Valerie Hansen - The Wedding Arbor

“Me?”

“You’re the one who wants hot coffee, remember?” He snatched his recently used mug off the sink and dunked it in the dishwater before she could take notice. He’d brewed instant coffee in the microwave just before cutting the power. It was a wonder she hadn’t smelled the tantalizing aroma.

Sara was a bright woman. Adam figured she’d realize he was teasing long before she made the trek to the shed. After all, he was washing the dishes in hot water. And the antique cookstove was propane powered with a manual ignition, so it required no electricity at all. He stifled a smile. Until she woke up all the way, figured out he was kidding, and told him off, it was fun to watch the disgruntled look she was trying to hide. To see the sparks of indignation in her hazel eyes.

“I don’t believe this.” She gave up trying to remain cordial, stomped off to the bathroom, and slammed the door behind her.

It took Sara only a few minutes of private prayer and serious contemplation to convince herself she was being unfair to her host. He had taken her in when she was in dire circumstances and had been as nice as can be since then, give or take the odd wisecrack. If it was dry firewood he needed, she’d get it. Without complaint.

She eased open the door and peeked out. Adam still stood at the sink, his back to her. Samson was nowhere to be seen.

She cast a sad glance at her soggy, ruined sandals. There was no use bothering with shoes. Judging by what she had seen through the bathroom window, the sun was out and the well-worn path to the shed was clear. The trip was a short one. Bare feet would be considerably easier to clean than shoes—if she’d had any others to sacrifice. She’d do this for Adam. Because she owed him that much, and more. And because she needed to make it up to him for grumbling without cause.

The cabin door creaked as she opened it and ducked out. Behind her, she heard Adam shout, “Wait!”

“I’ll just be a minute. Ooh. Ah. Eesh!” Off the porch, Sara danced through the cold, slippery mud.

“Sara! Come here.”

“I will, I will.” Pausing at the woodshed she turned to look back. “How much of this stuff do we need?”

He was sorely tempted to say, “None,” but held his peace. If his guest hadn’t overcome her dour morning mood he didn’t think she’d appreciate his little joke. Might not, anyway. He figured it was best to simply use whatever firewood she brought, rather than confess.

“I’ll bring all I can carry, okay?”

“Okay. Just get in here before you catch pneumonia.”

“Right.” Loading her arms with the smallest diameter logs she could find, Sara started back to Adam. She was three steps from the safety of the dry porch when a bolt of white shot past. It knocked into her left leg. She teetered. Whirled. Spun like a leaf in a whirlwind.

“Aaah!” Unable to regain her balance, Sara felt herself start to fall. All she could think of was keeping the wood dry. She tried to pass it to Adam.

He lunged toward her, hoping to avert the impending calamity. It was far too late. For both of them. He slipped on the bottom step and went sailing through the air, shouting. “Look out!”

Any assistance Adam might have been able to render was thwarted by the jumble of limbs and sticks Sara literally threw his way. One particularly heavy piece nicked his temple, leaving him dazed. When he shook the sense back into his head he was kneeling at the foot of the porch steps in a tangle of bark, raw lumber, and slippery red clay.

Seated opposite, Sara was up to her back pockets in the same mud. “What happened?”

“I think Samson wanted in.”

She shook her hands at arm’s length like a kitten with its paw dipped in the milk bowl. “Ugh. Remind me to give him the right-of-way the next time.”

“No kidding.” Adam tried to subdue his wide grin. He failed. “You should see yourself.”

“You’re no prize, either, mister,” Sara retorted, giggling in spite of herself. She sobered. “What happened to your head?”

“My head?” He gingerly lifted one muddy hand, then decided it would be wiser to not touch the injury until he’d washed.

“It’s bleeding.”

“I’m sure I’ll live.” Adam got cautiously to his feet and held out his hand. “Come on. I owe you a cup of coffee.”

“But, what about building a fire, first?” Clearly, her efforts at gathering wood to stoke the stove had failed.

“We’ll make do.”

Taking his strong hand she let him help her to her feet. She’d expected him to let go as soon as she was upright. He didn’t The sense of safety in his warm, dynamic touch was far more soothing than she’d anticipated.

“You take a shower first,” he said, penitent. “I’ll have coffee waiting when you’re done.”

“You’re probably going to have to lend me more clothes. I’m really sorry about the jeans. I’m afraid they’ll never be the same.”

“Neither will I,” Adam muttered.

Sara gave no indication she’d heard what he said. He was still holding her hand. She loved the sympathetic gesture. It made her feel as secure as if she were enfolded in a tender embrace.

Her cheeks warmed. She averted her gaze. Her fingers slipped between his and she gave his hand a gentle squeeze. Never be the same? Boy, no kidding!

And he wasn’t the only one affected that way. No matter what else happened, she’d never be the same, either. Not now that she’d met Adam Callahan.

The aroma of coffee greeted Sara the moment she left the bathroom. Adam handed her a steaming mug, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and backed off discretely.

“Umm. That’s better,” she said, cradling the mug in both hands. She took a sip, smiled. “How did you manage?”

“It’s an old-fashioned, homesteader secret.”

Sara envisioned his blue-and-white enameled coffee pot buried in the smoldering ashes of the woodstove or hanging from a hook over an open fire. Curious, she pressed him for details. “Tell me. I’d love to have some genuine pioneer lore to share with my students this coming school year.”

Clearing his throat, Adam decided to confess. “I made it on the stove. It’s propane fired.”

She was certain her gas stove at home required an electrical connection, too. “But, how…?”

He reached into a kitchen drawer and took out a red-handled tool that looked like a wand with a trigger. “You light the burners with this. A match would do the job, too, but this igniter is easier. It works like a cigarette lighter, only the flame comes out the end of a long snout so you don’t get burned.”

Sara was still hoping she hadn’t been as dimwitted as she was beginning to think. She scowled. “But, last night you heated dinner in the wood stove. I thought…”

“The chicken and potatoes were already cooked and the coals in the stove were perfect for warming everything when we got back. I just thought you’d get a kick out of eating a meal that had been roasted on the coals in a Dutch oven. I never meant to imply that I couldn’t have done the same thing on the stove.”

Sara’s mouth gaped, then snapped shut in indignation. What a fool she’d been. “And you thought it would be fun to send me out into the mud for firewood? What did I ever do to you?”

“Outside of half drown me and totally disrupt my peace and quiet? Nothing,” he countered, trying a wry smile to see if she’d respond.

“You’re forgetting alienation of affections,” she snapped. “I’ve thoroughly ruined your dog.”

Adam cocked an eyebrow at Samson, who had made straight for his favorite spot by the stove and laid down to lick his wet paws. He always did the same thing, whether there was a fire burning or not. “To tell you the truth, that mutt was already pretty spoiled. I’ve been trying to teach him not to barge through doors ever since he was a pup.”