A Family For The Farmer. Laurel Blount

come to think of it.

      “I’m not saying you can’t handle things by yourself, but it’s been a while since you had to deal with this kind of stuff, and now you’ve got twins to look after in the bargain. I know the ropes around Goosefeather, and your grandma was good to me. I’m just trying to help you out a little.”

      “Yes, well. Your helping me is kind of a conflict of interest right now, isn’t it?”

      Abel felt temper flare inside him. The tempo of his milking upped a little, but he kept his voice carefully calm. “Not the way I see it, no.” There was a pause, punctuated by the hiss of the milk foaming in the half-full bucket and the excited clucking of the hens as Paul and Phoebe tossed cracked corn through the chicken wire.

      Emily sighed sharply. “I just don’t think this is a wise move right now, Abel. Your helping, I mean.”

      “That kind of depends on what you call wise, I guess,” Abel said, stripping the last drops of milk from Beulah’s deflated udder. He lifted the heavy pail from under the cow’s belly and topped it with its clean lid before setting it safely to the side. “Maybe you and I have different takes on it. Like right now it seems to me you’re looking a gift horse in the mouth, and that sure doesn’t seem all that smart to me.” He angled himself under the cow and carefully applied the spray that would help protect her from mastitis.

      “Sorry, but it’s been my experience that gifts, horses or otherwise, tend to come with strings attached.”

      “Mama!” Phoebe’s excited voice called over from the chicken pen. “Did you say horse? Is there a horsie here? I love horsies!”

      “No, hon. No horsies,” Emily called back.

      “Can we get one? Please?”

      “Good heavens, no! The last thing I need around here is something else to feed and look after,” Emily added under her breath.

      “You’ve got a lot on your plate all right,” Abel agreed. “That’s why I think it’d be foolish of you not to take what help you can get.” He stood up, unhooked Beulah from her stanchion and gave her an affectionate slap on her bony rump as she ambled peaceably out of the barn to graze in the evening cool. “And just so you know, I don’t do gifts with strings, Emily. Either I give them or I don’t. Look, I know you’re mad about how Miss Sadie left the will, and I can’t say that I blame you. I’m none too happy about it, either.”

      “Yes. So you said.”

      There was something in her voice, some subtle tone of disbelief that jarred a little of his temper loose. It wasn’t the first time somebody had distrusted him, far from it, but it sure stung coming from Emily Elliott of all people, here in the one place where he’d always been trusted and relied on in spite of his last name.

      “It’s the truth, but I reckon you can believe it or not as it suits you. That doesn’t change the fact that you’re going to need some help around here at least at the beginning. I’m willing to give it. If you’re as smart as I think you are, you’ll put your feelings about all this aside and take me up on it. Otherwise I think you’re going to find yourself going under pretty quick.”

      Emily looked at him with her indecision written plainly on her face. She had an independent streak a mile wide, and apparently she’d gotten burned often enough not to trust people easily. Her suspicion was warring hard with her common sense, and from the look of things, it might take a while for the dust to settle there. In the meantime, Miss Sadie’s animals were already about an hour behind their normal eating schedules. They’d wasted enough time as it was.

      He had opened his mouth to say so when suddenly a bloodcurdling child’s scream came from the direction of the chicken pen.

      “Phoebe!” Emily bolted toward the noise.

      “Newman!” Abel overtook Emily in two strides and was inside the chicken coop in a flash. He pushed himself between the five-year-old and the angry bantam and swept up the sobbing little girl in his arms.

      “There, now,” he said to Phoebe, keeping his eyes on the tiny rooster, who was stalking around in the corner of the coop, his bright feathers standing out in an angry halo. “It’s all right. I’ve got you.”

      “He tried to claw me!” Phoebe snuffled moistly into Abel’s neck.

      “She went in to get an egg.” Paul spoke from outside the pen, his voice shaking. “I told her not to, but she wouldn’t listen. And then the rooster started chasing her and flying up at her!”

      “He was protecting his hens. It’s what good roosters do. Newman’s just not smart enough to figure out that you’re not going to hurt them, is all.”

      “He’s a bad, bad bird!” Phoebe peered around Abel’s neck at the little rooster, who crowed fiercely and ruffled his feathers. Phoebe promptly buried her face again, and Abel felt her little hands tighten.

      Something in his heart shifted strangely at the feel of those tiny fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt, and Abel looked narrowly at the strutting rooster. Newman considered Abel’s expression, and some primal warning must have flashed in his walnut-sized brain. He settled his feathers and sidled into the depths of his corner, edging behind a fat black-striped hen, who squawked at him irritably.

      It looked like Newman was nobody’s favorite today.

      Emily was beside him now, tugging Phoebe free of his arms and carrying her out of the coop. She knelt down in front of her daughter and checked her over with worried hands.

      “I think he just scared her.” Abel shot another meaningful glance at the rooster, who meekly lowered his head and pretended to be interested in pecking at a piece of straw. Abel retrieved the egg that had caught Phoebe’s attention and latched the coop door securely behind himself.

      “That’s why we told you not to go into the coop, young lady.” Emily’s voice was tense and stern. “You could have gotten hurt. That rooster could have put your eye out.”

      In spite of himself Abel couldn’t help smiling a little. Emily was a mother all right. Mothers were always concerned about somebody putting an eye out. At least that was what he’d heard. Since his own mother had lit out when he was ten, he didn’t have a whole lot of firsthand knowledge in that department.

      “I wanted to get the egg,” Phoebe wailed, fresh tears starting.

      “And here it is. There’ll be more of them come morning. Next time, though, you’d better wait and let me go in there with you. Okay?” Abel handed over the smooth brown egg, and the tears stopped instantly.

      “I’m going to go put it in the ’frigerator!” she exclaimed happily, and she and Paul dashed out of the barn toward the house.

      “If that egg makes it all the way into a carton, I’ll be amazed,” Emily muttered under her breath. Then she glanced up at Abel. “Thanks.”

      “No problem.”

      “I guess Grandma’s rooster’s made your point for you. That scared me to death. Doing the chores around here and keeping an eye on the twins at the same time...well, it’s going to be a lot to manage. I couldn’t live with myself if Paul or Phoebe got hurt because I wasn’t paying attention.”

      She was probably overestimating the damage one pint-size rooster could have caused, but he figured it wouldn’t be to his advantage to mention that. “Neither could I.”

      “I guess if your offer still stands...” She trailed off.

      “It does.”

      “I don’t know how we can work this out, though. I can’t pay you. At least not until the farm sells.”

      Until the farm sells. The words stabbed at him, but he shoved the pain aside for the moment. “I’m not asking for any pay.”

      “Well, you’re not working here for free. That’s out of the question.” Emily’s chin went up mulishly.