You can’t cross the sea merely by standing and staring at the water.

—Rabindranath Tagore
(Left by Danny and Elaine, racing sailboats in the rain)

Chapter 15

I had a feeling that Nick would be asleep before we made it out of town, and he was. Birdie soon joined him, and Al and I drove along in silence awhile. We traveled several miles along the road that paralleled the river, then we turned off, then turned again and again, weaving our way past hills, trees, and small ranches.

As we drove, the pavement dissolved into gravel and the homes became few. Gravel melted into narrower gravel, smooth surfaces becoming pockmarked trails that wound lazily up steep slopes and into rocky valleys where clearwater creeks cascaded over beds of loose limestone. In the backseat, the sleeping kids bobbed back and forth as the truck bounced over chuckholes and rattled across miniature canyons left behind by rushing water.

“Is this the normal way of getting up here?” I asked after we’d driven thirty minutes or so. I knew it must be. People did live up here. While the foothills had been dotted with ranches where cattle and goats dozed in the shade, up here the signs of human habitation were more hardscrabble—aging trailer homes with old tires holding tarps over the roofs, rusting school buses converted into dwellings, ancient camp trailers that were obviously being used as permanent residences, tiny homes with peeling paint, leaning front porches, and the carcasses of old cars half buried in the weeds. In small lots scratched from cedar and scrub brush, skinny horses, goats, and cows searched in vain for edibles. Dangerous-looking dogs chased the truck or barked from behind ragtag yard fences made from shipping pallets and road signs.

“This is the way.” Al’s answer was flat, matter of fact. “The meth boilers and the pot farmers don’t live up here for nothing. It’s remote. They like it that way.” We topped a hill, and she pointed out the window, where the view stretched for miles. In the distance, Moses Lake shimmered cool and peaceful, like a spill of glitter at the edge of fabric tumbling forth in shades of green and gray.

“There’s some beautiful country up here, too.” Al’s voice seemed far away for a moment. “And plenty of good people, just doing the best they can with what they’ve got. Like Birdie’s grandpa. He’s a veteran, a good guy, suffered head trauma in Vietnam, so he’s limited somewhat, but he’s working hard to raise that little girl. Birdie’s mother dropped her on Len’s doorstep about a year ago, and now the mom is in prison on a meth conviction, among other things. She won’t be coming back anytime soon. If it weren’t for Len, Birdie would be in foster care. There are a lot of kids up here with stories like that.”

“Wow,” I sighed, still taking in the view. It seemed so serene, yet the kids I’d met today and the things I’d learned made it clear that for all the beauty here, an ugly reality hid also.

“One of the worst things is the access in this area, really. Like with Len’s place—it’s so far back in the hills, the school bus can’t even get there when the roads are bad and the low-water crossings flood. On top of the other strikes against them, kids in Chinquapin Peaks miss a lot of school, partly because they can’t get there. The school has been begging the county commission to spend money on the roads up here for years. The people in charge always make excuses to commit funds on the other side of the lake where there’s already money, if you know what I mean. Blaine Underhill from the Ranch House Bank just got elected to the county commission, though, and he’s making some headway against the old guard.” Pausing, she pointed a finger at me. “I should introduce you to his wife, Heather, come to think of it. She’s a city girl, like you. You two would enjoy each other. You know that big white house on the edge of town, the one with the Harmony Shores sign at the gate?”

I nodded. I had noticed the place. It was beautiful, a stately icon of the bygone era of southern belles and two-story porches with tall white pillars.

“They’ve refitted that into a bed-and-breakfast. Good people. Heather commutes to Dallas some for her architecture business. I’ll find out her work schedule and get you two together.”

“Thanks.” Sometimes I wondered if I would have survived this long here, had Al not taken me under her wing. Other times, I couldn’t imagine why she wanted to bother. I had to seem like such a nuisance, always needing something, and with no skills to contribute to the relationship, unless Al ever happened to need someone who had experience writing congressional legislation. Not very likely. Still, I had the underlying feeling that Al was interested in me for a reason, but I couldn’t imagine what it might be.

“Not a problem.” Al turned off the road into what looked like a wagon track winding off into a field. Tall grass scraped the undercarriage of the truck as we passed, and branches squealed across the windows like fingernails on a blackboard. “Anybody who has to put up with that sorry so-and-so you work for deserves a little extra help.”

