“Small,” she said. “I was a raised by a childless aunt. My mom died in a car accident when I was too young to remember. Her family was little, but also really fractured. There were no extended-family Christmases or anything like that. So I also harbored a few fantasies about a big extended family.”
“The picturesque kind, I’m sure,” he said, casting her a wry smile.
“Of course. What other kind is there?” she asked with a laugh. “We all have our fantasies, don’t we?”
“I’ve let go of those,” Colt replied. “It’s easier that way.”
They drove in silence for a couple more minutes until the road narrowed and slanted upward, the engine rumbling as they pulled up next to a long, low building. A few lights were on inside, but most of the windows were dark.
“That’s the bunkhouse,” Colt said, then he pulled forward again and passed the first building, parking in front of the second and turning off the engine. “And this is the canteen.”
There wasn’t much to see this time of the morning when everything was dark.
“Let’s get in there. We’ve got a lot to do,” Colt said.
Colt hopped out of the truck and Jane followed. He unlocked the front door of the building and opened it for her to go inside first. He flicked on an overhead light that blazed to life, making Jane blink. The main room was filled with tables and long benches. The front had a couple of tables, one of which had big hot-water and coffee canisters. Colt strode down the main aisle between the tables and led her past swinging doors into the kitchen. He flicked lights on there, too.
“Hair net,” he said, pointing to a box on the counter.
Jane took one and bundled her thick, dark hair up into it—as much as would fit, anyway. He sent her a rueful smile. “Cute.”
“Shut up,” she chuckled. “You’d better put one on, too.”
Colt pulled a clean bandana out of his pocket and tied it around his head. “This works, too.”
They both washed their hands at the sink, then Colt opened a cupboard and pulled out a large pot.
“The oatmeal is down there,” he said, pointing at another cupboard. “The last cook left some frozen lasagnas to thaw in the fridge. So we can do those for dinner tonight. I’m going to pull out some wrapped sandwiches for bagged lunches.”
Colt was focused and brisk in his movements. He was just so...strong. It was hard to pull her gaze away from him. This family sure had some good-looking men. Was that bad to notice? Jane watched him for a moment, feeling a vague sense of misgiving. What was she even doing out here? She certainly wasn’t feeling like she fit in right now. Had this really been God’s leading, or her own wishful fantasies?
She sighed and bent down to pull out a large box of dry oatmeal. She could measure water and oats like anyone else. She’d add some sugar to the oats while they cooked, too, and a bit of nutmeg. That’s how she made it at home.
The pot that Colt had deposited on the counter was massive, and she rooted around until she found a large measuring cup, then set to work.
“How many of these will we need?” she asked, holding up a four-cup measurer filled with oats.
“Six,” he said. “Then double that for water.”
“Right.” She eyed Colt again, watching him as he flicked open a lunch bag and tossed in a sandwich, an apple, a bag of chips, a muffin...
She turned back to the pot and started to measure in the oatmeal and water.
“Colt,” she said, turning toward him again.
“Yeah?”
“Are you happy?”
Colt folded shut a lunch bag and eyed her speculatively. “Why?”
“I’m curious. Does this life make you happy?”
“I guess,” he replied. “Right now, this life is stressing me out.”
She smiled at his dry humor. “If you could do anything, and money wasn’t a problem, what would you do?”
“This—with more workers,” he replied with a shrug. “Being that close to the line financially all the time tends to suck the joy out of the work.”
“Hmm.” She slid the heavy pot onto a burner and turned it on. She could empathize with that. Too much pressure on anything could ruin it—she’d learned that with her marriage to Josh.
“What about you?” he asked. “If money weren’t a problem...”
“I’d build a business of my own,” she said. “I’d buy a house—big enough to turn into a bed and breakfast—and I’d set up my life so that I could be completely self-sufficient. It would be a simple life, but mine. Only mine. You know?”
Colt’s gaze was riveted to her as she spoke, then he nodded slowly. “Yup. I get it.”
“People try to set up the single mom a lot,” she said with a short laugh. “They toss any man with a pulse in my direction. Doesn’t matter if we’d have nothing in common—if he’s single, they’re going to suggest him.”
“You obviously aren’t interested,” he said.
“I’m not. All I want is a life of my own. No husband. No other pressure. No constant trying, trying, trying to keep a relationship alive. I just want...something easy. I want to worry about raising two girls and building a career that will provide for us. And that’s it.”
She was saying too much, and she clamped her lips shut. What did this man care about her yearning for some financial freedom?
“Yeah, I get that, too,” Colt said,
