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Chapter 18

“Hard time,” is how he sums it up. I find he’ll say more if I don’t ask questions.

* * * *

The calendar says January when, on a snowy day, Abel declares we’ll stay in. The cabin then becomes a wallow of sex. It’s as we lie spent that he runs a hand through my hair.

“You’re like the sun. You warm me. I’ve never seen hair the color of yours.”

I chuckle. “There’s lots of blond fellows around.”

“Guess I never took note till now.” He kisses me. For such a hard-living man, he’s got a gentle side that’s quite moving. I like having helped him discover it. “Were your people blond?”

“My mother, yes. I take after her.”

“The singer.”

I kiss his cheek. “Yes, the singer. Pa had brown hair, straight as string.”

“Just the one of you?”

“Yep. No brothers or sisters. I got the idea Ma had a hard time birthing me.”

“They back on the farm?”

“Far as I know.”

“Miss ‘em?”

“Not so much now.” I kiss him again.