Ro held up a hand to stop him. “Hold up. You mean to tell me that poor woman in there does all of that work herself—feeds you, cleans up after you, and grows your food? That just ain’t right.” Ro couldn’t help the country that leaked into her tone as she launched into her mini-rant.
Both men colored slightly. Graham spoke first. “Now wait a minute. It’s not like that. We all take turns helping out in the kitchen. The results of which are sometimes more edible than others ... and Beau shoulders most of the load of the garden. And someone always pitches in to help on wash day. But if you’re interested, we need to double down on watch, so you’d be freeing up another body to patrol the property.”
Ro stowed the mini-rant. “I’m happy to help, but I’m giving you fair warning: my cooking probably isn’t much more edible than the worst of you guys. I haven’t tried to grow anything in almost ten years, and I’ve never done laundry by hand. But I’d also rather pull my weight than not, so if that’s what you need ... I guess I can start by doing dishes.”
Satisfied that she finally had something to contribute to the little society that flourished within the walls, Ro enjoyed the rest of her meal, listening to the guys joke and mock one another. When she was finished, Zach carried her into the kitchen and settled her on a stool in front of the sink. Allison looked at them askance.
Ro rolled up her sleeves. “Put me to work.”
Washing dishes turned out to be much more entertaining than Rowan would’ve guessed. Allison was a veritable font of knowledge when it came to all things related to Castle Creek Whitetail Ranch. She and Jonah and Grace had been living on the property and managing the whitetail breeding and hunting operations. She filled Rowan in as they washed and dried the dishes.
“Do you ever stop working?” Ro asked as Allison hauled out flour, sugar, and butter and began to measure out the ingredients for piecrust.
“Only on Sundays. But honestly, it’s what I’m used to.” She gestured to her plain blue dress and white apron. “I didn’t exactly grow up like you.”
Based on Allison’s clothes, Ro had assumed as much.
“Amish?”
“Mennonite. There’s a small community about an hour northeast of here. That’s where I’m from.”
Ro was familiar with it. She’d grown up seeing the horses and buggies driving alongside the cars, tractors, and giant farm implements that hogged the country roads.
“Then how? I mean, you and Jonah?” Ro didn’t want to pry, but she was intensely curious about how a Mennonite woman had ended up with a Marine.
“I married young, and within a year, I was pregnant, and a widow,” Allison said. “It was a farming accident.”
“Oh God,” Ro said, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to …”
“It’s okay, Rowan. It led me to Jonah, and for that I can be nothing but thankful. But I don’t want to bore you with my story,” she said, tipping a perfectly measured cup of flour into a huge bowl.
Ro gestured to the sink, which was collecting more dishes as Allison worked. “You see what I’ve got going on. I’d love to hear your story.”
Allison shared about being a young, pregnant widow, and the pressure she’d been under to marry again, even before the baby was born. She’d refused and sworn she’d never marry again for anything but love. Her small and tight-knit community had disapproved and the pressure had mounted until Allison had to choose: the only life she’d ever known or staying true to herself and her convictions. She’d left the Mennonite community and moved into an apartment in the small town located about fifteen miles away from the ranch. She’d gotten a job, seven months pregnant, working as a cashier at the hardware store. Jonah had come in for paint, and according to him, it had been love at first sight. He’d pestered her until she’d agreed to have dinner with him. She’d thought he was insane, wanting to date a woman who was less than two months from giving birth, but he’d persisted and won her heart. He’d held her hand throughout her delivery and fallen in love with Grace the moment she was born.
“He is the only father she’s ever known, and in my opinion, she’s the luckiest little girl in the world,” Allison said, pressing the crusts into pie plates.
“I can’t say I disagree with you. He seems like a great guy,” Ro said, remembering the way Jonah had patiently cut Grace’s pancakes at breakfast, not complaining when the little sticky fingers left syrup all over his shirtsleeve where Grace kept patting his arm.