As usual, I didn’t answer. The animosity between Al and Jack West was legendary around town. They were not good neighbors. Al only came to my house when I knew Daniel and Jack would be gone for the day, which was just about every day, so Al and I had plenty of time to work.

Birdie’s house, when it came into view, seemed pretty typical of what I’d seen so far in Chinquapin Peaks, although it was in better shape. The small, square home listed slightly to one side, but the roof was new, the porch posts were parallel, and the place had a fresh coat of paint. Ruffled curtains hung inside the paint-spattered windows, giving the place a homey touch.

A mule brayed from a corral as we rolled to a stop, and Birdie’s grandpa appeared in the barn doorway. I remembered him from my first day in Moses Lake, when Pop Dorsey in the Waterbird store had suggested that I hire Len to help with construction projects in our house. I’d been mortified at the time. Now, here I was, rolling up to his farm in a pickup truck. Who would have thought?

Today he was wearing overalls with what looked like blood smeared on the front. My skin crawled, and I gaped in complete revulsion. That really was blood, and it was wet . . .

Al opened her door and stepped out. Didn’t she see the blood? I stayed where I was. The man was carrying . . . a knife. The knife had blood on it, too. I smiled and tried to look friendly, but I was inclined to do my visiting from inside the truck.

In the backseat, Birdie and Nick woke up. She was already wiggling out of her seat belt when Al opened the door beside her.

“I ubb-been ubb-butcherin’ up hogs,” I heard Len say. “I udd-don’t s-s-smell too ugg-good. S-sorry.”

Shuddering, I pressed back against the seat, staring at the knife. Butchering hogs? My stomach lurched and I was uncharacteristically lightheaded. Behind me, Birdie wrestled with Nick’s seat belt, trying to help him out of his booster. She was telling Nick he could have a ride on the mule.

“No. No-no.” I swiveled around to lay the Mommy-panic-hand over Nick’s buckle. “We’re not staying, sweetie. We have to go home now.”

Nick’s bottom lip jutted out. “I wanna go see Birdie’s haw-see!”

“I can ugg-get ’im real f-f-fast.” Len’s bushy eyebrows lifted over his gray eyes, and he motioned amiably toward the corral, the knife flashing in the sunlight. “He’s a ugg-good m-mule.” The words came with a reassuring smile, flecks of tobacco dotting his teeth.

My head swirled like a car on the Tilt-A-Whirl, the sights and smells of the place overtaking me in a sudden assault. I saw stars. “I’m . . . I’m sure he is. Thank you, that’s really kind of you, but . . .”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, it’ll only take a minute.” Al flicked a look of appraisal my way, and beyond the swirl of panic, I realized this was a test, and if I didn’t step up, I would be lumped into a certain category. Who are you, really? Al’s look asked.

Who are you, really? The question penetrated, echoed, demanded an answer. It nipped at me in ways I wasn’t prepared for, pinched in places I didn’t like. Was I really so entrenched in the world I’d been raised in, so set in my ways that I couldn’t look beyond the surface of another person and see a human being? Was I that shallow? Was I The Frontier Woman, or wasn’t I?

I had worked in downtown DC and shopped in fish markets in Asia. Was I really afraid of a little hog butcherin’?

Yes, actually.

And there was Nick to consider. This place looked so . . . unsanitary.

The word made me think of my mother. My mom who, as much as I loved her, wanted me to live and die within the confines of an upscale burb, preferably no farther than sixty miles from where I’d been raised. Hadn’t I spent my entire life trying to break free of that mold? Maybe I wasn’t as far from it as I thought. Everything in me wanted to stuff Nick back into the seat belt and speed away from this place, tell him he couldn’t be friends with Birdie because she wasn’t our sort.

Something strange happened to me as I sat there in Al’s truck with Birdie, Nick, Len, and Al watching me. A barricade fell. A hard place cracked open. These were only people. People living in a different way than I did, but trying to be kind, to offer hospitality. “Sure. Sure, okay. I guess we have a minute.”

In the backseat Birdie and Nick squealed gleefully, and outside, Len nodded at me, seeming pleased. “We’ll be uff-fast,” he said, then was off to get the mule. On the way, he stopped at a water pump near the barn, washed the blood from his hands, and deposited the knife.

For some reason, I thought of a tapestry in the little white church where Daniel and I had married. Jesus, gathered with a crowd of listeners, some wealthy, some in rags. All sizes, all ages, all colors, all worthy of His presence, of His attention and efforts. Why should I be any different? Why were some people worthy of my attention and not others? Why was I so afraid?

