A Valley to Die For by Radine Trees Nehring Page B

it was fuzzy and warm, and she liked the color.
    As a matter of fact, just two weeks ago Henry happened to mention—quite casually, of course—that the cap matched her eyes. Most people called her eyes hazel, and Amos always said they were green. The color had been more noticeable when it was accompanied by the red hair she’d once had. “An Orphan Annie mop” was what her mother once called her hair. Now the red ringlets had been replaced by coarser grey curls, and her eyes, too, were a quieter color. But it was nice Henry noticed the color and had perhaps seen something of youth there.
    Carrie was out on the porch with the first box in her arms by the time Henry circled around in the drive and got out to open the hatchback. He didn’t rush to take the box from her or act like she wasn’t capable of carrying it, but simply went to get the next one from the stack.
    When they were both securely belted in, he reached over to squeeze her hand and smile before he put the car in gear. She stiffened and then, embarrassed, looked out her window as the little car joggled its way up the hill.
    When Henry’s full attention had turned to maneuvering the rutted county road, she faced forward, then, turning her head as little as possible, glanced at him. He was such a big man, with a strong square face and black hair going grey. He made quite a contrast to her own short, round body and wide oval face. Like Hercules and—she almost laughed aloud when she thought of how she might look to others—an ancient cherub in clothes!
    Oh, well. She felt, what was it, giddy? No, not that exactly, but she did feel surprisingly light-hearted. Did a smile and a hand squeeze from a man do all that?
    She relaxed, settling into the contours of the seat. Without willing it, she found her thoughts lifting above the problems of the day. She was really looking forward to the evening with Henry. This was fun, almost like going on a date when she was sixteen. She hadn’t forgotten!
    They didn’t talk until they were on the paved highway since the rocky road made for noisy travel in almost any car.
    Hoping to keep conversation away from the quarry for a while, Carrie asked Henry how well he knew Jack Bruner.
    “Oh, not well, but we always seem to end up in the barber shop at the same time. We talk some.” He looked over at her. “I think men talk to each other in the barber shop even more than women do in a beauty shop. Too bad the old barber shops are disappearing. They don’t have those dryers making noise to interrupt conversation.”
    She grinned. “Gossip!”
    “Well... ”
    “What do you talk about?”
    “Oh, most of what Jack says is about his farm—chickens and cattle—and also taking care of his land. He seems pretty big on following guidelines for spreading chicken litter on pastures, avoiding run-off into the creek, things like that. I guess he’s a good farmer. Maybe it’s all PR, but he seems sincere.”
    “Surprising. I wouldn’t have expected that from him. I smell their chicken houses sometimes when the wind is from the south, don’t you?”
    “Yep, live in the country, smell the country.”
    “Maybe, but I’d just as soon live a million miles from any confinement hog or chicken houses, denuded forests, human pollution, or too-close neighbors.”
    “Carrie, you don’t mean all that. Besides, you put manure on your garden. As for neighbors, don’t forget your house is less than a mile from mine if you walk through the woods. And... there’s JoAnne, close enough.”
    She was silent for a moment. “I guess I like my privacy too much, hm?”
    “I like privacy too, but, well, people need people sometimes.”
    The tone of his voice had changed. She glanced over to see such sadness in his face that she turned away involuntarily, then bowed her head when he spoke again.
    “Carrie, you’ve probably never needed someone like I did once. You’ve probably never had someone turn on you when you needed them most.”
    After