Your Dream And Mine

He nodded. “Why? Is there a problem?”

“I’m surprised, is all. Milt and Mary hadn’t mentioned it.” Thomasina turned toward the house, then glanced back when he didn’t follow. “Are you coming?”

“It’s a little early. I think I’ll just wait here. Will should be along shortly.”

Thomasina nodded and watched him stride around to the back of the truck and let the tailgate down. He carried himself well, his gait smooth, his shoulders thrown back. He could use a haircut, though. And a shave. And he might want to think about keeping his shirts somewhere other than behind the truck seat. It had more wrinkles than poor old Milt.

Trace’s mouth twitched as he oiled his chain saw, and checked the rest of the gear. Milt had been so sick, he hadn’t guessed he had any fun left in him. He’d been wrong. Tommy this and Tommy that. Deliberately leading him to think he had a male nurse.

And there she was, about as female as they came. Round and firm in all the right places, swaying a little as she strolled toward the house. Nothing provocative, just graceful and natural, the breeze rippling her skirt and her long dark hair. A sweet scent trailed after her. In the barn, milking. He regretted calling her on it. She was right to be careful, for her own sake and Milt and Mary’s, too. It was isolated out this way, and though it was private property, the timber acreage and the creek running through the farm attracted hikers and campers and fishermen and canoers, most of whom were friends and neighbors. But not always.

Trace walked around to the cab of the truck, turned the key and checked the time. He had worked second shift with some overtime tacked on and wanted to get the tree down, go home, get a little shut-eye and make the most of his time before he had to head back in for his next shift.

He leaned against the truck door, shoulders bunched, and caught himself patting down his shirt pockets as he watched the road. He’d quit a month ago, but out of habit now and then reached for cigarettes that weren’t there.

Trace started giving Will the countdown. Sometime after lunch, a prospective renter was stopping by, and he wanted to get the porch painted. The renovation of old houses, squeezed in between shifts at the car plant kept him hopping. But it’d pay off one of these days.

Trace reached inside the truck, turned the key in the ignition and dialed in a country station. He yawned and fought the sandman, and toyed with the idea of starting without Will. But the tree was too close to the house to take any chances. He needed a ground man to guide the branches down. Should have told Will to call him when he was ready. Shoulda-coulda-woulda.

The aroma of perking coffee wafted from the house. It smelled good. Almost as good as Milt’s nurse and her armful of flowers.

Chapter Two (#ulink_07ab385b-3005-5237-8a8e-5d9c8b44f3e9)

Coffee perked on the stove as Thomasina let herself in. Hand towels with crocheted tops were buttoned to the knobs of floor-to-ceiling bead-board cupboards. The cow salt-and-pepper shakers matched the cookie jar on the red gingham-covered table. Dated and charming, the kitchen, like the rest of the house was as hospitable as Mary Chambers herself.

Thomasina dropped her flowers beside the white enamel sink. She found the milk-glass vase Milt had specified and was cutting the flower stems to size under running water when Mary came in. Her hair was braided and coiled on her head like a silver garland. Her eyes brightened at the sight of the flowers.

“Special delivery for you,” said Thomasina.

“Heliotrope! I could smell it from the living room!” Mary broke into a wrinkled smile. “Thank you, dear.”

“Thank the milkman.”

Mary laughed. “Once a dairy man, always a dairy man. The coffee’s almost ready. Will you have a cup with me?”

“It smells wonderful, but I better not,” said Thomasina. “I’ll be sweltering once I get home and off to bed. No point in adding caffeine to the mix.”

“Your air-conditioning still isn’t working?” Mary said, “Honey, you’ll have to be more assertive with your landlord if you hope to get any results.”

“I’m taking the pacifist route, and moving,” said Thomasina with a wry grin.

Mary looked up from running water into a copper-bottom sauce pan. “You’ve found something?”

“Maybe. It’s in Liberty Flats.”

“Really? Anyone I know?”

Thomasina wrinkled her nose and admitted, “I didn’t jot his name down, I was so busy asking questions.”

Mary reached for the oatmeal box. “I wonder if he’s married.” She pinched salt into the pan, adding quickly, “Married men make better landlords. They’ve learned how to fix things. On the other hand, if he isn’t married, who knows? He might like to be.”

Thomasina smiled and tucked the last flower into the vase. “You and Milt—the poster kids for matrimonial bliss,” she said, and swept the trimmed stems into the trash.

“You’re a sweetheart,” said Mary, patting her hand. “May you find Mr. Right and live happily ever after.”

“Mr. Right? What’s that got to do with it?”

Mary laughed. “Lord preserve us from Saint Self-Sufficiency!”

“Of course if we’re talking wish trees, I’d adore a man who adored me. So long as he likes kids and has tons of patience, or he’ll be at odds with the other wishes on my tree,” said Thomasina with a cheeky grin. “And speaking of trees, what’s this I hear about the oak in your front yard?”

“The kids think this house needs a deck, and the tree is in the way.” Mary met Thomasina’s eye over the rim of her coffee cup.

“It’s a beauty, though,” said Thomasina.

“Yes,” agreed Mary. “But a deck will be nice, too. It’ll stretch halfway across the front of the house, and wrap around the corner. There’ll be a sliding glass door off the living room and a second door leading right out of the bedroom. It will link up with the brick path to the garden. Will promised to build a ramp to give Milt easy access.”

Suspecting that Mary’s willingness to let them take the tree down was born of a lifetime of putting her loved one’s needs ahead of her own, Thomasina asked, “Have you asked if there’s a way they could spare the tree?”

“And throw a monkey wrench in the works?”

“Stick up for yourself,” quipped Thomasina. “Isn’t that what you were just telling me about the air-conditioning?”

Mary peered at her over the rims of her glasses. “That’s different.”

“Tell you what, I’ll mention to Milt that you’re attached to that tree, and maybe—”

“Please don’t,” Mary cut in. “Milt’s just beginning to get over the kids hiring nursing care against his wishes. I don’t want him getting his back up over this. Promise me you won’t say anything.”

“All right, then, if you’re sure,” said Thomasina, chagrined at alarming her. “Your tree cutter is waiting, by the way.”

“Trace is outside? Why didn’t he come in?”

“I asked. He declined.”

“He did, did he? We’ll see about that!” Mary angled for the front door.

Thomasina folded the pad of time tickets into her pocketbook, slung the strap over her shoulder and started for the bedroom, the vase of flowers in hand.

“I thought I’d give you the flowers so you can give them to Mary in person,” she said as she breezed into Milt’s bedroom. “You’ll get more brownie points that way.”

Milt spread a lap quilt over his lower torso with a hasty fumbling hand. “You ever hear of knocking?”

“I’m sorry. I’ll go out and come in again.”

“I’ve got a better idea,” said Milt. “Go out and keep going.”

Milt was fully clothed beneath the lap robe, so it wasn’t modesty motivating him. That was pretense, anyway, when she’d spent the past few weeks nursing him.