Finally Home by Lois Greiman Page B

“Say it.”
    â€œOkay.” She faced him with a mild blend of challenge and amusement. “I thought you were putting me on.”
    He laughed out loud. “I told you I’m a country boy deep down in my roots.”
    She shook her head. “We’ll see how country you are when your BlackBerry doesn’t work while you’re out punching cattle,” she said.
    â€œPunching cattle?” He laughed. “Who have you been talking to?”
    She grinned though she looked a little defensive. “I saw an episode of Deadwood .”
    He chuckled again.
    â€œPunching cattle is the correct term, isn’t it?” she asked, turning toward Emily.
    â€œWell, we don’t do a lot of punching, per se,” Emily said. “More shooing, a little nudging, a lot of feeding.”
    â€œRemind me never to trust HBO again,” Sonata said and glanced around. It was a fair bet that Sonata Detric had never ventured more than fifty blocks from her favorite Macy’s.
    â€œYou’re going to love it!” Max vowed and hugged her with daunting enthusiasm. “Isn’t she?” he asked, one arm remaining around his fiancée’s tightly cinched waist.
    â€œGuaranteed,” Emily said, but one glance at the other’s sleek boots made her a little dubious. Those things were not horse friendly. In fact, they might not even be outdoor friendly. The spiky heels were more likely to be seen in Sex and the City than in Cheyenne, which was Emily’s current favorite. There was nothing like a little retro TV . . . and army boots, she thought, appreciating her own serviceable footwear. Paired with oversized cargo pants with enough pockets to house every conceivable baby necessity, they were killer. She turned away from her guests’ rented Escalade. “Come on. I’ll show you to the bunkhouse.”
    â€œBunkhouse?” Sonata sounded uncertain at best, but Emily kept an upbeat tone.
    â€œIt sounds better than the chicken coop,” she said, at which time uncertainty probably turned to terror in their new guest’s mind, but when they had trudged up the hill and stepped through the rough timbers of the front door, the couple drew in their breath in unified surprise.
    â€œMy God!” Sonata said, eyes wide and lips parted. “This is . . . this is just adorable.”
    Emily glanced around. The building formerly occupied by the Lazy’s motley poultry wasn’t a large space. Still, it had taken months to restore. While the foundation and the original log siding had remained intact, the roof and windows needed replacing. The process had seemed to take forever. But in retrospect, the exterior of the building had been completed fairly quickly. The threat of oncoming Dakota winters tended to hustle people along pretty efficiently. Casie’s popularity coupled with Sophie’s free riding lessons had inspired their neighbors to help speed the project along. Finishing the interior of the bunkhouse, however, had been almost entirely Emily’s domain. Impeded by a nonexistent budget, a thousand chores, and little Bliss’s impending arrival, decorating had been a challenge. But she was pleased with the results; the striped Navaho coverlet on the heavy timber bed contrasted pleasantly with the ragged-edged leather curtains, which had been salvaged from old coats bought at the local Salvation Army. The shutters, crafted by Colt from ancient barn wood, were weathered to a gunmetal gray and highlighted with olive lichen that had long ago dried but remained tenaciously intact. The basin used as a sink had been found in the Pollacks’ abandoned attic. It was a copper hue that Emily had painstakingly matched to the hooks anchored beside the door. A few yards away, half hidden behind a privacy screen made from corrugated steel fencing, was a clawfoot bathtub. Sophie had discovered it half buried in a neighbor’s shelterbelt. Neither removing it