Page 31 of The Wedding Ranch
“She and Dad took off to see the country. Sold the house and bought themselves a fancy RV. Thing is as big as a cotton baler. I get postcards. Sometimes they stay in one place for a few weeks. Mostly I think they are letting life lead them to the next adventure.”
“That sounds amazing.” She tossed her hair back. “There are so many beautiful places I’ve never visited. I bet it’s wonderful.”
He liked the way her dark hair waved this way and that. “For them maybe. I couldn’t do it.”
“Honestly, as awesome as it sounds it’s probably not for me either. I’d never be brave enough to do that.” Her brows pulled together. “I’m kind of a creature of habit. I like to know where I am and what I’m going to be doing.”
“I’m with you on that,” he said. “And tradition. I like to do things that I know make me happy. Those are what should become tradition. Right?”
“Yes. And don’t repeat the things that don’t bring joy.” She seemed pleased on their meeting of the minds.
She admired the quilts, reading the information about each one. She ran her fingers across fabric in muted greens and blues. “I love this one. It would go perfectly in my house.”
“I like the green. It’s a different shade.”
She snickered. “Not like John Deere green, huh?”
“Nothing wrong with John Deere green.”
“Not if you’re a tractor,” she teased. “This is more of a sage. My house is about this shade. It attracted me instantly.”
“You know, most of these quilts will be for sale this Sunday. I mean, if you think you might be interested.”
“Really?” She stepped closer to the quilt. Each stitch was so precise that if she hadn’t read the card she’d never have guessed it was hand-stitched. She liked the way the top stitching left the fabric in puffy tufts along the pattern. She traced the stitches with her fingertip. “Look how intricate the continuous swooping flourish is on this one. It’s like they tried to copy the path of a bumblebee’s flight on a spring day.”
“That was rather poetic. You sure you don’t know something about quilting?” He stared at her. One moment she was trading snippy banter with him, the next she spoke as delicate as a feather.
She dipped her head as if she hadn’t realized she’d uttered those words out loud. “No, but I know a lot about patterns and color. I was an art major. I work in marketing in the design area.”
“Which explains how you created the logo on that shirt.” He twisted the tag on the quilt to see who had crafted that one. “Patsy Faber. I’m sure you can negotiate a deal on this one. She’s been sewing quilts for years. She’s one of Mom’s close friends. She’ll definitely be here on Sunday after church.”
“That would be wonderful.” She pointed to the quilt. “I’m coming back for that quilt.”
“I’ll introduce you two.”
“Thanks. Oh, gosh. I’m sorry, I’m sure this isn’t your idea of a good time. I can come back and stroll through this stuff another day. Let’s make those birdhouses.”
He pointed toward the far side of the building and they walked together.
There was no one in the booth, but the tools and supplies were still sitting out. “Come on.” He pulled a metal chair out for her. He picked up two stacks of precut wood, handing her one as he took the seat at the head of the table to her right.
“Are you sure we’re not going to get into trouble for making ourselves at home like this?” She leaned in. “Those people over there are looking at us.”
“They’re just enjoying the show.”
“If we get arrested, you are posting my bail.” She wagged a finger in his direction. “Got it?”
“Welcome to Leafland County, where anyone can build a birdhouse without getting arrested.” He lifted two pieces of wood and positioned them. “Like this.”
She followed his lead, lining up the edges, gluing and clamping them before nailing them together.
They worked quietly. He liked that she wasn’t the type to fill every quiet moment with words—talking just to talk. He valued comfortable silence. Each step of the way there were nods and smiles as they built the birdhouses. She followed direction well.
“Now for the roof. We have old license plates that can be bent to create the pitch or there’s live-edge wood. What’s your pleasure?”
“What’s live-edge wood?”
“They still have bark on one side.”
