Authors: Michele Paige Holmes
After getting dressed and doing her hair and makeup, she ventured downstairs, only to find the house empty. There was no sign of breakfast. Deb, Ben, and Josh were nowhere to be seen. Not even Ham was around. Tara fixed herself a piece of toast then headed outside to find Ben.
Hands on hips, she stood in the yard and looked toward the shed, the garden, and the cornfield. Ben didn’t appear to be anywhere near the first two, and after Deb’s warning about his Freddy Kruger impersonation, Tara intended to avoid the cornfield for the remainder of her stay. This left only the barn as a possibility—the one place she had yet to explore.
Because I so love pigs. Ugh.
With a resolute sigh, Tara headed off on a well-worn path leading to the huge red barn. She wasn’t exactly sure what kind of pigs she’d see in there—all Josh’s talk about Ben beating out everyone at the fair made her a tad nervous—but she supposed it was time to find out.
Love Ben; love his pigs.
She stopped abruptly, unsure where the thought had come from.
I
don’t
love Ben—do I?
Regardless of the answer, thinking about it was off limits. But yesterday, being with him again, being
here
, had been even better than she’d imagined it could be. After the cold beginning to her visit and the awkward start to their morning, both the weather and their friendship had warmed considerably as the day went on. By the time they’d returned to the house at sunset, Ben had seemed, once more, like the tender, caring guy who had kissed her on top of a Colorado mountain.
Tara hoped that, to him, she seemed much better than she’d been back then.
She approached the barn with caution. The immense door was slightly ajar, helping her decide it was okay to go ahead and walk right in. She pulled the smooth, polished crossbar, opening the door enough to squeeze through. She stopped just inside, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dim light. Before they did, Ben was at her side.
“Morning, Sleeping Beauty.”
She looked at him and saw that he wore overalls similar to those she’d given him a bad time about last December.
“Nice duds.” She smirked.
If he can tease, so can I.
“
Practical
duds,” he said. “Look at all these pockets.” He pulled at the one across the center of his chest and pointed out others on the side. “I keep all kinds of tools in these. Helps me get my work done faster if I don’t have to get up to find stuff.”
“What kind of
stuff
are we talking about?” Tara asked warily.
What upkeep do pigs require, before they go—
“Files, clamps, blades.” Ben pulled a large metal file from a side pocket of his overalls and pointed to a clamp hanging off the side loop. “Convenient.”
“So I see.” She swallowed and tried not to imagine what part of a pig might need clamping.
And a blade?
“Want to see my shop?” Enthusiasm oozed from his voice.
“That’s why I came,” Tara said.
Must be positive. Must be positive
, she chanted to herself.
Everyone has to do
something
for a living.
Ben moved aside. “Watch your step,” he said, holding out his hand for her to go ahead.
Tara saw that he had been blocking a set of three wide, wooden steps, flanked on either side by rustic-looking rails. Holding on to one, she quickly climbed the few stairs then gasped when she reached the top and the interior of the barn came into view.
It wasn’t really a barn at all—in the traditional, filled-with-animals sense, anyway. A knotty wood floor covered the entire, vast space. Bright lights hung suspended from a ceiling also made of that same, rustic wood. On the far side of the barn, a large stone fireplace blazed. And scattered around the room were varied and assorted machines and tables, none of which resembled any farm equipment she’d ever seen.
There were a lot of hand tools as well. And wood. Lots and lots of wood.
Ben stepped around her, heading for some of that wood, and she followed him into the belly of the barn.
“Where are your pigs?” Tara turned a slow circle, noting as she did the pungent smell of sawdust, a far cry from the manure she’d expected.
Ben shrugged. “I’m not sure. Persephone was with me for a while, but she hates the noise of the saws and won’t hang around when I’m using them. Ham’s probably out in the cornfield, searching for leftover candy.”
“What about your other pigs?” Tara asked. “Like the one who beat out all the others at the fair.”
“I didn’t enter a pig at the fair.” Ben’s eyebrows drew together in a perplexed sort of way. “What made you think that?”
“Because Josh said . . .”
