thought you were an auctioneer.”
“My bruders are all up in my business.”
“Aggravating.”
“But it’s my mamm that is pushing me over the edge.”
Olivia Mae knew that his mother was a sweet, if concerned, woman. After all, they’d had a good long talk on Monday, when Olivia Mae had taken over a blanket for Sarah’s child. The baby wasn’t due for another four months, so it had been perhaps obvious that she was making up a reason to visit, but Sarah had been thrilled with the knitted receiving blanket—yellow and green, made from Olivia Mae’s own wool, and with a small sheep motif running across the edge.
Of course, she’d picked a morning when she was sure Noah would be at the auction house, and was it her fault that his mother, Erika, had brought up finding a match for Noah? Olivia Mae thought it was a completely natural concern. She might have suggested that Erika make a deal with Noah.
“You’re awfully quiet over there,” Noah said.
“Am I?”
“Where do sheep take a bath?”
“Let me guess...”
“In a ba-a-athtub,” they said together.
She really did need to get him to focus or they’d be here all day. And while his jokes were cute, she had to see to Daddi and Mammi soon. “You were telling me about your mamm.”
“She offered me a deal.”
“Did she, now?”
“Her deal, or suggestion, is that I give you three chances.”
“Excuse me?”
“Three chances to...you know.” He twirled his finger in a circle. “Do what you do.”
When she only raised her eyebrows, he laughed. “It’s like you need to hear me say it.”
“I do need to hear you say it. I can’t read your mind.”
“Mamm suggested that if I give you three chances to find me a suitable girl, which I guess you’d be happy to do—”
“Of course I would.”
“And if by some chance those three girls don’t work out—”
“No reason why one of them wouldn’t.”
“Then she and Dat will leave me alone.”
“Leave you alone to—”
“Live my life in peace.” This last sentence he practically growled.
Olivia Mae scratched the ewe closest to her between the ears, made her way out of the gate, being careful to latch it securely behind her, and finally turned her attention to Noah.
“I’m not sure that will work.”
“What?”
“It sounds as if you’re being coerced.”
“Coerced? Who uses words like that? Did you read them in a book?”
“What book?”
“I don’t know what book. I suppose you read Englisch romances. That’s why you’re so keen on this whole true-love business.”
“I will admit to having a few sheep magazines as well as some books of knitting patterns. I don’t have a lot of time for reading, though I do enjoy it when I have the rare hour to myself. I might have read a novel or two last winter when the weather was too bad to accomplish any work outside.”
“Look, I’m not being coerced. I’m being worn down.”
“Is there a difference?”
“I don’t know.”
The look on his face was so miserable that Olivia Mae couldn’t help but feel a little pity for him.
“Nice sorrel,” she said, walking up to the reddish-brown mare and allowing it to smell her. She then reached into her pocket for a carrot. “What’s her name?”
“Snickers—like the candy bar.”
She scratched the mare between her ears, causing it to nicker softly.
“Do you do that a lot?”
“What?”
“Take care of things—sheep, horses, people.”
He’d stepped closer and she could smell the soap he’d used, and other things probably from the auction house—old wood and leather and some kind of oil. What was that like? To spend your day selling off people’s memories? Maybe she was thinking of it wrongly. Maybe what he did was the ultimate recycling—making old things new again. She looked up at him and smiled, then took a step back.
“What did you mean when you said you’re not sure it will work? Would I be such a challenge for you to match up?”
“Most people come to me wanting to find a suitable husband or wife.”
“Ya.”
“You’re practically saying you hope it won’t work.”
The smile on his face grew. She hadn’t known Noah Graber long, but already she knew him well enough to worry when he smiled that way. A girl could fall for that kind of charm, and she made it a point not to harbor romantic feelings about someone she was trying to match.
“You don’t think you can do it.”
“What?” Her voice came out like a screech owl. She smoothed down her apron and lowered her voice. “Why would you say that?”
“I’m too big a challenge for you.”
“Oh, please. I’ve matched worse—” She almost said misfits. “I’ve matched more stubborn bachelors than you.”
“Is that so?”
“It is.”
“But younger, I’ll bet.”
“Matched a thirty-two-year-old last fall.”
“Widower?”
“I don’t see what difference that makes.” She did. Of course she did. The widower had wanted a wife. He was desperately lonely, struggling to raise five children on his own and willing to do whatever she suggested. No need to share all of those details with Noah Graber, though.
“Clearly this is what your mamm wants—”
“And my dat, my bruders, my sisters-in-law—even the bishop.”
