Page 25 of What Remains True
“All in a day’s work. Looks worse than it is this time.” He winced.
“I can’t imagine it being worse.” She pressed her hand across her mouth.
“I’m fine.” He applied pressure to that area.
“I’m sorry. I was just playing around. What can I do?”
“Don’t apologize. It was all in good fun. It’s nothing.”
“We didn’t have to do this today. I’m so sorry. Really, this can wait.”
“No, I’m not one to lay around. Helping you make pies is way easier on me than working the horses, and that’s what I’d be doing if you weren’t here.”
He could tell she was holding back a lecture. Women were like that—thought they knew what was good for him. But he was a cowboy, and that put him in a whole other category that some would never understand.
After several more minutes of lively banter between them, the timer went off. “Let me get that,” she said as she walked over to the oven to take out the pie.
He watched her remove the smaller pie pan and move it to the side, surprised she’d held whatever it was that was on her mind to herself so long.
“So, now we just pour the filling in?” she asked.
“That’s it.”
She dumped the gooey rich-red mixture into the crust.
He grabbed a spatula and gave the bowl a quick sweep to get the rest while she held it. “Now put your lattice on top and then back in the oven,” he said.
She lifted each soft piece of dough one by one, trying to line them up just right, then crossing the other way. Finally, she pinched the criss-crossed slices to the bottom crust, likehe’d shown her. With a pot holder in each hand, she slowly moved the pie back into the oven. “For how long?”
“About forty minutes. When the lattice is golden brown and the pie has bubbled up nice, you’ll know it’s ready.”
She closed the oven door and brushed her hands on the dish towel. “I guess it’s a good thing you’re married to the rodeo,” she finally said. “I think it would be really hard on someone who loved you to watch that.”
At least she hadn’t told him he shouldn’t do it. “Some of the guys are married. I just find it easier not to have to worry about worrying someone.”
“So, you recognize how frightening it is to someone else?”
“Definitely.” The fear in his mother’s eyes was something he’d never forget. Even just talking about it with her broke his heart. He’d had plenty of good women give him ultimatums over the years, and the rodeo always won. “But this is who I am. It’s what I love.”
“Well, I can respect that. At least you aren’t subjecting anyone else to it.” Her voice softened. “That would be really unfair to ask someone to watch you face death. It’s crazy, but I’m not here to judge you.”
“Thank you.” A serious moment hung there between them. She must’ve felt it, too, because she took a step back, then lifted her arms out to the side in a dramatic shrug.
“I just hope our pies turn out a little better thanyoudid that last go-round,” she teased.
“Funny.” He lifted a hefty fingersful of flour and flipped it in her direction.
Her mouth dropped wide. “You did not just do that.” She sputtered flour from her lips and brushed her fingers through her hair, trying to do damage control, but mostly it just spread the white stuff more.
“Any other smart comments to make?” he dared.
She pulled her hands to her hips. “Maybe.” She grabbed for a handful of flour, but he juked before she could take aim. He grabbed her and twirled her into him, a dance move he’d done a million times that always made the girls swoon.
She stood there, her lips parted, looking surprised.
He twirled her back out, mostly to keep from kissing her.
She giggled as she caught her footing.
