Chapter Eight
Seth wiped the sweatfrom his brow as he dug his shovel into the earth. Brenda knelt beside him, her hands deep in the dirt as she planted peas. The sun bore down on them. “Why is it so hot still?” Brenda asked. “It’s halfway through September!”
Seth smiled. “Spoken like a true Yankee. You’re in Texas now.”
“Pass me that watering can, would you?” Brenda asked without looking up, knowing Seth would have it ready.
“Here you go,” he responded, handing it over.
“Looks like we’ll have a good harvest at this rate,” she remarked. The idea of planting in late September was foreign to her, but she’d heard there were plants that would be fine, so she was going to try it.
“Thanks to your green thumb,” Seth acknowledged. “These plants are fairing better than I would’ve managed alone.” He laughed. “Not that I kept a kitchen garden before you got here. I just ate with the men.”
Brenda shrugged lightly. “We all have our strengths. Yours is making sure this place doesn’t fall apart.”
“Speaking of which,” Brenda said, brushing a strand of hair from her face, “Mrs. Dailey mentioned there’s a church social this evening. Thought it might be nice to attend, see some friendly faces.”
Seth’s hand paused mid-dig. He glanced up at her, the idea not quite aligning with his vision of an ideal evening. “A social, huh?”
“Come on, it’ll be fun. Besides, we could use a break from the ranch.” Her green eyes sparkled with mischief. “And I hear Amy baked four pies for the occasion.”
He chuckled, knowing full well Brenda’s penchant for pie. “I suppose we could spare a few hours.”
“Is that a ‘yes’ I hear, Mr. Clinkinbeard?” She arched an eyebrow playfully.
“All right,” Seth conceded with a mock sigh, standing and dusting off his hands. “You win. Let’s go to that social.”
Brenda’s smile bloomed like the flowers around them. “Great! It’s settled then.” It had been all she could do to convince him to spend the day helping her in the garden, and now he was agreeing to a social. She couldn’t wait. He certainly was trying, and she appreciated that.
“Anything to see you smile,” he murmured.
*****
BRENDA STOOD BEFOREher mirror, fiddling with the collar of her blouse. The fabric was simple, but clean and carefully pressed—an effort not lost on her as she carefully swept her hair up into a new style Cassandra had shown her.
“Could you help me with this?” she called out, struggling with a hairpin that seemed to have a mind of its own.
