Homeplace by Dorothy Garlock

Author:Dorothy Garlock [GARLOCK, DOROTHY]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
ISBN: 9780759522992
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Published: 2001-04-23T00:00:00+00:00

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Owen was up and building a fire in the cookstove when the rooster flew up onto the fence post and announced the new day. After putting the coffeepot on to boil, he had gone to the barn to check on the mare and the nanny goat. The mare whinnied softly as soon as the light from the lantern reached her. She seemed no nearer to coming to foal than she had the night before. Owen spoke to her, caressed her velvety nose and put a measure of oats in her feedbox.

The goat had rubbed her neck raw trying to get loose from the rope holding her. She was resentful and tried to butt him with her head. He scowled at her and swore. She needed milking, but he would leave that to Gus. The less he had to do with that creature the better.

The rain had stopped sometime during the night, and a warm gentle breeze blew from the south. Owen leaned against the porch post and looked toward the east where a rosy glow was lighting a cloudless sky. The promise of a fine day was in the making. As the ground was too wet for field work, he arranged in his mind the work for the day: fix the hog house, move the sow and her litter out of the barn and make it ready for another sow, build a pen for the goat, grease the windmill, go to the Knutson’s and talk with Esther. The last was a must. He had been relieved of the chore last night because of the rain.

Slipping out of his muddy boots and leaving them on the porch, Owen went silently into the kitchen and paused just inside the door. By the light of the lamp he had left on the kitchen table, he saw Ana the same instant that she saw him. Startled, she stared at him, her mouth forming a silent O. Barefoot, her loose hair hanging down to her hips like a golden waterfall, she stood beside the cookstove in her nightdress, her face flaming.

“I . . . need a bottle for . . . Harry,” she mumbled in confusion.

It was the first time Owen had heard her stammer. She was usually so pale and composed and sure of herself.

“I didn’t mean to startle you. I had to see about the mare.”

“Is the mare all right?” Ana poured water into the milk from the teakettle, snapped the rubber nipple in place, and headed for the door.

“So far.”

“I’ll feed Harry and be back to fix your breakfast.”

Owen sank down on a chair and propped his elbows on the table. Big stupid lummox, he chided himself. Why hadn’t he looked before he came barging in. Catching her in her night clothes had embarrassed the hell out of her. Worst of all he had not been able to look away. His eyes had feasted on the slender form beneath the gown, the glorious hair hanging down her back, and her soft, quivering mouth.

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