Could I change? Could today be the start of a kinder, gentler me, with my eyes and hands open to new people and new adventures?

This was what The Frontier Woman would do. She would experience the whole thing and take pictures.

So, I did.

We ended up staying for more than a quick mule ride. I even climbed onto the mule and clung to the saddle, laughing while Len led me around the barnyard. Al took photos with her phone. Meanwhile, Nick also experienced the tractor, held a fluffy yellow chick in his hands, played in Birdie’s tree fort, and helped pick tomatoes in the garden where Len grew produce to sell. He ended his tour in Birdie’s bedroom, where her toys were stored in a little bookshelf next to an antique iron bed that took up most of the room. Inside, the house was small but freshly painted. The furniture was old but clean, and the tiny kitchen was stocked with home-canned goods. A game of Candy Land, in progress, had been left open on the coffee table, and Birdie’s drawings of herself were pinned to the refrigerator, as well as several of the walls—stick figures fishing, walking in the woods, picking flowers, flying a kite. The evidence of a happy home, a child who was loved.

I left with all the reference points in my mind slowly shifting. In DC, where upscale families had everything money could buy, I’d known plenty of privileged kids who needed that kind of undivided attention but didn’t get it because their parents were busy with other things. Growing up, I’d been surrounded by families who had everything . . . but time for one another. Even though my mother’s level of borderline-obsessive involvement in our lives had practically driven me crazy, I’d always known that we were the lucky ones. I’d probably never told her that. Sometimes you don’t appreciate the things your parents have done for you until you’re a parent yourself. I wanted Nick to have what we’d had—what Birdie had.

Nick . . . and a new baby? I laid a hand over my stomach as the truck bounced along on the road home. I pondered the possibility, then pushed it to the back of my mind. Now just wasn’t the time for a baby. Daniel and I were in such a mess here. We still had so much to learn about each other, so much to work out. I did want a baby someday, but later. Much later. We weren’t ready yet. Just yesterday, I’d lost track of the one child we already had, and at present, Daniel and I weren’t even speaking. So far, we had no resolution on the issue of work hours.

Not exactly ideal conditions for, Guess what, honey?

But what if . . .

“You’re quiet all of a sudden.” Al’s comment broke into my thoughts.

“Just enjoying the view, really,” I answered as we topped a small peak. Below, the river wound through hills like a thin blue thread, spilling into the lake downstream.

“Something to see,” Al agreed, and we drove on without talking. For once, I appreciated Al’s penchant for silence. When we neared the edge of Moses Lake, she slowed before we really needed to, as if she were trying to prolong the ride. “I’ve got some time tomorrow, if you want to tackle that last closet.”

I thought of dust, paint fumes, germs, mouse droppings . . . babies. “Oh, I . . . I can’t tomorrow. I . . .” I tried to come up with something other than, My sister made me promise not to, because she thinks I’m pregnant. Isn’t that ridiculous? “I want to write something up for the blog about Keren’s supper garden program. Some of my friends in DC have deep pockets, or they know people who do. I thought if I went back to the summer enrichment class tomorrow and took some pictures . . . I don’t know, I thought I might be able to help find some funding. If I do a good write-up on the blog, I can send out emails and point some of my parents’ friends to it, too. Quite a few of them could pop for a whole greenhouse and not even think twice about it. I know Nick’s going to wake up and want to go to the class tomorrow, too. He really liked it.”

Al looked away, and I sensed something. Disappointment, maybe. I wondered sometimes how Al felt about her life, if she was happy being by herself with all those animals. The few times I’d tried to ferret out details about her past, about whether she’d ever been married or had a family, I hadn’t learned much. Once, she’d mentioned that a French guy she dated in college had introduced her to polo, and for a while she’d been pretty serious about the sport. Polo didn’t seem like Al at all, but I suspected there had been a different Al at some time. I wondered how she’d ended up here, alone, living on this land that had been passed down through her family.

“Daniel working tonight?” she asked.

“I’m sure he is. He’s never home for dinner, unless Jack’s out of town.” Given the way Daniel and I had left things, he probably wouldn’t go out of his way to hurry back tonight, either.

Al nodded, and surprisingly, she refrained from kibitzing about Jack. Complaints about Jack had bonded Al and me like glue. Jack was as lousy a neighbor as he was a boss. He’d actually taken legal action against Al over a fence that had been in place for forty years. Al had won the dispute. Now they liked each other even less.