What had he said, exactly?
Tara tried to remember but could only recall the part about no one else around here being able to touch what Ben had in his barn.
Josh didn’t actually say it was a
pig
.
“You don’t raise pigs?” she asked hopefully.
A grin spread across Ben’s face as he shook his head. “Took you a bit to figure that one out.”
“You tricked me.” She punched him in the arm. “Last year, at Ellen’s house, you said—you led me to believe—”
“Ah, ah.” He wagged a finger at her. “All I said was that I
had
pigs on my farm. I didn’t say how many or what kind.
You
were the one who jumped to conclusions.”
“But you made it sound like—”
“You wanted to believe the worst,” Ben said. He took a step back and leaned against a sawhorse. “You were sure that I was some poor, backward farmer.”
“Who raised filthy, disgusting pigs,” Tara said.
I did want to believe that. I
thought
it. I’m awful.
“Guilty,” she admitted.
Ben’s grin turned smug. “Thought so.”
She pointed a finger at him, jabbing the pocket of his overalls with her long, polished nail. “You believed the worst about me too. In fact, you
still
believed it at dinner the other night. The whole
big city girl
thing.”
“Touché.” Ben saluted her.
“Oh, don’t go speaking French to me,” Tara said. “You’re completely messing with my head here. You’re not at all who I thought you were.”
“Neither are you,” Ben said, all traces of teasing gone from his voice.
“Are you disappointed?” Tara held her breath, waiting for his answer. It was slow in coming.
“I’ve never been so glad to be wrong.”
Beneath her blouse, her heartbeat felt erratic. She couldn’t bring herself to look away, could hardly keep from stepping forward and closing the space between them.
“Are
you
disappointed?” Ben asked, a hint of vulnerability in his question.
Nothing about you disappoints me
, she wanted to say. “Well, I had hoped for some really great bacon while I was here,” she teased instead. Ben laughed, and the momentary spell between them was broken. Tara worried a little that her heart might be too.
Nothing serious
, she reminded herself.
I promised.
* * *
An hour later, Tara had completed her tour of Ben’s workshop. She’d never known anyone who worked with wood before, had never been to a shop where furniture was made, but she knew artistic ability when she saw it and craftsmanship and talent. Ben was blessed with an abundance of all three.
“May I?” she asked, running her hands over the arms of a newly completed rocking chair.
Ben nodded. “Go ahead. I’ve got a couple of frames to finish up, but feel free to stay as long as you’d like.”
“Thanks.” Tara sat in the rocker and was pleased to find it as comfortable as it was pretty. Ben went back to work, using a tool he’d called a router, making intricate grooves along the pieces of oak he’d previously cut.
Tara rocked contentedly for a few minutes, enjoying the warmth near the fire. Then she got up to wander around again. Ben had explained each of his tools in detail, but he hadn’t spent much time showing off his completed work. Most of it was at the far side of the barn, so Tara headed that direction. With an artist’s eye and appreciation, she looked over each piece. Ben had used a variety of different woods, each with a unique and beautiful grain. He’d shown her hickory, maple, oak, cherry, and walnut, and explained their different qualities. She tried to remember those now, guessing which piece was made out of what wood.
He’d told her his work was patterned after the old style of furniture making, with the pieces fitted together in the mortise-and-tenon style. The process had sounded tedious to her when he’d described it, but the end result was extremely well-made pieces of furniture. Tara ran her fingers over the curved backs of chairs, opened and closed drawers on a dresser, and even rocked a cradle back and forth.
Ben and his wood, indeed. This is amazing.
She was admiring a dining table when he called out to her. “Time for lunch break.”
Tara returned to the bench where he’d just finished putting clamps on two picture frames.
“What do you think?” Ben asked, stepping aside so she could see both frames laid out on his workbench.
“Very nice,” Tara said. “They’d look good above a mantel.”
“Good idea. Do you have one?” Ben asked.
“No,” Tara said. “Why?”
“Because these are for you—to frame your paintings of Nauvoo.”
