“Uncle Jim had this recipe for rabbit stew—”
“Sold,” Josiah said, hoisting another bale. “I’m in. Dinner invitation accepted.”
Ian let off a single booming laugh as he adjusted the stacked hay. “Well, get on then, woman. Josiah and I will be in later.”
With a giggle, Elyse jumped into his arms and planted tiny pecking kisses on his cheeks until he chuckled warmly and hugged her waist.
“Bossy,” she teased.
Ian’s blue eyes sparked in the dim evening light as he leaned in and kissed her soundly. He set her on her feet and gave her backside a swat as she trotted away. And as she left the men in her life behind to bring in the rest of the hay, over Miki’s puppy barks, she could’ve sworn she heard Josiah laugh low. And damn, it felt good to hear that. He’d always been a quiet man, more observer than participant in silly antics, but today, she’d seen him smile more than she could ever remember. Perhaps he’d been as lonely as her trying to make a life out here, or perhaps his worry over her had been heavier than she’d realized. And maybe, just maybe, Ian being here was good for Josiah, too.
Behind the cabin, the sunset painted the sky in vivid shades of pink and orange. Today had been one of those days that felt like summer. Not because it was warm. On the contrary, there was a nip in the air. But when she was a child, she’d looked forward to summers at the homestead all year long. The months in school would drag on and on, and the closer to summer it became, the more she was filled with the glowing feeling that soon she would be in the place she belonged. This place was magic. Here, mom’s yelling and frustration with her and Josiah didn’t exist. Uncle Jim was a patient sort of man, and Marta treated her and Jo like they were her own kids. It wasn’t the impatient love that Mom forced herself to feel for them. Marta and Uncle Jim seemed to always have a smile when they watched them. The unforced kind that said they were really enjoying spending time with her and Josiah.
After Marta died, and then Uncle Jim, this place hadn’t felt the same. It wasn’t a retreat anymore, but instead a responsibility. But today had felt different. It felt like the old homestead again.
Miki bounced up the stairs behind her and into the cabin. She didn’t run the generator unless she needed it, so she turned on the lanterns instead and built a fire in the stove with the pile of wood and tinder and newspapers Ian kept stocked by the door as a habit. She’d left the rabbit out to thaw when she’d made lunch, so she discarded the head and feet and chopped the rest up into twelve pieces. With a private smile for the sound of the four-wheeler and men’s voices outside, she climbed down into the root cellar with one of the lanterns and filled a small basket with the things she needed. Thankfully, the garden had produced more once she’d gotten a hold on the weeds strangling her vegetable plants, and Ian had taken her around the property and showed her blueberry patches and a pair of apple trees that his oversensitive bear nose had picked up. The man had already eaten a tree’s worth of the apples in his constant need to eat right now, but she’d preserved the rest along with a few buckets of ripe blueberries and would have jam and fruit for pies in the winter. She’d never had that before, nor had she known how to can and smoke salmon. Ian had proven himself invaluable.
She picked an onion, the smallest of the potatoes, and pulled a few cloves of garlic from the strands hanging from the rafters, then frowned at an unfamiliar coffee can that sat on the shelf with the jars of salmon. The can made a hollow clunk when she set it down on the small prep table. Inside was a wad of cash, mostly five and ten dollar bills, and a note.
If food gets low, don’t go hungry.
I love you.
Ian
She read it several times to familiarize herself with his scrawled handwriting. She was both flattered and scared at the meaning of this coffee can. Ian was making sure she was taken care of. He was preparing for worst case scenarios, and for that, she adored him even more deeply.
But…