“Might as well stop off for a burger at the Waterbird, then,” she suggested.

Nick, who’d been busy in the backseat playing with turkey feathers and fossils Len had given him, tuned in and repeated, “The Water-burb? I wanna some fwies and a candy!” Nick never missed a chance to visit the Waterbird and collect a free sucker from Pop Dorsey. He’d also become attached to the collection of old men who hung around playing dominos, drinking coffee, and talking about fishing.

“Sure, that sounds good.” The thought of going home to another long, quiet evening on rat patrol wasn’t all that tempting, really. The vermin problem in the house was better than it used to be, but we hadn’t obliterated it yet and wouldn’t until we’d finished the last closet. We couldn’t finish the closets until I made good on the promise I’d given Trudy.

The ancient, flickering sign on the front of Hall’s Pharmacy caught my eye. “You know what, drop me at my car, and I’ll meet you over there. I need to grab something in the pharmacy. Nick can just ride to the Waterbird with you, if that’s okay.” I held my breath, hoping Al wouldn’t suddenly remember that she needed something in the pharmacy, too. I didn’t even want Nick with me for this little purchase. He watched too many TV commercials. I could picture the two of us in the female aisle, Nick calling out, Two lines pweg-nant, one lines not!

“Sure, no problem.” Al steered toward the curb and let me out at Hall’s. Like a spy on a clandestine mission, I waited for her to round the corner, pretending to have been drawn in by a rack of tourist magazines out front. Inside the pharmacy, I did my business as quickly as I could, thankful that Chrissy worked at the pharmacy in Gnadenfeld, not this one.

The elderly woman behind the counter smiled at me as she picked up the test and turned it slowly over and over and over in her hands, looking for the price tag. She leaned toward the microphone for the store PA.

“It’s thirteen ninety-five,” I blurted, then pulled out a twenty and shoved it at her. Keep the change. Really. Just put that thing in a sack. Now.

She opened a sack, then paused and looked up as the Binding Through Books sisters came in the front door. I shifted impatiently, glancing at the box, watching it disappear slowly into the bag. The minute she slid it my way, I grabbed the sack and shoved it under my arm like a man forced to buy feminine products for a wife who’s home sick.

“Well, hey!” Paula greeted me. I thought she gave the bag a curious look, but maybe I was just paranoid. “How about that little blurb about The Frontier Woman on the Woman’s Day Web site? That was pretty neat.”

“Now I feel like I’ve had somebody famous in my lake house,” Alice added. “We might have to bronze your lawn chair.” She nudged Cindy, and the two of them giggled, the way sisters do when they get each other’s jokes.

“We’ll add a little plaque.” Cindy drew an imaginary frame with her fingers. “The Frontier Woman sat here. We can sell tickets to see it—help pay for renovations on the lake house.”

They giggled again, and I laughed with them. “I don’t think we’re quite to that point yet, but the magazine coverage did bring in a bunch of new followers on the blog. It was pretty exciting. I thought my techie friends were going to pop a cork. I’m hoping I can parlay that into some support for the supper garden program.”

“That’s a great idea. Just remember us one of these days when you’re on Good Morning America talking about your adventures.” Alice winked. “Tell them you need three extra tickets to New York. We’ll stand out front and hold a We Love the Frontier Woman sign. We can tell everyone we knew you before you were The Frontier Woman. We loved the story about the cattle roundup, by the way. And the one about making goat’s milk soap. I never knew how the pioneers did it, or that they put yucca in the soap. That was interesting.”

Paula nodded, jumping into the conversation. “We look forward to seeing what The Frontier Woman’s doing every morning. Now, instead of just talking about books, we talk about what you’re doing. We’re your groupies.”

“Keep it up,” Cindy added, and for a moment their enthusiasm was a little overwhelming. I’d never imagined, the night I wrote that first story about this wild, off-the-map life of mine, that anything like this would happen. I had actual groupies. How cool.

“I will, thanks.”

The sisters and I parted ways, and I hurried to my vehicle in the alley. Safely inside, I tucked my package beneath the seat where Nick wouldn’t ask what it was. Throughout dinner at the Waterbird, a little visit on the dock with Nick’s favorite crew of fishermen, and then the drive home, I felt the presence of the pregnancy test. Contraband, right behind my feet. The Waterbird burger I’d nibbled on during dinner began churning in my stomach as we turned into the driveway.

