Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68594 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68594 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
“Like cow shit,” Abby said again. “It’s better than pig shit because of cooties.”
“E. coli,” John corrected gently.
“That’s what I said. Farmers make shit useful. It’s good for the envir-envir… What is it, Farmer John?”
“Environment.”
“Yes. Most people don’t know that, Momma. But us farmers do.”
I tamped down my chuckle and put on a straight face. “You call it manure, Abby. Not cow shit. That can be considered a bad word.”
She scratched her nose. “Like asshole? Farmer John says some of the men in town are assholes and about as useless as pig shit. I mean, manure.” She turned to John. “Is it still manure if it’s pig shit, Farmer John?”
He was looking everywhere but at me, and I knew he was trying not to laugh. “Yes, it is.”
She looked thoughtful. “So, some shit is better than others.”
“That pretty much sums it up.” John made a funny noise, stood, and cleared his throat. “I’m going to go take that shower.”
And like a coward, he hurried down the hall. He barely got the bedroom door shut before I heard him start to laugh.
With a sigh, I sat down and explained to my daughter why some of the things Farmer John muttered needed to be kept at home.
“You don’t use those words in public with strangers and other people, Abby.”
She looked at me as if I were crazy. “I know that, Momma. But we’re at home. And Farmer John says we can be ourselves at home and say what’s on our mind.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “Well, your mind needs to think polite words, young lady.”
She stood. “Farmers have different ways of thinking, Momma. I’m a farmer now. You better become one too so you get it.”
And she walked down the hall.
For a moment, I was in shock. Then I went outside, around the corner, and I laughed.
I decided Farmer John needed a good talking-to.
Dinner was interesting. John looked everywhere but at me, trying not to laugh. I’d given him a fast dressing-down while he’d stood in the shower, the water sluicing over his shoulders and back. He’d continued to soap himself up, trying to look abashed but failing.
“It’s kinda funny, Quinn. No one would take offense here.”
“Not the point.”
“Jesus, she is smart. She said it best. Some shit is better than others.”
“Stop laughing.”
“You wanna come in here and let me apologize?”
“No!”
He grinned. “I’d make you forget about manure.”
I turned and headed back to the kitchen.
But not before reaching in and turning off the hot water.
His yelp of surprise gave me more than a little satisfaction.
Abby prattled on about her day. “Bethy taught me how to karate chop someone,” she said. “Take down a bully.”
John looked impressed. “You need to show me later, Pumpkin.”
“We don’t karate chop people, Abby,” I said, trying to stay patient.
“What if they karate chop me first?”
“We use our words.”
“Well…” John began.
“Our words,” I stressed.
“Yes, your momma is right. Words first, but if they come at you, then you can defend yourself.”
I sighed and changed the subject. “I stopped by the house earlier to get a dress.”
John’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth. He looked guilty. “Oh.”
“The air is fixed?”
“Yeah. Ted found a unit. Put it in today.”
“So we can head home after the weekend.” I looked at Abby. “You must miss your room?”
She shrugged.
“But you picked the paint,” I reminded her.
“I like it here.”
“You liked the house too. With the swing, remember?”
“I guess.”
She pushed away her plate. “Momma, may I be excused?”
“You’re finished?”
“I’m not hungry anymore.”
“Of course.”
She headed down the hall, and I glanced at John. He’d stopped eating as well. “The house was awfully cool for only having that unit put in today, John.”
He balled up his napkin. “Okay, it went in on Tuesday.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because I like having you here. I like coming home, knowing you and Pumpkin will be here. Hearing you laugh. Playing with her. Sleeping beside you. I didn’t want you to go yet.” He indicated the direction Abby had headed in. “I don’t think she wants to go either.”
“We have to go back eventually.”
He met my eyes. “Why?” he challenged.
“That’s our new home.”
“This can be your new home. Here. With me. I can paint her room pink. Move her swing. She likes it here. She feels safe. You like it here.”
“Of course I like it here, but that’s not the point.”
“What is?”
“John,” I said gently. “We’re so new. You really want to rush into moving in together?”
His eyes never left mine. “Yes.”
“Wow,” I mouthed, shocked. “I thought we were going to take it slow and make sure we’re ready.”
“I am ready. Move in with me.”
I opened my mouth to tell him no, but the words didn’t come out. My common sense told me to say it. Convince him it was too soon and too much.
But my heart was rejoicing. The thought of living here all the time made me want to yell the word yes and launch myself at him. Stay here—with him. Be part of his family. Have this be my home.