Where Love Abides. Irene Hannon

apology is accepted, and there’s no need to make amends.”

      “Yes, there is. I want you to know that my son’s driving privileges have been revoked. Originally for a month, but now for two, given his mistake with Eric.” He spared his son a quick look, and the boy’s color once again surged. “I’d also like to compensate you for damages. It appears to me you’ve lost about half your pumpkin crop. Come October, that will translate to a significant amount of money.”

      He mentioned a figure, and Christine’s eyes widened. She shook her head in protest. “That’s far too much.”

      “Not after you factor in the sweat equity that went into creating the garden. Not to mention the salvage operation.”

      Put that way, it was hard to argue with the man’s rationale, Christine admitted.

      “And I’d like to send Stephen over here to put in a little sweat equity of his own.”

      Turning her attention to the teen, Christine surveyed the lanky youth. In all honesty, she wouldn’t mind some assistance with the physical work. The labor-intensive nature of organic farming was proving to be a bit more taxing than she’d expected. She’d always known that if she wanted to expand, she’d have to bring in some part-time help. But she hadn’t planned to take that step this year. Besides, the last thing she wanted on her hands was a teenager with an attitude.

      “I appreciate the offer, Mr. Mueller, but that’s not necessary.”

      “It’s Les. We country folk aren’t much into formality.” He gave her a brief, engaging grin, and she was struck by his down-to-earth manner. How different he was from Jack, Christine thought. As the leading citizen of Dunlap, Nebraska, her husband had always made it a point to find subtle ways to remind people of the power he wielded—including an insistence on being addressed as “mister.”

      Nor had he had any qualms about abusing his position. Had he found himself in a position like Les Mueller, he would never have humbled himself as the dairy owner had done, nor would he have behaved with such integrity in trying to right a wrong. It was nice to know there were a few honorable people in positions of importance in small towns.

      “My wife and I would appreciate it if you’d take Stephen on, Ms. Turner.”

      “Christine.”

      He acknowledged her correction with a smile and a slight nod. “The only way to learn from mistakes is to pay the consequences. Stephen’s a good worker, and he’s available after school and on weekends. I figure forty hours of labor ought to cover it. And keep him out of trouble for the foreseeable future.”

      Once again, Christine was taken aback. Forty hours translated to a huge commitment for a teenager who was also juggling school, homework and extracurricular activities.

      “I’m not sure we could work that off before I close down the farm for the winter,” she pointed out.

      “I realize that. Anything left over can be carried into the spring.”

      It was clear that Les had thought this through. And she couldn’t fault his intentions. In theory, people should pay the consequences for their actions. She just hadn’t seen that principle enforced very often over the past couple of years. Yet she didn’t want to have to deal with some sullen teen who was intent on making her life miserable.

      Uncertain, she directed her next comment to Stephen. “Do you know anything about organic farming?”

      “No, ma’am. But I’m willing to learn. And I’m pretty good with a shovel.”

      “How do you feel about working here?”

      For the first time, he looked her straight in the eye. “It’s not the way I planned to spend my fall. But I figure it’s fair. What I did was wrong. And like the sheriff said, it could have been a whole lot worse if…if the car had hit you.” He swallowed hard. “I figure I was lucky. That maybe this was God’s way of telling me to shape up before I really mess things up. Digging in the dirt will give me a chance to get my act together.”

      Surprised by his mature response, Christine was forced to revise her opinion of the teen. She’d expected him to be belligerent and resentful. Instead, he’d accepted responsibility for his actions and was receptive to his father’s plan. How could she turn him down?

      “Okay. We’ll give it a try,” Christine capitulated, folding her arms across her chest. “Can you come by after school tomorrow?”

      “He’ll be here,” Les answered for his son. Holding out his hand, he took Christine’s in a parting grip. “Thank you for your understanding. I’ll put that check in the mail to you tonight.”

      “I’ll see you tomorrow, Ms. Turner.” Stephen reached out to her as well. Like his father, he had a firm grip. But unlike the older man, his hand was free of calluses, the skin soft and unused to physical labor. That wouldn’t last long once he began working at the farm, though. Even with gloves, it was hard to avoid blisters. Christine’s own work-roughened hands attested to that. This kind of labor toughened you up, made you appreciate the effort required to reap a high-quality, bountiful harvest.

      And she had a feeling that was exactly what Stephen’s father hoped would happen with his son.

      As Christine watched the car disappear in a cloud of dust down the gravel driveway, she took a drink of water from her Thermos, letting the cool liquid soothe her parched throat. It seemed the sheriff had been correct when he’d told her that Les Mueller would want to make things right. And she appreciated the dairy owner’s integrity.

      What she didn’t appreciate was Dale Lewis’s interference. Yes, everything had turned out fine. But it could have had a far worse ending if Les had a different personality. One like Jack’s, for example. One that would have compelled him to punish her in retaliation for causing problems. And she didn’t want to go there. Not ever again.

      That’s why she steered clear of the folks in Oak Hill. If she didn’t mingle, there wasn’t any risk. She wanted nothing to do with the small-town politics and power plays. She was perfectly content to tend her farm and keep to herself.

      But since the night of her accident, things had changed. She’d had a series of visitors, and she’d met more people in the past dozen or so days than she had in the entire first two months of her stay in Missouri. Most had seemed nice. But she’d learned the hard way that a friendly demeanor could mask a hidden agenda.

      And that brought her back to Dale Lewis. On the surface, he, too, seemed nice enough. But why had he ignored her wishes and reported the incident to Les? Was it because he hated to let injustice go unpunished, as he’d implied? Or was there some other motive? Had he done it to spite her, to incite her anger? Was it a vindictive response to her refusal to take his advice to press charges?