Page 82 of In These Hills

Bethie looked up. “You have to promise me she won’t die, too.”

“Honey, you know I can’t do that.”

“Then I don’t want her.” Bethie stood up, hands fisted at her sides.

Mr. Coburn moved closer. “She needs you, Bethie. And besides, you just promised Maple you’d take care of her.”

Josephine stared, finding that a rather cruel reminder at the moment. Especially for one so young. About to come to the girl’s defense, she held back when Bethie picked up the newborn calf.

“Excuse me, sir. You need anything else before we call it a day?”

Josephine turned to see a group of farmhands standing in the entrance to the barn—all of them looking to Dodge Coburn.

“Are the carcasses taken care of?”

“Yes, sir. Burning as we speak. We got teams set up to watch the fire all night like you asked, and we’ll take turns watching over the sick ones.”

“Sounds good. A couple of final things . . .”

As Josephine watched Dodge Coburn interact with the other men, unmistakably in the role of their superior, the word underestimated came to mind yet again.

But this time, with the word greatly.

32

“WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME you weren’t a farmhand?”

Dodge looked down beside himself as he and Mrs. Dunham walked from the barn, lantern light casting a soft glow over her features. It was a sight he could too easily grow used to—though the thought was inappropriate, her being another man’s wife. If she was. His gaze drifted to her bare left hand. He couldn’t pinpoint why, but the more he was around her, the less certain of that he became.

“I suppose because you never asked,” he finally said.

She huffed. “You could have corrected me.”

“Yes, ma’am, I could have.”

“But?”

Her expression held challenge, and he smiled at the I’d-like-to-nail-you-to-the-wall look she gave him. “A man who has to make sure everybody knows what he does for a living doesn’t rank high in my book. A job might tell you something about a person, but it doesn’t tell you who they are. That takes time. And experience.” He paused. “And for what it’s worth, I was a farmhand here for years.”

“Before you became foreman. Is that even your correct title?”

“You’ll find I’m not much for titles either, Mrs. Dunham. But yes, I oversee the distillery’s cattle farm, and I’m grateful for the work.”

He set the lantern and a piece of soap on the rock ledge of the well, lowered the bucket, then hauled it up, water sloshing over the rim. He poured the fresh, cool water into a second bucket for her to wash in.

“You did good back there, ma’am. Real good. I was proud of you.”

She scrubbed her hands and arms briskly, then laughed. A sound he liked. A lot.

“Could you tell I didn’t know what I was doing?”

“There might’ve been a clue or two.”

She rolled her eyes. “Bethie’s an astute little thing, isn’t she?”

“She doesn’t miss much, that’s for sure.” He sent the bucket down again, hauled it up and started washing.

“I admire how forthright she is.”