Page 61 of His Tenth Dance

As he stood there and watched, another truck pulled up, and Tucker, Bobbie Jo, and Tarr spilled out of it. Tarr turned back and got down a dog that Hunter had never seen before, but he figured,What’s one more mouth to feed?

Steele and his girlfriend had joined the party, and Mission currently had his arm around Kristie and was saying somethingwith his mouth close to her ear. She laughed, and Mission smiled.

Hunter’s heart continued to fill, and fill, and fill with love and joy and gratitude for these people who came to his farm and were part of his life.

He noticed Deacon moving over next to a brunette—one of the counselors whose name Hunter couldn’t remember in that moment. He said something to her, and she looked like a scared rabbit about to bolt, but she nodded. He did too, and then moved through the crowd, very much the politician, going around to say hello to everyone.

As he should,Hunter said to himself.After all, he owns this farm.

With that, he went back inside and hurried down the hall to show Molly all the people who’d come to celebrate the Fourth of July with them that year.

She gushed over the pregnant pictures of Lindsay and the news of Britt and Lars’s forthcoming baby as well. She knew exactly who Steele was dating—a woman named Hazel Monson—and when Hunter pointed to who Deacon was standing next to, she said, “That’s Judy Foster.”

Molly sighed and pushed her hair back. She hadn’t gotten out of bed yet, and Hunter would keep her there as long as he could. “He told me she’s having a hard time right now, and that he would keep an eye on her and report anything to me.”

“Oh,” Hunter said. “I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah. And your daddy just texted.”

Hunter took his phone back and looked at the message from his father.We wish we could be there so much. But remember, we’re always under the same sky, being watched over by the same God.

Hunter didn’t know why, but tears pricked his eyes. When he’d first gone away to college in Massachusetts, he’d been solonely. His daddy had always told him,We’re under the same sky, in the care of the same God. You’ll be all right.

He hadn’t said that in many years, but tonight, it was exactly the reminder Hunter needed. So he sent a text back to his daddy, telling him just that.

Then he helped Molly out of bed, carefully checking her back and ribs and tailbone the way he did every day when he got her up from her nap. “It’s actually looking really good, sweetheart,” he said. “That deep bruising is gone on your ribs.”

“You know, I feel a lot better,” she said. “Than even I did earlier today.”

“We’re still going to take it slow,” he said, as he let her exit the bedroom first.

“Right,” she said. “But if you can get me into a chair in the back row, I bet I can sit out there for a half-hour.”

That was twenty minutes longer than Hunter thought she should, but he would keep an eye on her and watch for any signs of exhaustion or distress.

Oh, and he’d set a timer, because he wanted his wife to get better as fast as possible, and he believed God would bless both of their efforts in her recovery.

So ten minutes went on the timer, and then Hunter would enlist the help of his sister or cousin to get Molly back in the house.

twenty

“But you’re going to submit the application this week, right?” Mission raised his bottle of Dr. Pepper to his lips and took a casual sip so Kristie wouldn’t think he was pressuring her.

But he was totally pressuring her to turn in the paperwork so she could enter the King Arthur Baking Company contest that was part of the Colorado State Fair.

He wouldn’t even know about it if she hadn’t told him, and the application window had been open for two or three weeks now.

“I just need to finalize which dessert I’m going to make,” Kristie said. She scooped up another bite of sweet pea salad and popped it into her mouth. “You never told me which one you thought I should do.”

No, Mission hadn’t. The only thing he knew about baking and desserts was that he liked them. Fruit pie, chocolate pie, cookies, brownies, tarts, ice cream—Mission liked it all.

So whether Kristie made a cake with a fancy name liketortewith a bunch of other modifying flavor words, or if she made an apple crisp, he didn’t care.

“I don’t know,” he said. “That’s why I didn’t answer that particular text.”

She got to her feet, leaving the space next to him empty. He’d taken a spot on a long wooden bench in the second row back from the fire. “I need another indoor s’more. Do you want anything?”

“I’m good,” he said. “There’s room at the fire for hamburgers now. You want me to make you one of those?”

---