Abby smiled. “She doesn’t seem too concerned.”

“No.” Noah glanced her way and for a second or two, she thought he’d smile, too. At her. Then he returned his attention to the mare. “She’s a good old girl. One of the best.” He patted her neck affectionately and the mare tossed her head up and down vigorously, almost as though she were answering him.

“What’s her name?”

“Peg.”

“Peg?” Abby thought that was a very ordinary name for a horse. “What kind of horse is she?”

Noah threw her a surprised look. “Quarter horse,” he said, his tone leaving no doubt that he considered her a complete idiot.

He came toward the rails of the corral. “When did my brother say he was coming back?”

“He didn’t say. Soon, I think.”

“I see.” He studied her briefly. Abby had the impression he didn’t miss much. “You settle in all right?” he asked.

“In the trailer? Yes, thank you.” She stepped back and watched as he climbed back over the rail. “I’m delighted. I didn’t know I’d have my own little place.”

He frowned. Perhaps he didn’t care for small talk. Surly brute. “You have lunch yet?”

“Well, there’s some frozen stuff in the fridge I planned to take out—”

“Come on up to the house,” he interrupted. “I’ll give you a sandwich or something.” He paused, hesitated, frowned again. Then he fell into step beside her. Abby heard the clang of metal on metal from behind the barn; someone must be working on some machinery back there. In a way—she didn’t know why—she was relieved to know there was another person on the place.

“Thank you, but I wouldn’t want to bother you. I’m sure you have plenty to do—”

“No bother. I’ve got stuff to do, yes, but I can’t let you miss lunch because Jesse’s gone off to town and hasn’t got back yet—”

Abby was going to protest again, then realized that, like many men, he probably thought she was in a fragile condition because of her pregnancy and couldn’t possibly miss a meal. The truth was, she was hungry. And when she’d looked inside the trailer’s fridge and seen only a quart of milk, a six-pack of beer, some margarine, a loaf of the most hideous white sliced bread and vinyl-packaged orangish cheese slices, as well as a freezer full of pizza cartons, she’d lost her appetite, despite her hunger. All she’d had for breakfast was a glass of milk. Since she’d gotten rid of her morning sickness in late March, she hadn’t suffered from any loss of appetite. Until today.

“All right.” She took a deep breath and glanced up at her future brother-in-law. He was only trying to be hospitable, in his straightforward way, she supposed. She had to do her best to make this new life work out, and one of the jobs she’d have would be to get along with all of Jesse’s relations. Including this brother.

“All right, I’ll have some lunch, if you’re sure it’s not too much trouble. Jesse should be back by then.” She didn’t add that she’d been alarmed when Jesse had come down to the trailer to tell her he was going to town to do some business. Somehow she’d thought their reunion would be a bit more romantic. That maybe he’d even take her to town, introduce her around. Still, his excuse to leave her behind—that she needed to catch up on her rest—made sense, too.

Noah nodded briefly and led her toward the shabbily painted white house on the hill—the house Jesse had told her belonged to his parents before him and was now his older brother’s. The house was surrounded by thickets of unkempt grass and unpruned rose creepers. The family home. From the look of the place, you certainly couldn’t accuse the Winslows of being house-proud.

ABBY DIDN’T THINK she’d ever seen such a shambles in her life.

The house wasn’t, well, dirty-although she was pretty sure it hadn’t seen more than a broom in quite some time—but it was a general mess. There were newspapers piled high on a rocking chair. There were magazines and jars of peanut butter and honey and sugar and jam and industrial-size cardboard containers of salt and pepper on the table. There had to be at least five or six calendars stacked behind the current one on the wall, all hanging from a six-inch nail. When the nail was full, did he remove the earliest calendars and discard them? Probably not.

The sink was full of rinsed-but-not-washed dishes, and Abby noticed that Noah retrieved clean plates and cutlery from the dishwasher. He was obviously of the philosophy that you took clean dishes out of the dishwasher until it was empty, then you loaded it back up with the soiled ones. This could take time. And for a single man, it probably meant several days with dishes stacked in the sink.

The concept of replacing clean dishes in a cupboard and keeping the dirty ones in the dishwasher, not the sink, was clearly a foreign one. Abby could relate—her father was like that. Not that her mother ever left her father alone long enough to have the dishes stack up to any degree.

There was an elderly dog asleep under the table. It didn’t move when they came in, and Abby hoped it wasn’t dead. The microwave looked well used, and two burners of the stove were covered with a metal tray holding first-aid materials—bandages, Mercurochrome, Vaseline, burn ointment, tweezers, disinfectant. She supposed that was because it was handy. It also indicated he didn’t cook much, or not with the range, anyway.

“Sandwich?” Noah waved her toward the table and stood with the refrigerator door open. She could see that it was well stocked.

“S-sure. A sandwich would be fine.” She sat down on a hard wooden chair.

“Grilled cheese? Hot Reuben? Ham, mustard and pickle?”

“Uh.” Hot Reuben? “Whatever you’re having.”

“Okay. Reuben, it is.” He glanced at her and again, Abby glimpsed the humor that lay beneath the man’s craggy exterior. He was probably joking. She was game.

Abby watched as he took rye bread from a cupboard—at least it wasn’t sliced white—and liberally spread four slices with butter and mustard. Then he piled on cheese slices—Cheddar, not Swiss or Muenster, but that was okay—and pastrami, topping the whole with some sauerkraut he spooned out of a jar he’d taken from the fridge. He only looked over at her once. “You can dump the junk that’s on the table onto one of the chairs, if you want,” he invited cordially.

She did; meanwhile he took the sandwiches to the microwave and nuked them for a minute or so, then retrieved two glasses from the dishwasher. “Milk, juice or beer?” he asked, holding up the glasses.

“Milk for me,” she replied. She found this whole process fascinating. He appeared to be very comfortable in his own kitchen, as though he’d traced the path from refrigerator to table to microwave so many times he could make a sandwich and get a beer in his sleep.

Noah brought two plates and another plate with the sandwiches on them. The bread was steaming—not exactly grilled, but definitely hot. Then he went back to the refrigerator and got out a jug of milk and a can of beer, which he held in one hand, the two glasses in the other.

Abby poured herself a glass of milk, while Noah settled himself on the chair opposite her.

“Eat,” he said, gesturing at her sandwich when she hesitated. Well, that was plain enough. No niceties here. He picked up his own sandwich and paused, looking her straight in the eye.

“So, you intend to marry my brother, do you?”

“Er—” Abby quickly put down her sandwich, which she’d been about to sample. “I didn’t come all this way not to marry him, did I?” She was annoyed at the direct question. More than annoyed. Really, it was none of this man’s business what she wanted.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” he replied, taking a bite of his sandwich.

She chewed daintily, ignoring him, then swallowed and sipped at her milk. “No,” she agreed. “I don’t suppose it does.”

He stared at her, then popped the tab on his beer can. “I guess that is my brother’s child you’re carrying?”