“It was my pleasure,” he said. “And I have something else to tell you.”
“What’s that?”
Before he could reply, there was a squeal from Renee, who was hanging from the side of the pickup. Mildred had a mouthful of her hair.
With an exasperated groan, Britt ran to the truck. Renee dangled helplessly, giggling and shrieking. Jake supported her while Britt tried to ease her hair from Mildred’s mouth. The goat nibbled at Britt’s hand as she pulled gently.
Finally freed, Renee turned into Jake’s arms, wrapping hers around his neck. “Hi,” she said warmly, making no effort to get down. “You’re back.”
“Yes.” She looked like her mother, he thought, with something in her smile that tugged at him the way Britt’s did. There was openness in it, and a touching need.
“Did you bring the goat?”
“No, your mom did.”
“How come?”
“Because we’re going to make yogurt from Mildred’s milk,” Britt explained, stepping around a mud puddle. Taking Mildred’s lead in one hand and opening the tailgate with the other, she added, “And use it in my cheesecake.”
“Why?”
“Because it’ll be lower in calories.”
“Why?”
“Because there’s less butterfat in goat’s milk.”
“Why?”
Jake admired Britt’s patient answers to Renee’s favorite question. But she was distracted now by Mildred’s refusal to come to the back of the truck. Apparently deciding that the neglect of the past few moments didn’t bode well for a stay of any duration in this place, Mildred refused to budge.
Britt climbed lightly into the truck and, putting a shoulder to Mildred’s rear, pushed until she reached the rear edge. “Mr. Marshack,” she said breathlessly, “would you grab her collar so she doesn’t back away while I jump out?”
Jake put Renee down and complied. The goat looked at him with resentful amber eyes. Britt leaped down and wrapped her arms around Mildred’s four legs. Mildred baaed unhappily.
Jake put a halting hand on Britt’s shoulder. “What are you doing?” he demanded.
Surprised by his tone and a little annoyed with his interference, she replied over her shoulder, “Lifting her down. Get out of the way.”
“You’ll hurt yourself,” he said, pulling off his suit coat.
Holding Mildred’s collar, Britt straightened and looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “Mr. Marshack, I carry fifty-pound bags of grain, heavy bales of hay, even Renee....”
Ignoring her, Jake pushed her aside, wrapped his arms around the goat and lifted. Mildred stood quietly in his arms long enough to give him a false sense of security, then began to struggle wildly as he lowered her to the ground. He held fast, afraid a sudden drop might break a spindly leg.
Determined to break free, Mildred pitched forward. Jake overbalanced and they landed together in a shallow but messy mud puddle.
Britt caught Mildred’s tether before she could prance away and handed it to Renee, who was giggling uproariously. Then she hunkered down beside Jake and considered him, elbows on her knees. Holding back the laughter was choking her.
“I could have done that,” she said, “And without getting muddy.”
The impulse to yank Britt down beside him was overwhelming. Had Renee not been standing there, he might have done it. Mud squished through his clothes and he felt splashes of it on his face.
“You’re walking a fine line, Mrs. Hansen,” he warned quietly, fighting his own urge to laugh. “A sympathetic hand up would be appreciated.”
She straightened to her feet and offered her hand, still biting her bottom lip. “I told you I was perfectly capable of—”
“What can I say?” he groaned, taking her hand and using it only for balance as he pushed himself to his feet. “I was born and bred in Chicago—as a gentleman, I might add. I had this foolish, chivalrous notion that a woman shouldn’t have to lift a goat.”
“Farm women aren’t like city women,” she said, grimacing as she examined the mud covering most of the back of his elegant suit. “You’re a mess, Mr. Marshack. You’d better come inside.”
He stopped as she tried to lead him toward the house.
“Considering I’ve humiliated myself on your behalf,” he said, “do you think you could call me Jake?”
She let her laughter loose then, looping her arm in his. He was forced to laugh with her and allowed himself to be guided up the drive to the porch steps and into the familiar kitchen.
“Keep Mildred company for a few minutes,” Britt called to Renee. “I’ll be right back.”
The other three children piled into the house after them as Jake followed Britt through the kitchen to a dark hallway, then up the back stairs toward a long line of bedrooms.
“The bike’s cool, Mr. Marshack!” Matt reported from the bottom of the stairs. “The thumb-shifters are radical, and the brakes really work.” Then he seemed to notice the condition of Jake’s clothes. “What happened?”
“I was trying to help your mother with the goat,” Jake said. “I didn’t do very well.”
Matt frowned at Britt. “Yeah, I saw it. What’s it for, anyway? Renee says you’re gonna cook it.”
“No,” Britt called over her shoulder, stopping at the doorway to her bedroom. “I’m going to cook with the milk the goat gives us. I’m trying a new recipe for goat’s milk yogurt.”
“Oh.” The word contained very little enthusiasm.
“Are you staying for dinner, Mr. Marshack?” Christy asked, eyes wide and interested behind her glasses. She and David had followed them up the stairs.
A dinner invitation hadn’t been in Britt’s plans, but she quickly decided that since his present predicament had been precipitated by a sincere desire to help her, it would be only hospitable to ask him.
But before she could, David said coaxingly, “We’re having stew.” David always checked the stove when he came home from school.
“Salad, corn bread,” Britt added, “and cheesecake.”
Jake got the impression the children really wanted him to stay. Britt was less easy to read, but he thought he’d be foolish to let that stop him.
“I’d love to stay.”
The children cheered. Some strange emotion stabbed Jake in the chest.
Britt sent the children down to their after-school chores and led Jake into the bedroom. It was green and apricot, with a large window that looked out onto the pasture. Jake wondered if the furniture had come west on a covered wagon. The bed was a four-poster in a light wood with large cannonball-size finials. It had the patina that came from age and caring hands.
She pointed him to a bathroom at the far end of the room. “Shower’s in there. I’ll leave some of Jimmy’s things for you on the bed.” Her blue eyes did a quick, businesslike perusal of him from head to toe, one that made his pulse thrum. “They should fit...just fine.”
She stammered as she looked into his eyes and saw something there she couldn’t define but understood even so. It was related to the sudden acceleration of her heartbeat. The bedroom that had been practically like a convent for the