Ten minutes. In ten minutes, I could know for sure, put this fear to rest. As soon as we were in the house, I’d give Nick a quick bath, settle him in bed with his night-night book, grab my secret package from the pharmacy, and slip off by myself . . .

But Daniel’s ranch vehicle was waiting by the yard fence when we drove up. The lights were on in the house. I had the momentary thought that Trudy had called him about her suspicions—that she’d ratted me out. It was silly, of course. Trudy wouldn’t do that.

Tucking the package and my phone into my purse, I zipped it shut, my mind hurrying ahead as I wrestled with the sticky buckle over Nick’s lap. What was Daniel doing home? Was something wrong?

Scenarios spun to life. I imagined walking in, hearing Daniel say, He fired me today, or I’ve had enough, I quit. I’m not doing this anymore.

I imagined, This thing, us, it isn’t working out, Mal. We jumped into it too fast. . . .

Stop, I told myself. Stop already. You’re being ridiculous.

But when I opened the door, Daniel was striding across the kitchen toward it. He looked strangely wide-eyed and wild-haired, edgy and frazzled.

“Daddy!” Nick cheered. Daniel collapsed to his knees and scooped Nick up, his arms wrapping around so that Nick’s tiny body disappeared into Daniel’s.

“Hey, buddy.” Daniel’s voice was thin and choked. His lips pressed together, holding back some emotion. His lashes brushed his cheeks momentarily.

“What’s wrong?” My mind conjured up more scenarios—death in the family, sudden world crisis, a call from back home. Cancer, heart attack, tragedy. Something must have happened for Daniel to be waiting for us in such a wild state, and for him to grab Nick and hang on as if the world were coming to an end. “Daniel, what’s wrong?”

“Where have you guys been?”

“What?” I deposited my keys into my purse, heard them land against the pharmacy bag before I closed the zipper again. Most of the time lately, Daniel didn’t have a clue where Nick and I were, nor did it seem to bother him. If Nick and I had plans of our own—house projects with Al, shopping in Gnadenfeld, or spending time down at the lakeshore with Chrissy and McKenna, it took the pressure off Daniel. He was free to be wrapped up with Jack and his work.

Rubbing my hands up and down my arms, I tried to smooth away the uneasiness. “I took Nick to the summer enrichment class in town today, then we rode with Al way up into Chinquapin Peaks to drive one of the kids home—you wouldn’t believe that place, by the way—and after that, we had supper with Al at the Waterbird and did a little fishing with the Docksiders. Why? Is everything okay? You look like . . . well, I don’t know . . . like someone just held you up at gunpoint or something.”

Nick started to wiggle, and Daniel squeezed him into another hug before letting him shimmy down and trot away. Daniel faced me with his hands on his hips. “For heaven’s sake, Mal, I’ve been trying to call you for hours. I thought something had happened to you . . . or Nick.” He motioned to a phone book open on the counter. “When it got later and later in the evening, I started calling hospitals. I called Al’s house and Keren’s. She said you and Nick should have been headed home hours ago. I drove back and forth to town, looking for your car. I went down to the shore to make sure you weren’t there. I’ve been going out of my mind.” He flipped a hand toward the counter, in a motion that somehow reminded me of my mother.

My instant reaction was to get indignant, to say something like, Well, welcome to my world. We sit here and wait for you every single day. We never know where you are. Half the time I call you, and you don’t pick up the phone. . . .

His frenzied gaze met mine, and I looked into his eyes, those soft, beautiful eyes, and the fire in my belly went to mush and spawned little butterflies. “You were looking for us?” The words came in a soft coo, tremulous and tender. I set my purse on the counter, thinking that I wanted to slip into the strong, warm spot that Nick had just vacated. The oven was hot when my hand brushed it. “Why is the oven on?”

Daniel’s shoulders stiffened again, and he threaded his arms. “I made supper for you. I’ve been trying to keep it warm all this time, but you never came.”

The butterflies inside me lined up and did a Disney-movie dance. I was twitterpated. “That’s so sweet.” Taking a step toward him, I added a little I’m sorry pout lip.

“Oh no. No, no, no . . .” He kept his arms crossed, barricaded. “You are not forgiven. You took at least two years off my life tonight.”

“I love you.” I added the goo-goo eyes. “My car was there in town, but it was parked around back in the alley all day. I had my phone plugged into my car charger and I forgot about it. I’m sorry we scared you.” The man of steel was about to crumble, I could tell. “We were at the Waterbird later, but you must have come back home by then.”

