further. “It was all my fault,” he said. “You’d never have seen my bike in your mirror. You aren’t responsible.” For good measure, he glanced at his mother. “Mom’s got a thing about responsibility.”
Jake nodded gravely, lifted the bike by the handlebars and seat from its leaning position against the steps and steadied it in front of Matt. “She’s absolutely right. And most mistakes we have to pay for, but with some we deserve a break. I figure we can split the cost. You can pay me back for your half at five bucks a month. And you don’t have to start until after the summer trip you’re saving for.”
Matt turned to his mother, his eyes wide with disbelief.
“Wow!” Christy breathed.
“Boy,” David said, his voice filled with awe as he stared at the bike. “Are you lucky!”
“Hop on,” Jake said. “Make sure everything works before I leave.”
Matt watched Britt’s eyes for the firm refusal he seemed to feel sure was coming.
She nodded. “You are lucky,” she said, “to have had your bike run over by someone so understanding and so generous.”
Matt smiled from ear to ear as he threw a leg over the bike. It was the first free, open smile she’d seen on his face in a year. He started to thank Jake and couldn’t. He tried three different times, but the words refused to string together with any kind of coherence.
“Go,” Jake said finally. “Be careful at first, though, just to make sure everything’s all right.”
They all watched as he did a careful circuit of the yard, then a faster, more complicated one. Then Matt shouted gleefully and headed down the drive to the road. “I’m gonna do the loop!” he called. “Be right back.”
Christy and David ran to the fence to watch him.
“The loop?” Jake asked.
“A road around the woods that leads back here.” She looked up into his brown eyes and saw satisfaction there. Making her son happy had made him happy. It was difficult to remain angry with him under those circumstances. “Thank you, Mr. Marshack. He hasn’t been this thrilled about anything since...well, in a long time.”
“It was my pleasure,” he said. “And I have something else to tell you.”
“What’s that?”
Before he could reply, there was a squeal from Renee, who was hanging from the side of the pickup. Mildred had a mouthful of her hair.
With an exasperated groan, Britt ran to the truck. Renee dangled helplessly, giggling and shrieking. Jake supported her while Britt tried to ease her hair from Mildred’s mouth. The goat nibbled at Britt’s hand as she pulled gently.
Finally freed, Renee turned into Jake’s arms, wrapping hers around his neck. “Hi,” she said warmly, making no effort to get down. “You’re back.”
“Yes.” She looked like her mother, he thought, with something in her smile that tugged at him the way Britt’s did. There was openness in it, and a touching need.
“Did you bring the goat?”
“No, your mom did.”
“How come?”
“Because we’re going to make yogurt from Mildred’s milk,” Britt explained, stepping around a mud puddle. Taking Mildred’s lead in one hand and opening the tailgate with the other, she added, “And use it in my cheesecake.”
“Why?”
“Because it’ll be lower in calories.”
“Why?”
“Because there’s less butterfat in goat’s milk.”
“Why?”
Jake admired Britt’s patient answers to Renee’s favorite question. But she was distracted now by Mildred’s refusal to come to the back of the truck. Apparently deciding that the neglect of the past few moments didn’t bode well for a stay of any duration in this place, Mildred refused to budge.
Britt climbed lightly into the truck and, putting a shoulder to Mildred’s rear, pushed until she reached the rear edge. “Mr. Marshack,” she said breathlessly, “would you grab her collar so she doesn’t back away while I jump out?”
Jake put Renee down and complied. The goat looked at him with resentful amber eyes. Britt leaped down and wrapped her arms around Mildred’s four legs. Mildred baaed unhappily.
Jake put a halting hand on Britt’s shoulder. “What are you doing?” he demanded.
Surprised by his tone and a little annoyed with his interference, she replied over her shoulder, “Lifting her down. Get out of the way.”
“You’ll hurt yourself,” he said, pulling off his suit coat.
Holding Mildred’s collar, Britt straightened and looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “Mr. Marshack, I carry fifty-pound bags of grain, heavy bales of hay, even Renee....”
Ignoring her, Jake pushed her aside, wrapped his arms around the goat and lifted. Mildred stood quietly in his arms long enough to give him a false sense of security, then began to struggle wildly as he lowered her to the ground. He held fast, afraid a sudden drop might break a spindly leg.
Determined to break free, Mildred pitched forward. Jake overbalanced and they landed together in a shallow but messy mud puddle.
Britt caught Mildred’s tether before she could prance away and handed it to Renee, who was giggling uproariously. Then she hunkered down beside Jake and considered him, elbows on her knees. Holding back the laughter was choking her.
“I could have done that,” she said, “And without getting muddy.”
The impulse to yank Britt down beside him was overwhelming. Had Renee not been standing there, he might have done it. Mud squished through his clothes and he felt splashes of it on his face.
“You’re walking a fine line, Mrs. Hansen,” he warned quietly, fighting his own urge to laugh. “A sympathetic hand up would be appreciated.”
She straightened to her feet and offered her hand, still biting her bottom lip. “I told you I was perfectly capable of—”
“What can I say?” he groaned, taking her hand and using it only for balance as he pushed himself to his feet. “I was born and bred in Chicago—as a gentleman, I might add. I had this foolish, chivalrous notion that a woman shouldn’t have to lift a goat.”
“Farm women aren’t like city women,” she said, grimacing as she examined the mud covering most of the back of his elegant suit. “You’re a mess, Mr. Marshack. You’d better come inside.”
He stopped as she tried to lead him toward the house.
“Considering I’ve humiliated myself on your behalf,” he said, “do you think you could call me Jake?”
She
