Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 85569 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85569 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Montana shook her head. “I don’t like earthworms. When I look at them they make my skin go all funny, but over the years I have learned to appreciate what good little helpers they are to the farmer.”
“Why do you participate so much in the farming activities when you don’t find it fun?” I asked.
She shrugged. “My father loves it,” she replied. “And when I was younger, it was the only thing we could do together. Till today, he still thinks it's something I love. To suddenly throw a tantrum and say I don’t enjoy it all that much is unnecessary.”
“Do you like swimming then, Miss Moore?” Anya asked.
I turned to look at her. “You want to go swimming?”
She nodded. “Elizabeth, at school says, everybody goes swimming at the lake.”
Montana smiled. “Yes, we have two lakes in Bison Ridge. You can only fish in the big lake, but all the kids go to swim in the small lake. It’s not too far away. If you want to go swimming in the lake, of course, we can arrange it for you. Would you prefer a swimming pool, though?” she asked.
Anya shook her head. “No, I want to go to the lake. We’ve always had a pool.”
I listened to my daughter and tried not to frown, but this very blatant transmission of information about our past lives wasn’t our agreement at all.
“You used to have a swimming pool when you lived in New York?” Montana asked, one eyebrow raised. “Wow! That’s rare, isn’t it? You must be rich.”
“No, we’re not,” Anya denied vehemently. “We’re not rich at all. We’re just like everybody else. We’re middle-class.”
Shit. Anya was overdoing it. Montana glanced oddly at me, but I said nothing.
Chapter 42
Montana
“Do you think she did it on purpose?” I asked as he brought in the last of the dishes to load into the dishwasher. The sun had set, and the house had the kind of warm, homey feeling that made me want to curl up under a blanket with snacks and a movie.
Cole laughed and I nudged him to keep him from waking the child up. She had fallen asleep on the couch and Cole had gently covered her with a blanket.
“She actually enjoys loading up dishwashers,” he said. “Sometimes she even likes doing the dishes herself.”
I shuddered. “Ugh … they were my absolute worst chores when I was growing up. Anything but the dishes.”
“You liked to be outside, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” I said.
He smiled and continued to work quietly. I didn’t mind the silence and didn’t particularly feel the need to fill it up with idle chatter, but he began to speak unexpectedly.
“Why is your father’s ranch called Shadow Wolf?”
“Well, it’s a long story.”
“Tell me. I’m curious.”
“When my great grandaddy moved here, wolves still roamed these parts, but the locals kept killing them off. My granddaddy had spent a lot of time with Native Indians so he had a great love for wolves, but there was nothing he could do about it. Finally, there was only one large black wolf left. It was so elusive, they called it Shadow.
“One day, he was in the forest, and he found the black wolf with its foot caught in a trap. It was frightened and in terrible pain so it snarled ferociously at him. He had to put a metal shield with a hole in the bottom between him and the wolf so he could release its foot. It ran away and he never saw it again. Many years later, he found the black wolf on his porch. It was dying of a gunshot wound and it had come to say goodbye. He tried to give it milk, but it was already too late. It died in his arms. As a mark of respect, he named his ranch after it.”
“Wow! That’s some story. You should tell it to Anya. She loves that kind of thing. Especially stories featuring wolves and princesses.”
“Princesses? There are no princesses in this story.”
“No? I think I’m looking at one now.”
I blushed and pretended to give my whole attention to cleaning a spot on the counter. “Right. I better put these cupcakes in the pantry. They last longer when they’re kept cool.” I opened the pantry door and was shocked to find it full of all kinds of pies, pastries, cakes, and bread. Every shelf was crowded with food. I went back to the kitchen.
“Your pantry looks like a bakery.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said wryly. “People keep bringing welcome food and I don’t know what to do with it.”
“People? You mean, women, mostly single women,” I deduced.
“Aren’t single women people? Anyway, would you like to take them all to school? Maybe the kids can eat them.”
“Sure. I’ll take them. No point wasting them, but don’t you want to keep anything?”
“Not really.”
“Not even Mrs. Dearborn’s fruitcake?”