18. Jacob
Jacob
Hay dust clung to my sweat until I was encased in an itchy crust. By supper, I wanted nothing more than a plunge in the lake, cold or not.
Once the table was cleared, I asked, “Who’s up for the lake?”
The girls sprang up at once—no convincing required.
Jo said, “Come on, Vee. Walk with us to the cove. It’s not far. We can dip our feet in the water.”
“And I’ll catch some fish,” Beth said. “I’m the best fisherman ever. I can teach you. Maybe you’re a fisherman too and it’ll bring back your memories.”
We set off along the wagon path toward the lake. Jensen’s Hill rose steeply to our right, and off to the left, the land dropped to a twisting creek.
Erik led the way with the canteens and fishing poles, and Jo followed close behind, swinging a small basket.
I carried the towels and blankets rolled into a bundle.
Vee was still unsteady on her feet, or maybe it was just the uneven path.
When she stumbled, I shifted the bundle to one arm and offered her the other.
Like one of those proper gentlemen in Jo’s books, escorting a lovely lady through the countryside.
Beth skipped along beside us with the fishing net propped over her shoulder, pointing out everything she found interesting.
“That’s our east hay shed and the best place to cross the creek.
The sides are close enough to jump. I’ve been doing it since I was four.
Jake says I’m part frog. The secret is a running start. But watch out if it’s flooded.”
“Thanks for the advice,” Vee said.
Beth pointed to the single-story farmhouse across the creek, its porch roof sagging at one corner.
“That’s the Lund place. Only old Mr. Lund lives there now.
His wife died of a fever, and they got no kids.
He and Pa used to argue over the land behind our barn, but not anymore.
Jake says the land’s no good for farming, so why fight?
And Pa says Mr. Lund has had more than his share of ‘mis-for-tune,’ so we ought to be neighborly. ”
As Beth rambled on, I was acutely aware of Vee’s light touch on my arm.
The top of her head reached my chin, and her hair glinted coppery brown in the sunlight.
Only yesterday, I’d brushed the hair from her unconscious face.
My fingers twitched at the memory—silky as the glassy-smooth surface of the lake on a still summer morning.
Vee smiled at Beth’s chatter, asking questions until Beth finally dashed ahead to join Jo and Erik.
Vee and I fell into an easy discussion about alfalfa, of all things.
She asked thoughtful questions and seemed genuinely interested.
We rounded the hill, and the edge of the alfalfa field came into view.
Her steps slowed, then stopped. Was she tired?
I checked her face. Pale, but no paler than earlier.
She clutched my arm and stared past me. “Is that the place?”
I followed her gaze down the southwest fork of the wagon path as it bent toward the train tracks, which had come into view. To the right lay the field I’d worked in all day, tidy rows of cut alfalfa curing in the sun. The earthy scent of fresh-cut hay hung in the air.
“You can’t see it from here,” I said. “I found you farther around the hill.”
She tilted her head back to scrutinize the hill, then glanced toward the farmhouse now hidden behind us. Her green eyes met mine for a long moment before drifting down the length of my body. Sizing me up like a horse-trader.
I shifted my feet and looked away. When I dared another glance, she was still studying me.
“Why did you carry me over the hill? Why not come around this way?”
“This way is at least four times as long. Going over was faster.”
Comet appeared at my feet and rolled over. I squatted low to give him a belly rub. Good boy. I welcomed the excuse to break the uncomfortable connection between her hand and my arm.
Ahead, the others moved down the left fork toward the lake.
Comet shot off again toward the creek, abandoning me to the inquisition.
I rose.
Under my breath, I said, “In stories, the damsel in distress doesn’t criticize her rescuer or second-guess his choices.” Then I strode forward without offering her my arm, fully aware I was being childish.
I’d taken only a few steps when she called, “Jacob, wait,” and hurried to catch up.
Hearing her rich voice say my name stopped me cold, though I didn’t turn.
She bustled around to stand in front of me, hands on her hips, blocking the path.
I fought the urge to mimic her stance and stubbornly held her gaze.
A dimple popped into sight on her cheek, unfairly adorable when I was irritated. Color rose on her cheeks.
The corner of my lip twitched.
She leaned in and said slowly, “You’re right. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be critical. It’s just…” She motioned to the hill beside us. “It’s so incredibly steep and tall. I wouldn’t have thought it possible. Not that you’re not strong. I mean, you’re strong, I’m sure…” Her eyes flicked to my chest.
“You think I made a risky choice? That it might’ve been too much for me?” My pride revolted. And before my better judgment had any say in the matter, I scooped her into my arms and marched straight up the steepest part of the hill.
Her loud, surprised squawk was deeply satisfying. She was warm, soft, and curvy in my arms, and I enjoyed the sensation until she began pummeling me with her open palm. “Put me down. Blast! I believe you. You made your point. Now, put me down. Jacob…”
Hard to believe, but I’d never carried a woman in my arms before yesterday.
Now, I seemed to be making a habit of it, an unlikely new hobby.
Probably meant I’d lost my mind. Putting down a conscious, indignant woman was the tricky part.
Plopping her flat on her back seemed unwise.
Instead, I released her legs while keeping her upper body against my chest to prevent her from tumbling.
At least, that was how I explained it to myself.
She teetered, then found her footing. Balanced above me on the slope, the top of her head was at my eye level.
Her sharp exhale brushed my neck and raised the fine hairs. I had the strange sensation that every hair on my body strained toward her. Mercy.
She stopped her assault, but her palm still pressed firmly to my chest.
Right. Not awkward at all. I stepped backward down the incline, and found myself staring straight at her lips—full, sweet lips parted in what? Shock? Indignation? Horror?
Her lips were parted in laughter.
She broke the tension with a laugh that started deep in her chest, shook her whole body, and rolled out over us. It caught me up and swept me along until my own deep, unrestrained belly laugh mingled with hers. Turns out I hadn’t forgotten how to laugh after all.
Feet back on solid ground, her hand still on my chest, she swatted my arm and called me a maniac. But she said it with a smile. I didn’t argue, for what was there to say? I had no defense.
I offered her my arm, and we walked down the slope and back onto the path as if we were simply going about a regular day. But it was one surprise after another. I scooped up my bundle from the ground, and we continued the short distance to the cove.
The silence between us hummed—full of amusement and possibility. We reached the lake, and she squeezed my arm before letting go. Or had I imagined it? She joined my sisters at the water’s edge, glanced over her shoulder, and smiled, more with her eyes than her mouth.
I tipped an imaginary hat and was rewarded with a flash of her dimple.