The Barefoot Summer(44)

“For me, this is only a summer thing, not a lifetime change. At the end of my vacation time, I’ll put on my high heels and go back to work,” Kate said. “And Amanda’s right. I don’t want my mother making decisions for me, either.”

“What do your shoes have to do with anything?” Jamie asked.

Kate pointed to her toes. “Think about it.”

“Symbolism,” Amanda said with a big grin. “Even if we fight and even if we hate the one who gets the cabin, maybe we will see this as being the summer we shed our fears as well as our shoes?”

Kate yawned again. “And on that philosophical note, this tired woman is going to bed.”





CHAPTER THIRTEEN

When Amanda was bored she baked—cookies and yeast breads were her two specialties. That Wednesday morning she was almost to the point of being so tired of doing nothing that she was ready to go back to Wichita Falls and go to work again. She opened the pantry doors to find all the makings for chocolate chip cookies, peanut butter cookies, and snickerdoodles. In thirty minutes the house smelled like the cinnamon and sugar topping on snickerdoodles and she was stirring up the dough for a double batch of peanut butter.

At noon when Jamie and Gracie got home, the little girl did a happy jig in the middle of the floor when she saw several containers filled with various kinds of cookies. She wrapped her little arms around Amanda’s big belly. “I really do love you. I like made cookies better than them you get at the store.”

“Homemade,” Jamie whispered.

“So do I.” Amanda hugged her back. “After you have lunch, we’ll have some with milk for dessert.”

“Yay.” Gracie clapped her hands.

“Jamie, I would be glad to babysit her some mornings. That way you wouldn’t have to wake her so early and I’d have some company,” Amanda offered.

“Man, you must be lonely.” Jamie laughed.

“Since I was thirteen, I’ve had a job of some kind. I’m not used to time on my hands,” Amanda said.

“Please, Mama! Amanda could teach me how to make made cookies.” Gracie wiggled in anticipation.

“We’ll talk about it later,” Jamie answered. “Right now, we’re going to have sandwiches and tomato soup. But thank you for the offer, Amanda.”

“And then we’ll eat cookies.” Gracie pumped her fist in the air.

“I promise”—Amanda grinned—“that I won’t let her watch a single episode of Sister Wives.”



By midafternoon, dark clouds had begun to gather in the southwest. The weatherman had predicted rain by four, and it looked like he might be right on the nose. Waylon shielded his eyes with his hand and hoped his crew could get what hay was down and baled into the barns before the storm hit. The wind picked up right after three, when Kate drove her last truckload into the barn. The boys unloaded and stacked it while she went to the bathroom.

“Hey, looks like we might have an early supper tonight,” Waylon yelled over the sounds of the first big drops hitting the tin roof.

“I’m going to drive that truck right there as close to my car as I can get it and I’m going home tonight,” she said.

“What’d I do to make you mad?” Waylon teased.

“Not one thing, but I haven’t seen Gracie since Sunday. She leaves before I get up and she’s in bed when I get home. I miss her,” Kate answered.

“And her mother and the other wife?”

“They could leave and never come back. But Gracie is a different matter. I’d give Jamie a million dollars for her if she’d sell her to me.”

Waylon made a big show of sticking his fingers in his ears. “I can’t hear this. That’s human trafficking and against the law.”

Of all the things that Waylon admired about Kate, her compassion topped the list. Well, maybe right after the way she felt in his arms when he kissed her. He’d thought that kind of emotion was only for those crazy love stories that women read.

“Then don’t hear it,” she said as she crawled back into the truck when it was unloaded.

He quickly rounded the front end and got into the passenger’s seat. “I’ll ride back to the house with you. The wind coming off the rain could have some hail behind it. I don’t want to have to run between the hailstones.”

“What happens tomorrow?” she asked.

“With us? With the investigation? With what?”

“The hay fields? There is no us, and you can’t discuss the investigation.”

“This is the second cutting. We’ll wait a few weeks and hope for a third one. You ever driven a tractor?” Waylon asked. “Or walked a fence line?”

“No, but I can learn,” she answered.

“Then if it’s not raining in the morning, show up about eight o’clock and we’ll figure out another job for you,” he said.

“I’ll be here.” She parked the truck next to her car.

Waylon’s gaze caught hers across the seat. “I like working with you.”

“I like working at something that doesn’t require me to think about numbers of barrels, the price of crude, and whether to have enough faith in my geologists to drill in virgin territory.” She smiled.