The Farmer Takes A Wife. Barbara Gale
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balls in my line of work.”
“Don’t know the last one I was at either, now that I think about it.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered,” Maggie said. “I can’t have children. A massive infection saw to that a long time ago.”
“Oh.” Rafe frowned. “Well, that’s too bad.”
“It happens.” Maggie shrugged, a distant look in her eyes. “It was a long time ago. I’ve come to terms with it. Although I would have liked to have gone to a ball. Things work out how they will.” She shrugged.
“That they do,” Rafe agreed quietly.
They sat for a minute or so until Rafe rose to leave.
“So, what about Louisa’s idea that you could help introduce me around?”
“You do know I have a farm to run, don’t you?”
“If we did it, now, before the harvest…”
Rafe smiled. “And what would you know about the harvest?”
“I know it’s not in July.” Maggie grinned, refusing to be goaded.
“Oh, really? Ever hear about putting up the hay, little girl?”
Little girl? Maggie blushed. So what if Rafe was six feet plus? At five feet eight, no one had ever called her little! And it was totally sexist, although she had a hunch Rafe wouldn’t have cared, if she told him. So then, what was there about it she liked? Because she was feeling mighty pleased with the world, at just that moment.
“Okay, Mr. Burnside, so what I don’t know about farming could fill a book, but I’m not quite as ignorant as you would like to think. I was born and raised in a mill town set in the middle of dairy country. Isn’t that near enough to farmland?”
“And that makes you know something about something?”
“Something, anyway.” Maggie grinned. “Look, Rafe, how about we cut a deal? You help me get the neighborhood inoculated and I’ll help you on the farm. I know it’s too early to pick apples but maybe I could mow the lawn, weed or hay? Whatever.”
Rafe looked down at her hands. “Those pretty pink nails are going to take quite a beating.”
Maggie spread her hands wide. “You think?”
“I know!”
“Gloves?”
“They’ll help some.”
Maggie shrugged. She’d take her chances.
Chapter Four
After a short discussion with Louisa as to which families Maggie should visit, Maggie and Rafe made arrangements to meet the next morning. Rafe figured the whole job wouldn’t take more than a couple of days. Moreover, he insisted they use his truck, arguing that Maggie’s van would never survive the back roads.
“It always has before,” Maggie argued, but Rafe would not be moved.
“I have no intention of changing a tire on a narrow, rock-strewn road just because you want to be stubborn.”
“Excuse me?”
Maggie almost stomped her foot, but Rafe had already walked away. So they spent the first half of the next morning sorting through her equipment, transferring her most essential supplies to his pickup.
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