Page 41 of Cherished Lands
"Instead," Mom continued, "he convinced Chase to help him. They spent an entire afternoon trying to figure out how to smoosh the apples."
Tessa leaned forward, clearly delighted. "How'd that go?"
"Well, first they tried throwing them against the barn wall. When that didn't work, they tried running them over with their bikes."
Dad chuckled and shook his head. "The poor apples just rolled away."
"The best part," Mom said, barely containing her laughter, "was when they decided to use Grandpa's old bowling ball."
"Oh no!" Tessa's hand flew to her mouth.
"Oh yes," I muttered, reaching for my wine glass.
"The bowling ball missed the apples entirely and rolled straight into Old Man Henderson's prize chicken." Mom was full-on crying with laughter now. "The poor thing had wandered into our barn before all the commotion went down. It was so startled it flew straight up into the rafters and wouldn't come down for three days!"
Tessa threw her head and laughed. The sound did something warm and disconcerting to my insides. I told myself it was the wine.
"After all that destruction," Dad said, "they managed to produce exactly one cup of what they called cider. It was basically just muddy apple chunks with leaves in it."
"And you drank it?" Tessa asked, dabbing at her eyes.
"Course I did." Dad shrugged. "My boys made it."
My face heated up, but I couldn't help smiling at the memory. "I was very proud of that cup of chunky apple juice."
"So what you're telling me"— Tessa's voice took on a teasing tone as she turned toward me —"is that my new husband has always been this determined about apples?"
The word 'husband' set my head spinning in a way that had nothing to do with wine. Mom and Dad exchanged knowing looks. I pretended not to notice.
"Well," I said, meeting Tessa's gaze, "some things are worth being determined about."
She bit her lower lip and looked away, clearly catching my double meaning.
Mom cleared her throat. "Who's ready for pie?"
"No pie for me." I drained my glass and stood up. "Gotta couple things I need to work on in the barn. I'll see ya later."
"Okay, sweetie." Mom rose from her chair the same time I did and gave me one of those hugs only your mother can give you—the kind that gives you peace and comfort, and lets you know that she sees straight through whatever shenanigans you're trying to pull. "Love you."
"Love you too, Mom."
"I'll meet ya out there in a bit," Dad said. "I'm havin' pie."
"No problem." I turned to look atmy wife.She was still sitting at the table, nursing her wine. "Tessa," I said with a nod.
She didn't say a word, but I swore she looked a little sad to see me go.
It waslate by the time I got back to my house.
I'd spent the better part of the night whittling aimlessly. I'd found some wood lying around from a tree we'd taken down in the fall. Dad took one look at me and hightailed it out of the barn. Probably spent the rest of the evening playing euchre on his computer.
No bother to me. I worked with my hands for hours, hoping to ease some of the lingering tension from the day.
I wasn't entirely successful.
When I reached my porch, I paused.
Boots. Women's boots—tan and slate blue Tecovas cowgirl boots that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe.
