actually, my father died in a farm accident when I was just a baby. I have no real memories of him. So, in most respects, Ivor was like my father. He was only nineteen years old and had to take over the responsibilities for the farm and the family.”
“That must have been rough.”
“Yeah. He had to give up his own dreams of going on to college. So when I was old enough, he was determined that I would be able to go. Of course by that time, he was married and had started a family of his own. I guess I never realized until later all the sacrifices he made. He’s got a big heart.”
“And your mother? She still lives on the farm?”
“Actually, she died of cancer about thirteen years ago. I was just finishing high school.”
“Oh, I'm sorry.”
“Now, Grandad—he’s the black sheep of the family, as I’m sure you’ll hear eventually—he outlived both my parents. He died just before his ninety-fifth birthday. And Grandma Minnie—that’s his wife—is still alive. She keeps them hopping down at the nursing home. Practically runs the place. She lived in her own house until she broke her hip a few years ago. She's going on one hundred and still as sharp as a tack.”
“One hundred! That's incredible!"
“Yep. We'll be having a big party for her down at the home come December. It should be quite the deal.”
“You sound very close to your family,” Rachel said with envy.
“That's what families are for.”
“Yes, well …” Rachel cleared her throat and looked out the window. Not her family.
“You skate?” Con asked, changing the subject.
“Sure,” Rachel replied. “Why? Kind of early for skating, isn’t it?”
“Talk of Granny’s party made me think of winter,” Con explained. “We usually have a skating party out on the farm in the New Year. Ivor and I flood the dugout. People bring their skates and snowmobiles. There's tobogganing, a wiener roast, and a big potluck afterward. Just a fun thing with the neighbors and some friends. You’ll have to come.”
“Sounds fun. That my official invitation?”
“Yep. As official as it’s gonna get.”
“So how much farther till we get to your farm?”
“We'll be there soon. Just a couple more miles. The home quarter was originally my grandfather's homestead. Kind of stuck out in the hills, but we like it. Lots of privacy.” He smiled over at Rachel again before returning his gaze to the road.
“What does that mean, ‘home quarter?’”
“A quarter section. Land is divided into sections which equal a square mile. There are 640 acres in a section and 160 in a quarter section. When homesteaders first came west, they received a quarter section free as long as they agreed to break the land and build on it within the first year.”
“Oh. So you live on the home quarter, but you obviously have more land than that, I take it,” Rachel stated.
“Obviously.”
“Now you’re making fun of me.”
Con laughed. “Couldn’t help it. Yeah, we've got quite a bit of land scattered around the area.” He looked over at Rachel with a playful grin. “Hold on. Here comes the fun part.”
“The fun part?” The table-flat prairie had gradually become a roller coaster ride of rounded knolls. “Should I be scared?” she asked as her stomach lurched up into her throat when they crested a particularly steep hill.
“I used to love these roads as a kid.”
“Seems to me you still do. Aren't we going a little fast?”
“Fast? You should have seen me on my dirt bike!”
“I think I'm glad I didn’t.”
At the top of the next hill, they could see the McKinley farm nestled in the valley below. The entire yard was sheltered by rows of neatly planted evergreen trees. To Rachel, it seemed more like a small village than a farmyard. There were two long rows of round, silver bins for storing grain, two huge machinery garages, or quonsets, as they were called, as well as a variety of other smaller outbuildings. Large tandem trucks for hauling grain were parked nearby as well as other farm implements, some of which Rachel was completely unfamiliar with. Away from these buildings was a large red barn with an intricate connecting corral system, fences, and another stable with a sloping roof.
There were three houses, each with its own hedges, lawn and flower beds. The first house, nearest the outbuildings, was very small, looking to be little more than a three-room cottage. However, it was painted a bright yellow and white and looked neat and well maintained. The next house was a newer, one story ranch style. It was long and low with an attached two-car garage, which only added to its illusion of length. Lastly, situated farther away from the other two, was an old-fashioned, two and a half story farm house. It was painted white, with bright green shutters and trim. Two stone chimneys rose on either side, while a covered veranda stretched around two sides. Three dormer windows protruded from the dark gray roof. The entire yard was dotted with a variety of trees, from poplar to maple, as well as evergreens.
“How lovely!” Rachel exclaimed.
“You like it?” Con asked.
“Of course,” Rachel said. “But it's more like a village than a farmyard. Why are there so many houses?”
“That little yellow one was Grandad’s first real house—after the soddy,” he explained as he turned into the long driveway. “Our hired man, Bill Shelley, lives there now.”
“And the others?”
“The newer house belongs to Ivor and Betty. I guess it’s not that new anymore. They built it a couple of years after they were married. It was a bit cramped living with the in-laws, if you know what I mean.”
“And the other one? The beautiful, old, big one.”
“You like that one?” Con asked with a gleam in his eye.
“It’s perfect! Just like a dollhouse!” Rachel exclaimed.
“You wouldn’t think so when the radiators are banging at night,” Con commented wryly. “That's my house.”
“That is your house?” Rachel asked, eyebrows rising. “You live in that big house all by yourself?”
“Who else is supposed to live there?” Con chuckled.
“I don't know. It just seems awfully large for one person.”
“Grandad built it for Grandma Minnie when they felt it was time to move up in the world, so to speak. Then my parents lived there. It's where I grew up. And
now—well, it's my home, now.”
Con pulled up in front of the newer house and cut the engine. “Here we are.”
“I thought you lived in the old house,” Rachel commented, frowning.
“I do. But if I’m going to take you on a tour, you’ll need some different footwear.” He grinned and glanced down at her feet.
“Oh.” She thought she’d dressed very sensibly for an outing at Con’s farm. The flats she wore were comfortable, but obviously not suited to what he had in mind. “If I’d known I would have worn something else.”
Con smiled. “I have a feeling you wouldn’t have what I have in mind. Betty’ll have something.”
“Okay.” She was about to open the door, when suddenly, he leaned across her body and opened the passenger door from the inside. His clear, blue eyes bored into hers for a fraction of a second, before she scrambled from the truck.
Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Rachel marched around the front of the truck to join Con. They walked toward the house in silence, but as soon as they rounded the corner they heard a voice calling from somewhere in the yard.
“Over here!”
Stretching almost endlessly beside the house was a huge garden. Most of the ground was black and barren, the vegetables already picked and the ground prepared for winter. At the far end of the garden Betty stood leaning on a garden fork. She waved when she saw them.
“Hi Betty,” Con called. “You remember Rachel?” he took a step in her direction.
“Of course. Stay there!” Betty called. “I should have warned you. We had rain last night.”
“Do you have an extra pair of boots? I wanted to take Rachel for a tour,” Con said.
“Sure, Just give me a minute,” Betty responded, planting her fork in the dirt with a decisive thud. “Just go into the house and I’ll be right there.”
Rachel followed Con into the attached porch. It was lined with coveralls and old coats on hooks and smelled of fuel and the barn. There were various boots and shoes sitting side by side on shelves. “These might fit,” Con said, picking up a pair of black rubber boots with red trim around the bottom edge. “Not the most fashionable, I’m afraid,” he apologized, handing her the boots. “But trust me, you’ll be glad once we get out to the barn. There are worse things to step in out there than mud.”