A Bee in Her Bonnet by Jennifer Beckstrand Page A

. I can do it.” She wanted to jump to her feet and take off running, just to show him he didn’t have any reason to feel smug. Instead she decided to try for simply standing. He didn’t need to know she wouldn’t be running again.
    Probably ever.
    She pushed herself from the ground, and he took her arm and tugged her to her feet. If he hadn’t helped her up, she might have been crawling home. She stifled a groan as she took a few tentative steps.
    â€œAre you sure you’re okay?”
    â€œI will live,” she said, flashing what she hoped passed for a smile. It hurt too much to manage much more than a grimace.
    â€œI should never have agreed to a race,” he said. “I didn’t want you to get hurt.”
    Suddenly a smile came easily. Amidst the pain she had almost forgotten. “There is a happy thought in all of this.”
    â€œWhat’s that?” he said.
    She arched an eyebrow. “I won.”

Chapter Six
    Poppy Christner was a pain in the neck.
    And an unexpectedly fast runner.
    And, ach, du lieva , very good with a hammer.
    And a pain in the neck.
    Luke would never say out loud that she was good with a hammer. He didn’t want her to get her hopes up that he would ever let her build something with him again. It was too nerve wracking trying to do his own job while watching her closely to make sure she didn’t injure herself yet again.
    He pried the last of the planks from the pallet and stacked them in a pile next to Poppy. He had insisted on using the crowbar because it took two good hands and a lot of arm strength. Poppy didn’t even have one good hand, but he had given up trying to get her to go into the house, even if she winced every time she put hammer to nail. He wasn’t going to get her to agree with him on anything, and he wasn’t going to argue. He’d argued enough already.
    He’d lost the race.
    But only because he had on his heavy work boots—that and because Poppy had looked so cute running with all her might, and he had let himself get distracted by her green eyes. The distraction had only lasted for a second, but it turned out to be enough for Poppy to take advantage and beat him.
    Still, Poppy had won fair and square, and he was a man of his word. He would teach her how to build a chicken coop, and he wouldn’t complain about it. No use stewing over it now anyway. Besides the fact that he had given his word, he felt guilty for agreeing to race in the first place. He’d given in to a childish notion, and Poppy had gotten hurt.
    Poppy picked up another plank and hammered it into the cross planks of another pallet. Luke had gotten the pallets for free. The coop wouldn’t cost nearly so much if they used old wood.
    Poppy finished hammering and ran her finger along the planks. “Nice and sturdy,” she said, pressing down with her hand to test the panel’s strength.
    Pain flitted across her face. She didn’t fool him for one minute. Hammering was not a job for someone with a bad hand.
    â€œOkay,” he said. “That was very good.”
    Her smile might have bowled over a weaker man. “Surprised?”
    â€œJah.”
    Laughter tripped from her lips, as if his reluctant compliment had made her very happy. “I used to follow my dat all over the farm. He bought me a small hammer and a box of nails and let me play with scraps of wood from his shop, even though my dawdi Sol told him it was useless to teach a girl anything. I got to be very gute .”
    â€œI should probably be glad you didn’t spend your time playing with dolls. At least I don’t have to worry you’ll smash your finger with a bad swing.”
    Still kneeling in the dirt, she brushed off her hands and picked up the hammer. “I cuddled my share of dolls. Rose would have been heartbroken if I hadn’t played house with her at least once a day. And we cooked with Mamm.” A shadow of something deep