Read Online His Heart for the Trusting by Lisa Mondello - Free Book Online

decision to leave home.
    * * *
    Jonathan
quickly finished his nightly bottle.  He was growing fast.  Even she could see
the change in him over the last few weeks.  Sara tucked the baby into the
cradle and closed the door.  A creak in the stairs as she descended them
sounded loud compared to the low music filtering in from the window.  Mitch
usually listened to music while he was out in the small workshop adjacent to
the foreman’s house.
    Following the
sound of the music, Sara walked outside, blotting out the small spot of spittle
Jonathan had drooled on her shoulder with a dishrag as she went.  Glancing at
her shoulder, she grimaced.   
    Usually when
Mitch disappeared into the workshop, Sara left him alone.  There wasn't any
reason to disturb him, and she had the feeling he relished the quiet after the
sudden invasion on his privacy.  Especially after she'd done her best to make
sure he spent some “quality” time with Jonathan.
    An old 60's
tune she recognized was playing on the radio.  It was a far cry from the usual
country and western music she heard around these parts, and certainly a lot
tamer than some of the new-aged rock she'd had the occasion to sample in Los
Angeles.  Every so often, in between verses, Mitch's voice would boom over the
music on the radio.
    She pushed
through the wide cross-planked door of the workshop just in time to hear him
declare that his love grows wherever Rosemary goes.  She stifled the giggle
that bubbled up her throat at the expression on his face when he saw that he'd
been caught.  Instead of shrinking with embarrassment, Mitch simply smiled a
warm and friendly grin that welcomed her into his private place.  It was the
same unabashed, childlike smile that was emerging from Jonathan.
    “Gotta love the
oldies,” he said.
    “Apparently you
do.”
    He shrugged and
kept right on applying polyurethane to the crib he'd been tirelessly working on
in between ranch business and the horses.  Along the side ends of the crib,
Mitch had carved a cartoon design and smoothed out the edges.  It was solid,
yet delicate enough for his child to have sweet dreams in.  At the top of each
rail there were big, bright colored beads about the size of a half dollar
threaded through a sturdy piece of metal. Jonathan would have a lot of fun
playing with them when he was big enough to reach them.  The love and
artisanship Mitch put into making the crib was evident.  No wonder he was
always so exhausted when he returned from the shop. 
    “It’s
beautiful,” she said, admiring all his hard work.
    “If this coat
takes well, it'll only need one more sanding and a final coat of clear.  Then
Jonathan can test it out.”  
    “That's good. 
I don't know how much longer he can fit in that cradle.  He’s getting so big.”
    Mitch smiled. 
Taking a soft white cloth and running it around the rim of the can, he wiped
off the excess clear liquid and tapped down the lid, sealing it tight.
Carefully, as if he were holding his own child, he lifted the crib underneath a
dry section and brought it over to another area of the workshop where it could
sit undisturbed while the polyurethane set.
    At a loss for
words, Sara searched her mind for some subject that would qualify as meaningful
conversation.  She came up empty and decided anything would do.  She'd
forgotten that, as a rule, cowboys didn't say much unless needed.  They were
much more comfortable with a companionable silence than the men she'd met in
California, who always seemed to want to dominate the conversation with some
sort of ego boosting news.
    But since Sara
had come to the ranch, she realized Mitch wasn't like that at all.  He was
quiet about himself, didn't offer any more than needed unless she asked.  But
when he did offer something of himself, he was wide open about it.  There
didn't seem to be any locked doors inside him.  All she had to do was ask.
    Unfortunately,
the typical conversations they usually had revolved