“Oh, Ben.” She heard the catch in her voice and stopped speaking before her emotion became even more apparent. In her previous life she’d received numerous gifts from men. Many had cost a lot of money. Several had been given as an apology. None had taken much thought.
No guy has ever taken the time to
make
me something
, she realized. “I don’t have anything to give you,” she said, wishing fervently that she did.
“You’ve already given it.” Ben put his hands in his pockets and looked past her. “You’re here.”
Forty-Five
Deb pulled another costume off the rack. “How about this one?” She held it up to Tara. “It looks fairytale-ish.”
“No, thanks.” Tara walked along the row of costumes, running her fingers over them as she passed. Ben and his sister—
especially his sister
—were trying to talk her into staying a few more days to attend their annual barn dance. It was the event that brought in the most money for the charity Ben donated to every year, and according to them both—
and Josh and the mailman and everyone we talked to at church
—it was
the
event of the year.
Behind her, Deb sighed. “This is the only costume shop we’ve got around here. I’m afraid you’re going to have to be a little less—picky.”
Tara stopped then turned around to face her. “These are all great.” She touched a red velvet cape. “I just don’t think I should stay.”
Dancing with Ben . . . isn’t a good idea.
“Why not?” Deb challenged. “You were able to do some office work on your laptop the other day. Isn’t travel flexibility one of the perks of being self-employed?”
“It’s not just work,” Tara said. “Though I do need to get serious about that and put in some real hours soon. Designer labels—even secondhand designer labels—are apt to move more quickly during the holiday season.”
Deb waved away her argument. “That’s over a month away. We’re talking about three more days.” She pulled a green dress off the rack and held it up to Tara. “This one looks great with your eyes.”
“It also looks too modern to belong to a fairytale character,” Tara said.
Not to mention it’s way more modest than anything I’ve ever worn to a costume party.
She wondered what Ben’s barn dance
would
be like.
What do people do at parties when there is no alcohol?
Curious though she was, Tara knew Ben’s dance wasn’t the place to find out. She’d just have to ask Jane sometime.
“I guess you’re right. The collar looks out of place.” Deb put the dress back. “But you will stay? It’s been nice having another woman around, and there’s always so much to do to get the barn ready.”
“I can help you today and tomorrow,” Tara compromised. “Then I have to go.” She took a step toward the exit. Deb grabbed her arm.
“You’d leave my brother without a date, just before the dance?”
“You make it sound like we’re a couple,” Tara said, frowning. “And you know that isn’t true.”
“I know Ben has seemed happier since you arrived than he did the previous six months—and that includes the time McKenzie lived here.” Deb dropped her hand back to her side. “I know you like him too.”
“Is it that obvious?” Tara bit her lip.
“No more so than Ben’s feelings for you,” Deb said kindly. “He’s crazy about you. It’s as plain as . . . as Persephone is pink.”
Tara rolled her eyes. “He’s crazy about his pigs.”
“Only because he hasn’t had anyone else to love,” Deb said. “Pets can help fill a need. Why do you think so many people treat their pets like family?”
Tara tilted her head to the side, considering. “Maybe I should look into getting a dog when I’m back home.”
“You should look into getting
Ben
.”
* * *
Ben finished helping the band get everything set up on the stage then ran around taking care of other last-minute details before they opened the doors for the dance at eight. A string of lights had gone out, and he had to figure out which bulb was bad and replace it. He did a last check of the change in the money boxes and went over, one more time, the procedure for ticket sales and money collection with the volunteers from the young men and young women in his ward. He swept the steps and set out the tickets for the coat check area. At seven fifty-nine, everything was finally ready.
With less than a minute to change into his costume, Ben stepped into the storage area of the barn, where he’d arranged the items waiting to be shipped out or picked up by customers. He hadn’t had much time to figure out a costume this year, but it didn’t really matter. The theme they’d gone with was fairy tales, and his favorite flannel shirt and jeans would have to suffice for the woodcutter from Little Red Riding Hood. Tara and Deb had teased him about dressing Persephone up as the wolf, to add a little authenticity to his character, but Ben knew the pig wouldn’t come anywhere near the barn tonight with this many people around.