“You make me crazy, woman.” But he was unlocking those big, strong arms, reaching for me.

“You make me crazy, too.” Slipping into that space that I craved, I stood on my toes for a kiss, whispered against his lips the words that my mother had advised me should always come shortly after an argument, “I’m really sorry. Forgive me?”

“You’re still in trouble,” he whispered back, then kissed me fiercely.

We made out in the kitchen like a couple of teenagers until we heard Nick pushing one of his toy cars across the icky yellow carpet in the dining room. When Daniel released me, I was on fire from head to toe. I fanned my face as Nick crawled through the kitchen, making motor sounds and pretending he was Al, driving to Chinquapin Peaks to pick up a mule.

Turning off the oven, Daniel poured coffee for us, and we sat on the porch swing, enjoying the night breeze and gazing at the stars while Nick and I told the story of the day. By the time we were finished, Nick was more than ready for a bath and bedtime. Daniel did the honors while I cleaned up what was left of dinner—chicken, rice, baked potatoes, and the green beans I’d bought the day before. It hadn’t even occurred to me that Daniel might know how to cook them.

After Nick was in bed, we took a blanket outside and lay under the stars, just talking. Nick and I had been so busy telling the story of our day, I hadn’t asked Daniel about his. “So, how in the world did you manage to get away from Jack early enough to actually cook dinner?”

“Jack went to Houston. He got a phone call and took off in a hurry this afternoon. Something about his son.”

“His son?” I repeated incredulously. According to Chrissy, Jack and his son didn’t speak, and if Chrissy said it, it must be true.

Daniel’s shoulder shifted under my head. “I didn’t ask him too much about it. He wasn’t in the mood.”

“So I guess you didn’t talk to him about coming up with some reasonable parameters for work hours.” As soon as the words were out, I wished I’d left them for later. This night, this moment, was so perfect, so peaceful. We needed peace more than anything. We needed each other. Like this.

“No, not yet.” His weariness was unmistakable. He was tired of being the pulling rope in a tug-of-war between work and home. “Jack’s just finally starting to turn me loose with his research in the lab. Now isn’t the time to rock the boat. Just let me do this my way, okay?”

“Okay.” The word faded off into the night as our fingers intertwined on the blanket. Overhead, the bling had been rolled out, the stars glittering against a carpet of black. “It’s just that you’re brilliant, talented, and valuable, and he should acknowledge that.”

Daniel turned over and propped himself on an elbow. “You forgot handsome.”

“And handsome,” I giggled, even though I knew he was only trying to distract me from complaining about the tyrannical work hours. “Really handsome.” He was. Really.

He kissed me as the moon waxed overhead and the crickets chirred. A whippoorwill lent its voice to the night music, and horses milled in the pasture down the hill, making soft sounds of satisfaction. In that moment, everything seemed perfect, as if the world were no bigger than the two of us. In one of Kaylyn’s romance novels, it would have been the scene in which the heroine knew she could never belong to anyone but him.

By the time we went inside, I was logy and sated, filled with a contentment that was beyond understanding.

We slipped into bed and into the magic of a dance that was both passionate and sweet. I fell asleep in my husband’s arms for once without a worry in my mind, my heart running over with a rightness so complete that I could only understand it as a moment of grace. Where could such love have come from, if not from God? Who else could have concocted this crazy plan for me, this unlikely life? If God did have a place for me in the world, this was it. With Daniel.

Thank you, the prayer whispered in my mind as Daniel’s breaths lengthened. Thank you for all of this. For everything about this day. For kids in the garden. For Sergio and Sierra. For the view from Chinquapin Peaks, for Birdie, Len, and the mule. For Nick’s smile. For the dinner I missed. For my gypsy king . . .

I fell asleep with the list still scrolling by.

In the early morning hours, I dreamed that the kids from the supper garden were here on the ranch, helping to pick vegetables in one of Jack’s test plots. It seemed so real that, as I was drifting to consciousness, my mind clung to the idea, turned it over and looked at it from a few angles. Sitting on the porch last night, Daniel and I had talked about whether some of the families in Chinquapin Peaks could be hired to farm test plots with West Research seed. The land up there was certainly rugged enough.

The scent of fresh coffee tickled my senses, and I felt Daniel’s weight atop the quilt. When I opened my eyes, he was resting against the headboard with a cup of coffee in his hand, watching me. Outside, the first rays of morning blushed the sky, outlining long, wispy clouds in bands of gold.

