His ace had turned into a joker. He retraced his steps in his mind, trying to recall the biscuit recipe and what ingredients he’d used. Yes, it had called for salt, but only half a teaspoon.
“How much difference could that little bit make?”
The crow’s feet around Hannie’s eyes appeared. “Sometimes it’s the little things that make the biggest difference.”
She wasn’t talking about biscuits anymore. He knew that much. But what exactly she meant was not something he was willing to consider.
CHAPTER
TEN
Rae looked up from her laptop as her dad entered the kitchen. He was usually deep into The Wall Street Journal by this time of night. She glanced over at her mom, who was scouring a pot at the sink. Mom caught her eye and gave an almost imperceptible shrug.
Dad sat down across from Rae. “What are you working on?”
She sat back in her chair. “Just an essay for comp. class. Nothing major.”
“Every assignment is major, Rae.” Dad leaned his elbows on the table and gave her an intent look. “Every grade matters.”
“I know.” She shifted. “I just meant it’s easy. Only three pages.”
“Make it five.”
Mom tossed her dishrag on the counter with a thwack. “Give her a break, Wade. It’s one assignment.”
Dad threw up his hands. “I just think it’s time to start taking her future more seriously, that’s all. She’s almost sixteen.”
“I think we take it seriously enough.”
“I’m not sure we all do.” He gave Mom a pointed look.
Mom narrowed her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Rae looked back and forth between them and forced a smile. “I can make it five. No problem.”
Mom shook her head. “You don’t have to do that, sweetie.”
“I want to.”
Dad stood with a nod. “That’s my girl.”
As he left the kitchen, Rae watched Mom from the corner of her eye. Dad had always been a little on the demanding side, yet it wasn’t like her parents to talk like that in front of her. Mom’s face as she turned back to the sink seemed pensive. Like she wasn’t sure what to make of it, either. Like something Rae couldn’t see had changed and the conversation wasn’t over.
Rae squirmed.
GERRIT SHIFTED ON his feet. “What are you looking at me for?”
Daisy inched closer with a whine.
“I said come on.” Hannie put her hands on her hips. “Time for bed.”
Daisy turned her back on Hannie. Hannie blanched.
Gerrit winced. “I think she knows I’m going”—his voice dropped to a whisper—“outside.”
The stout corgi’s ears perked up at the magic word.
Hannie smirked. “Well, she certainly does now.”
“Go with your mom.” He shooed Daisy with his hands. “Up the stairs with you.”
Daisy didn’t budge. He nudged her with his foot.
Nothing.
He knew how to get a cow moving when it didn’t want to, but he didn’t think that strategy would work here. Especially not with Hannie watching. He pled with Daisy to go with his eyes.
Hannie’s shoulders drooped. “Okay. I can’t blame her for wanting to play outside. It’s a nice evening. But I need to get to bed.”
Gerrit was afraid to move. Afraid to keep encouraging the dumb dog to go, in case she didn’t. Afraid to let it appear he was fine with her staying, in case Hannie believed that. So he stood there like a fool as Hannie ascended the steps. As she rounded the corner at the top, he lifted a hand.
“Good night.”
He thought he heard a muffled “good night” in response, but it might have been “yeah, right.” He knew which was more likely.
He turned on Daisy. “This is all your fault.”
Daisy smiled and took a step toward the door as if they’d been planning this all along. Great. She thought they were in cahoots.
“I don’t like it.” He pointed a finger at her. “You better not get mixed up in anything out there.”
He pulled on his boots and unrolled the sleeves of his flannel shirt, buttoning them at the cuffs. Then he stepped outside. Hannie was right. It was a nice night. The heady smell of spring was in the air, and a hint of gold remained on the horizon. He could even hear the lowing of Holsteins as he closed the door behind him. If only the language Hannie spoke was as easy to understand.
Daisy took off at a trot toward the pony barn. Why did he still call it that? He shoved his hands in his pockets as he stared at the structure, his brother’s face flickering through his mind. Luke had been gone almost twenty-five years now.
Gerrit started walking, his boots crunch-crunching across the gravel drive. Maybe Luke had been the lucky one. He had died young enough to be immortalized in fond memories. Young enough that he’d never struggled to get the work done, never doubted his purpose. He died forever strong and ambitious.
Gerrit stopped, watching Daisy sniff at the door of the barn. He’d spent the past twenty-five years trying to fill Luke’s shoes, trying to carry the torch—and for what? To hand the farm over to an opportunistic interloper without a drop of Dutch blood. His father would turn over in his grave. Not that he’d worked his life away on the farm for him.
Daisy’s sniffing became more intent, and a low growl warmed the air.
Gerrit tensed. “What’re you doing?”
His voice stabbed the falling night like a pitchfork through hay. Daisy’s growl intensified. The hair on Gerrit’s neck stood at attention.
Something—or someone—was in the barn.
DESPITE HIS UNWIELDY girth, Mr. Whiskers leapt into Rae’s arms with the agility of a feline half his age. She clutched him to her chest and slid deeper into the shadows, her heart pounding.
A tall man with broad shoulders appeared in the doorway of the barn with a shovel in his hand. “Who’s there?”
Rae froze in stunned silence. This was her special place. Her refuge. The only place on earth she had no pressures or expectations hanging over her head and no parents to worry about. An overwhelming sense of being violated washed over her.
Mr.
