he’d volunteer his favorite thing to eat for dinner.
“How about Tuesday night?” he asked. “Monday’s my first day, and I think I’ll be okay. But by Tuesday night? I’ll be thrashed.” He gave her a light chuckle, which tickled her eardrums and made her smile.
“Tuesday night is perfect,” she said. “What would be your favorite dinner?”
“That would be ribs and mashed potatoes, sweet pea salad, and whole wheat rolls.”
Surprise kept Etta’s laugh contained for a couple of seconds, and then she let it fly. “Wow,” she said between giggles. “That’s surprisingly specific.”
He chuckled with her. “Yeah, I suppose so. My in-laws used to make a meal like that for my wife’s birthday, and it was my favorite.” He sucked in an audible breath, as if he’d just now realized what he’d said.
Etta’s curiosity skyrocketed, but she’d rather be sitting across the table from him when she learned more about his in-laws and his wife. She noted that he didn’t say “ex-wife,” nor “late wife,” but simply “my wife.”
Her chest stormed at her, just as it had done earlier on the front deck when she’d asked him to tell her what he was thinking. She’d then given him some options—none of which were good—and he hadn’t said anything but her name.
He had said it with kindness and a bit of reproach, but they’d been interrupted by Dot’s labor, and the conversation had never concluded.
“I’ll see you Tuesday,” she said. “With all of those things you just listed. Six? Six-thirty? Sweet barbecue, or spicy?”
“Let’s do six-thirty,” he said. “And I like some sweet with heat.”
“Ooh, I see how you are,” Etta said, flirting with him and hoping she’d pulled it off. “Sweet with heat. That about sums up the entire state of Texas.”
He laughed again, and Etta’s satisfaction knew no bounds. “Maybe we’ll see you at church tomorrow too,” he said. “So, what did they name the baby? Are you buying the groceries for our meal together with your winnings?”
“I wish,” Etta said, sighing as she sank further into the couch. She didn’t need the money, and she wondered how to bring that up with August. They’d talked a lot, but Etta felt like they’d only been skating along the surface.
He’d blown that wide open with the mention of his in-laws and wife, and she said, “They named her Glory Rose, which I can admit is growing on me.”
“I’ll bet it is,” he said, teasing her. “I’ve seen you with babies, and I don’t think their name matters much to you.”
She grinned up at the ceiling, unable to argue with him. “Thank you, August,” she said again. “Really.”
“Anything for you, Etta,” he said, and she could close her eyes and sail softly into sleep with those words in her head. She had a date with him on the horizon, and she really didn’t think he didn’t like her or was embarrassed to be with her.
His reluctance to talk to his daughter probably has something to do with that wife, she thought, and she decided then and there to dig deeper than the surface on Tuesday night.
Chapter 6
August hunkered into his jacket collar on Monday morning, part of his attention down the lane at his cabin, part of it up the road at the main homestead at Shiloh Ridge, and the last part focused on Preacher Glover.
He was not the only new-hire from that weekend, and August currently stood with three other men. Walter Renchild now lived right next door to August and Hailey, and he’d arrived about the same time as they had on Saturday. He had blond hair, a big, reddish beard, and bright blue eyes that seemed to laugh before the sound came out of his mouth.
Walt had invited August and Hailey over for a hot dog roast last night, and they’d gone. August figured the more stuff he did, the less obvious it would be when Hailey went up to the ranch so he could go out with Etta.
Walt’s cabinmate, Jess Cochran, had arrived Sunday afternoon, and he was probably a decade younger than both Walter and August. He had dark, curly hair that he obviously had no intention of taming, and it spilled out from underneath his cowboy hat in damp ringlets. August had no idea how the man could survive the itching from all that hair, but he didn’t have to live with it, so he didn’t much care.
Bill Miller had moved in during the hot dog roast, which Walt had done in a portable firepit right