I had the strangest feeling that he had been there awhile, watching me sleep. “You’re awake early.” He took a sip of coffee and smiled again, his lips moist.

“You’re here,” I whispered through the grogginess. One thing I really loved about life in Moses Lake—I didn’t have to get up at five a.m. to shower and rush off to catch mass transit.

“Going in a little late this morning.” He winked at me, and the rush of misty-morning love was overwhelming. Setting his cup on the nightstand, he leaned over to kiss the top of my rumpled head, then swung his legs off the edge of the bed and stood up. I noted with disappointment that he was already dressed in jeans and a polo shirt, ready for work. He’d be heading out soon.

“Don’t get up. I’ll grab a cup of coffee for you.” On his way around the bed, he leaned over and kissed me again, whispering against my lips, “I like you there, looking all . . . snuggly.”

Sighing, I watched him go, then braced the pillows and pulled the quilt up high. I felt all snuggly. I did.

What a perfectly wonderful morning.

Closing my eyes, I listened to the sounds of him in the kitchen—the soft clatter of cups, the tap of the coffeepot against the base, the ring of the stirring spoon.

An electronic beep disturbed my reverie. My cell phone was dying again. Apparently the battery was going bad. I’d have to remember to order a new one. Even though reception was sometimes spotty, there was no way I wanted to be on these rural roads without a phone.

Daniel dropped something on the floor, grumbled about it. I wondered if he’d spilled the coffee. I considered getting up and going to the kitchen, but decided against it. If I got out of bed, the magic would be gone, the morning underway. If I waited here, hopefully he would come back once he’d cleaned up the mess, whatever it was.

When he crossed the yellow carpet, his steps sounded hurried. Disappointment plucked a note inside me. His mind was already rushing off to work; I could feel it without even seeing him. He stopped in the doorway, leaned against it. I prepared for him to say something like, Jack just texted. I’d better get going, Mal.

But when I turned to look at him, his face was strangely ashen. I wondered if some heretofore unknown horror in the kitchen—like a rattlesnake, or something—had caused the commotion in there.

“Daniel? What’s the ma . . .” And then I saw what he was holding. The sack from the pharmacy, the words Pregnancy Test clearly visible through the filmy plastic.

The series of events clicked together in my mind—the phone, my purse, something toppling on the floor. In all the excitement last night, I’d left my purse sitting on the counter.

“What’s . . . what’s this?” His gaze didn’t meet mine. Instead, he stared into the room, unfocused, shellshocked.

I swallowed hard. Be calm. Be calm. Let him know it’s no big deal. “Nothing. Trudy’s just worried—something about antibiotics and birth control pills, and she threatened to sic Mom on me if I didn’t make sure I wasn’t pregnant. She’s all uptight about it because I’m doing so much painting and spraying and stuff.”

“But you don’t think you are . . .”

“No, of course not. Really. It’s fine.”

“It’s just that . . . the timing, you know?”

“I know.” I couldn’t disagree at all, but I wished he would stop looking at me like that—like a Mack truck was headed his way at a high rate of speed and his feet were stuck in heavy tar. “Don’t worry about it, okay?”

“Well . . . well, maybe you should . . .” He held up the sack, rolled his eyes toward it, but didn’t quite look.

“I’ll do it later today.” I wasn’t ready to face the idea quite yet. I needed a little time to work up to it.

He set the test on the nightstand like a hot potato. “You’re supposed to . . . do it . . . first thing in the morning.” He actually blushed along with the words, but the color quickly drained away.

In a crush of thoughts, it occurred to me that he had been through this before—a wife, a pregnancy test, an unwanted result. A marriage toppled and left in pieces.

I couldn’t let him know how nervous, how uncertain I was. I couldn’t let him think that, if the test came up positive, we would fall apart. “Oh, sure. Of course. No big deal.” I took the bag and headed to the bathroom, shut the door and leaned against it as I opened the package with trembling hands.

The instructions quivered so much I could barely read them. Sweat broke over my skin and dripped down my back. Outside the door, Daniel was pacing the room, his footfalls going back and forth, back and forth.

I wanted to scream at him to stop it. To just leave me alone a minute. But there was no point. There was no point in doing anything but finding out for sure. Waiting wouldn’t change the truth.

And in ninety seconds, I knew the truth.

We.

Were.

Pregnant.