Lone Pine Bride (The Brides of Lone Pine #1)(46)

“No, but I’m sure....” Hannah paused and stroked the horse. “What’s her name?”

“Charlotte.”

“I’m sure Charlotte can jump a fence. Lead on, sir. We have work to do.”

Seth smiled widely, they tapped the horses and cantered away from the barn and the house. Hannah speeded up as the fence came into view, Seth did the same and they both went over it together. A wonderful feeling, because she hadn’t ridden for weeks.

“You really do know how to ride.” Seth called across to her from where his horse galloped beside her.

“I learnt when I was young. We didn’t have any horses ourselves but there were stables nearby.”

“You must be very rich,” Seth said.

“My father is. Like I said before, I have some money but it was left to me by my great grandparents.”

“I have enough to keep a wife,” Seth said. “Though not a lot.”

“As long as there is enough,” Hannah replied. “Shall we have a race?”

“I’ll easily win.”

“We’ll see about that.” But he did not forge ahead in the way she expected him to do and she rather felt it was on purpose. She looked around while they rode. There were quite a few more trees down, she noticed, and quite a bit of rubble in some places. She wasn’t sure if she imagined it but it seemed a bit more bleak than yesterday. There had been quite a few aftershocks and a large rock she saw the day before which sat on a rise was now resting on the flat.

When they reached the farm the house seemed to be more of a pile of rubble than when they left it. Maybe because of the tremors, Seth said, and really it was safer that way because when they started moving the bricks there would be no danger of falling debris. They circled the house, went to the barn and the cows were obviously more than ready to be milked. Seth went for the equipment and Hannah watched him.

She was a quick learner, Seth said when Hannah started to milk after he instructed her concerning what she should do, and she found the task surprisingly acceptable. She would never have done it at home, she knew, but then she wouldn’t have done a lot of things she was doing now. They collected eggs, checked all the animals and fed them and Seth once again circled the barn to make sure it was sound.

“Is it safe?” Hannah asked from where she was laying the eggs neatly in a basket.

“Yes, it’s safe.” He walked over to crouch beside her where she sat on the ground. “That’s very artistic.”

“It is, isn’t it? Flowers would be nice in a vase.”

“I never had one,” he said. “I used my shaving mug.”

“I know. My father and brother have similar ones.”

Seth screwed his nose. “I thought it might look like a vase.”

“It doesn’t.” And if it was for her, which it was, it should look downright ugly.

“You’re very outspoken,” Seth said.

“Is that bad?” she asked, standing and beginning to circle the barn.

“It’s nice.” He walked after her. “What are you looking for?”

“Something to use for a vase. I want to put flowers in it and make the place look a bit homely for them. Everything has been so traumatic, both for Monica and Wilfred and also for the children.”

“That will be a nice touch. You see what you can find and I’ll start clearing hay to the side. I’ll actually put it in the next division, which I must do for us tonight. I could smell it every time I woke.”

“Good idea. When you’ve finished we’ll see what else needs doing.”

Hannah found a container which she felt would do. It was a beer mug, Seth told her, and there were a few. But they hadn’t been used for beer, he said, sniffing one of them. It smelt more like apple.

“Can’t you get apple wine?” she asked.

“Yes, but Wilfred doesn’t make or sell wine. He does sell apple juice because I’ve had some from him. I’ll get some water from the well, which is something I should have checked.”

Hannah followed him to the well and when they looked down their heads were very close. Somehow it made her feel she couldn’t breathe which, of course, was ridiculous because she could. Seth pronounced it safe, drew up some water and Hannah picked flowers from the garden which were amazingly healthy looking.

She took them in, he filled the mug and she stood back. “You arrange them,” she said.

“I don’t have the women’s touch,” he replied.

“You did yours beautifully. Flower arranging is not just for women.”

“The first time I put them in I just pushed them together,” he said. “But then I remembered how my mother put the tall ones at the back, which encouraged me to produce the work of art you saw.”

“Work of art,” she repeated.

“Work of art.”

He grinned and began to put the flowers in carefully. “You said it was artistic.”

“It was and you’re very modest. I’ll just oversee your efforts and then we can move the hay together.”

“Together,” he repeated, bending over his task. “That’s a nice word.”

“It is. That back bit of greenery needs to be moved to the right the tiniest fraction.”