to work.
“A dairy farm?” Morgan said incredulously, and then laughed, hooking an arm around Erica’s shoulder as he walked her outside. Kyle was still upstairs, taking a quick shower. “Are you going to have to churn your own butter for dinner?” Morgan asked blandly.
“I think they might be a wee bit more automated than that in this day and age,” Erica said dryly. “And before you even ask, no, I won’t be required to put on a big white apron and sit down with a pail to get milk for the meal.”
Morgan’s eyebrows shot up. “I was never going to ask that.”
“No?”
“I was just going to remind you again that I’ve got chops and a grill and an unopened bottle of Chivas. Just because Kyle’s hung up on the country scene doesn’t mean you couldn’t stay here with me. Or is Kyle so possessive he doesn’t let you off the leash?”
“Woof.”
Morgan looked appropriately disgusted, and Erica whirled when she heard the screen door slam behind her. Kyle strode toward her, dressed as casually as she was; both had opted for off-white pants and dark brown tops. The blend of colors accented Kyle’s bronzed skin as much as it showed off her own red-blond coloring.
“Trying to beat my time again, Shane?” Before she’d had a chance to say word one, Kyle had handed her into the car.
“A losing battle,” Morgan complained.
“But then, I’ve told you that before. Don’t drink all the Chivas.”
Erica sat back in the seat as he started the car, feeling as vulnerable as violets, her emotions short-circuiting all rational thought as she brooded over their unresolved quarrel. An afternoon of work seemed to have solved nothing, and the hurt simply didn’t want to fade. She had never before in her life been so distraught as to strike anyone. And to do that to Kyle, whom she loved more than anyone…
“I’m trading buckets of roses for frowns this evening,” he murmured next to her.
“Pardon?”
Those blue eyes seared into hers for just a few seconds as he put the car in gear. “I don’t want you to think I’m trying to coax you into a happier mood, sweet, but you look somewhere between delectable and delicious.”
“I’m wearing tennis shoes,” she said flatly. “Martha’s suggested attire.”
“I can’t help that.”
“Kyle-”
“We’re not going to argue now. We’ll talk when we get home. And in the meantime, whether you like hearing it or not, you look very special; you smell very special; and Martha’s a crazy enough lady that you just might even have a special time.” He held up a hand. “Truce?”
She took his hand, touching fingertips to fingertips. His hand folded around hers, and she averted her eyes, staring out the window. She knew he hadn’t forgotten the quarrel, either; his light humor was tentative, as gentle as the touch of his hand, and just as grave as the hidden light behind his eyes.
“What are you thinking of now?”
Dammit. Did he have to catch every frown? “Morgan can be extremely exasperating on occasion,” she said lightly.
His hand shifted to the steering wheel. “Such as?”
“He doesn’t understand the difference between being protective and being possessive. He’s always teasing…” She shrugged lightly. “Sometimes it’s funny. Sometimes I think he deliberately misunderstands.”
“What exactly, Erica?”
She propped her feet against the dash and leaned back. “Nothing. Really. He just made this joke about your being possessive and my being on a leash. It didn’t strike me as funny. But then you’re not that way, thank God. You never have been. You’re protective, but you’ve never had a macho attitude of you
“I get your drift,” Kyle said dryly. His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Love doesn’t work on a leash. Unfortunately.”
“Unfortunately?”
“Trust, honey. It’s like a silken thread that sometimes has to be as strong as steel. Why,” he suggested lightly, “don’t you tell Morgan to go straight to hell?”
She shook her head, grinning. “He needs saving too badly. I’ve got to turn his attitude around before he takes on another redhead.”
“And breaks her heart.”
“And breaks her heart,” Erica agreed.
Kyle pulled into the Calhouns’ drive. “He’s damned good at that, Erica.” He wasn’t smiling.
She puzzled over the look on his face for an instant, and then gave up trying to interpret it. Martha came flying from the house like a miniature bombshell, all bright colors and waving hands and huge smile.
“Darn it! Do you believe I invited you at milking time? And I haven’t even started dinner! Unforgivable. Leonard told me I was a disgrace.”
Kyle denied that. When they emerged from the car, Erica got a hug first, and then Kyle, who kept his hand affectionately on Martha’s shoulder, assuring her that she was not a disgrace but the same scatterbrained, appealing nitwit he’d always known. Erica started smiling in spite of herself and didn’t stop. Martha told him he was probably the same bullheaded, stubborn idiot he’d always been, but at least he had a minor claim to good looks. Kyle told her she didn’t have that problem, but she was undoubtedly as bossy as ever.
The talk went on as they passed through the house to get Kyle a beer. The house was just like Martha, bright and cluttered and busy. Erica could hear the sound of drums coming from a nearby barn, to which their son had obviously defected. Leonard appeared, as soft-eyed and gentle a man as Erica had expected. He ignored Martha and Kyle and took Erica’s hand. Would she like to see the dairy equipment?
She would. Having no concept at all of a contemporary dairy farm, she was curious as she followed him from place to place. The cows were kept in stalls so clean they gleamed like a Cadillac’s chrome. Nothing so unsterile as a human hand intervened in the process of getting milk from the cow to the consumer. From the animal, the milk was pumped through long, gleaming tubes to another room that held storage tanks. Trucks came three times a week to make pickups. The cows were huge, big-eyed and gentle. Waddling around their feet were ducklings, which had free run of the yard. There were also pecking chickens, a pair of dogs and a variety of cats, all colors.
“You mean my milk is actually three weeks old by the time I get it from the grocery store?” Erica demanded unhappily.
“At least. With almost all of the vitamins pumped out of it by that time. When you taste the milk at dinner…”
Dinner was the problem, Kyle told her. Martha was willing to make an effort at it, but in the interim the Calhouns’ seven-year-old was discovered to be missing. The McCrerys were invited to solve the tougher of the two problems.
It was crazy. The entire evening was crazy. All Erica could think of was the thousand dinner parties remembered from a childhood when it was considered a mortal sin to pick up the wrong fork.
In contrast, tonight Kyle spent ten minutes arguing about the international implications of a drop in the Dow Jones average as he and Leonard drank beer. Erica fed a baby rabbit with a bottle. Martha chattered as she strewed out feed to the chickens, then fixed fresh water bottles for the rest of the animals, all of which made an incredible racket at feeding time. The Calhoun boy kept playing his drums. At first he seemed to favor contemporary rock, then went back to the Beatles, then to old-time jazz.
Martha whisked the rabbit out of Erica’s hands, then ordered her to go with Kyle and stop worrying about helping with dinner. No one thought her capable of organizing anything, Martha complained, when in fact she was quite brilliant at it. Leonard begged to differ. She’d broken her arm tripping over even ground. Martha could remember a time he’d thrown out his back picking up a nickel off the floor.
Erica felt a large palm nudging at the small of her back, and she walked with Kyle back outside, past the barns. “Are they always like that?” she asked with a grin.
“I haven’t any idea. Leonard was probably sane before he married her.” His smile matched her own. “This was
