Sooners, and if you take a mind to come out sooner than September, I won’t complain.”
Dylan chuckled as he stretched. “I need to get going. The day’s already half over.”
“It sure is,” Teresa teased. She glanced at the clock and declared, “It’s already a quarter past six! The day’s half done.”He playfully nudged his sister’s hip with his own. “Just because you keep me from starving isn’t an excuse to be sarcastic.”
“I put a pan of cinnamon buns on the kitchen counter. Have a few.”
“Nothing doing. I’m eating every last one of ’em.”
“Impossible. Nickels and Joseph saw me bring them in. I already gave them each a pair. Bet you they take some out for Howie and Edgar, too.”
“Then you’re disowned.”
“Teresa, I’ll adopt you!”
Dylan shook his finger at Sondra. “You keep your paws off of my relatives!”
“You just disowned her!”
“He does that once or twice a week. I just don’t listen.” Teresa laughed. She urged Sondra to drink more, then added, “He doesn’t listen to me any better.”
“Sounds like plenty of the brothers and sisters I know,” Sondra quipped.
“Marriages, too,” Teresa tacked on.
“I’m out of here!” Dylan boomed as he turned and fled.
Teresa went into gales of laughter. “My brother is marriage-shy. Nothing gets rid of him faster than bringing up the topic of matrimony.”
❧
Three days later, Sondra dragged herself out of bed. She took a shower and felt weak enough to whirl down the drain with the water.
“What are you doin’ outta bed?” Nickels demanded as she passed by him out in the yard.
“I’m doing my chores. Did that last cow ever drop her calf?”
He avoided her gaze. “That’s taken care of.”
“Oh?”
His mouth pulled downward, and he scuffed a boot in the dirt. “Take my word for it, ma’am. It’s all done.”
“And mother and calf? How are they?”
His face twisted. “Ma’am, you don’t want to ask ’bout this. Take my word for it.”
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “All right. I’m going to gather the eggs.”
“Dylan ain’t gonna like that, ma’am. He said you’re too sick to lift a finger. One glimpse of you backs up the notion, too.”
“Nonsense.”
The egg basket shouldn’t be heavy, but it felt like a block of cement. The world tilted a bit each time Sondra got up and down, and finally she felt too dizzy to continue. Deciding a breath of fresh air would cure her, she went to the door of the coop and froze. Nickels and Dylan stood close by, holding a whispered conversation.
“Dylan, Sondra asked ’bout that last calving. I put her off.”
“Good. Wait—what do you mean? Is she out of bed?”
“Yep,” Nickels hissed, “and she looks plumb awful.”
“One stillbirth is bad enough. The last thing she needs to do is have one herself. Stubborn woman!”
Stillbirth? The word made her reel.
Dylan’s voice rose in volume, “Where is she? I’m going to tie her to the bedpost if I have to!”
“I saw her heading for the coop.”
“If she isn’t out cold on the floor, it’ll be a miracle.”
Sondra secretly smiled at his worried tone of voice. In spite of his disappointments and heavier workload, Dylan Ward cared about her. Dylan did precisely what Miller expected: He shouldered responsibilities and showed true cowboy gallantry.
Sondra smiled to herself. Dear, sweet Miller willed her this place and provided help in the form of a black-haired, gruff-voiced, softhearted rancher—sort of an angel in batwing chaps.
It would be a mistake to walk out into the middle of their conversation, but she didn’t dare stay in the henhouse and wait for Dylan to stomp in and chew her out. Sondra managed to give a fair rendition of a muffled cough and walked out into the sunlight. She manufactured a tentative smile. “My body’s not quite as strong as my will. Could I trouble you to please finish crating up the eggs?”
“I’ll get it,” Nickels
Dylan chuckled as he stretched. “I need to get going. The day’s already half over.”
“It sure is,” Teresa teased. She glanced at the clock and declared, “It’s already a quarter past six! The day’s half done.”He playfully nudged his sister’s hip with his own. “Just because you keep me from starving isn’t an excuse to be sarcastic.”
“I put a pan of cinnamon buns on the kitchen counter. Have a few.”
“Nothing doing. I’m eating every last one of ’em.”
“Impossible. Nickels and Joseph saw me bring them in. I already gave them each a pair. Bet you they take some out for Howie and Edgar, too.”
“Then you’re disowned.”
“Teresa, I’ll adopt you!”
Dylan shook his finger at Sondra. “You keep your paws off of my relatives!”
“You just disowned her!”
“He does that once or twice a week. I just don’t listen.” Teresa laughed. She urged Sondra to drink more, then added, “He doesn’t listen to me any better.”
“Sounds like plenty of the brothers and sisters I know,” Sondra quipped.
“Marriages, too,” Teresa tacked on.
“I’m out of here!” Dylan boomed as he turned and fled.
Teresa went into gales of laughter. “My brother is marriage-shy. Nothing gets rid of him faster than bringing up the topic of matrimony.”
❧
Three days later, Sondra dragged herself out of bed. She took a shower and felt weak enough to whirl down the drain with the water.
“What are you doin’ outta bed?” Nickels demanded as she passed by him out in the yard.
“I’m doing my chores. Did that last cow ever drop her calf?”
He avoided her gaze. “That’s taken care of.”
“Oh?”
His mouth pulled downward, and he scuffed a boot in the dirt. “Take my word for it, ma’am. It’s all done.”
“And mother and calf? How are they?”
His face twisted. “Ma’am, you don’t want to ask ’bout this. Take my word for it.”
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “All right. I’m going to gather the eggs.”
“Dylan ain’t gonna like that, ma’am. He said you’re too sick to lift a finger. One glimpse of you backs up the notion, too.”
“Nonsense.”
The egg basket shouldn’t be heavy, but it felt like a block of cement. The world tilted a bit each time Sondra got up and down, and finally she felt too dizzy to continue. Deciding a breath of fresh air would cure her, she went to the door of the coop and froze. Nickels and Dylan stood close by, holding a whispered conversation.
“Dylan, Sondra asked ’bout that last calving. I put her off.”
“Good. Wait—what do you mean? Is she out of bed?”
“Yep,” Nickels hissed, “and she looks plumb awful.”
“One stillbirth is bad enough. The last thing she needs to do is have one herself. Stubborn woman!”
Stillbirth? The word made her reel.
Dylan’s voice rose in volume, “Where is she? I’m going to tie her to the bedpost if I have to!”
“I saw her heading for the coop.”
“If she isn’t out cold on the floor, it’ll be a miracle.”
Sondra secretly smiled at his worried tone of voice. In spite of his disappointments and heavier workload, Dylan Ward cared about her. Dylan did precisely what Miller expected: He shouldered responsibilities and showed true cowboy gallantry.
Sondra smiled to herself. Dear, sweet Miller willed her this place and provided help in the form of a black-haired, gruff-voiced, softhearted rancher—sort of an angel in batwing chaps.
It would be a mistake to walk out into the middle of their conversation, but she didn’t dare stay in the henhouse and wait for Dylan to stomp in and chew her out. Sondra managed to give a fair rendition of a muffled cough and walked out into the sunlight. She manufactured a tentative smile. “My body’s not quite as strong as my will. Could I trouble you to please finish crating up the eggs?”
“I’ll get it,” Nickels
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