Read Online The Shepherd's Voice by Robin Lee Hatcher - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Robin Lee Hatcher
Tags: Romance, Historical, Literature & Fiction, Contemporary, Historical Romance, Religion & Spirituality, Religious & Inspirational Fiction
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her eyes.
“Well,” she said, “you have plenty to learn, then.”
He glanced toward the mountains—strong, sure, immovable. “Yes. I’ve got plenty to learn, but I’m ready.”
They worked hard for the remainder of the afternoon, talking little except for Akira’s answers to Gabe’s infrequent questions. She found him quick to understand and willing to follow directions.
Around and around the field they went, the sharp blades of the mower leaving layers of fragrant cuttings behind them. Sometimes the alfalfa was so thick and tall it bound the sickle. Whenever that happened, Gabe stopped the horses and Akira pulled the pile of matted alfalfa aside. By the time the last row was cut, the first rows had been dehydrating in the sun for several hours. The mowing machine was put away and the team was hitched to the hay rake. They followed the same route around the field a second time, raking the hay into rows and bunches. And when that was done, the cuttings were tossed onto the hay wagon with pitchforks.
Cheat and weeds sifted out of the drying alfalfa, covering Gabe and Akira, sticking to their sweaty necks and arms, working beneath their shirt collars and up their pant legs, chafing and poking and torturing. The irritating dust made their eyes smart and their lungs burn.
Akira was surprised by Gabe’s endurance. Eight days before, he’d passed out on the road from hunger, but now he was putting in a full day’s labor. True, they rested more frequently than normal, although she didn’t tell him that.
Early evening had settled over the valley by the time Gabe drove the wagon, with Akira seated beside him, to the stack yard. Sunlight caressed the trees, gilding the leaves. A slight breeze caused the grasses to undulate, rising and falling like the ocean.
Gabe wore a look of weary satisfaction as he drew the horses to a halt.
“No one would believe you’d never done this before.” Akira smiled when he glanced in her direction. “You’re a born rancher.”
After a moment’s hesitation, when he seemed to seriously consider her comment, he replied, “Maybe you’re right.”
As hungry as he was, Gabe was too hot, too sweaty, too tired to eat much. Even Akira’s cooking, which was always excellent, didn’t tempt him. She apparently felt the same.
Ten minutes after they’d sat down to supper—just the two of them, Mrs. Wickham having already eaten—Akira pushed her almost untouched plate away, then scooted her chair back from the table.
“Do you swim?” she asked as she stood.
“What?”
“Do you know how to swim?” She did the breaststroke through the air.
He frowned. “Yes. Why?”
“Because I can’t stand myself another minute. I need to wash off the dust and get rid of the cheatgrass in my hair.” She turned toward her bedroom. “I’m going for a swim. You’re welcome to join me if you’d like to come along.”
She didn’t have to ask twice. Nothing sounded better.
He got to his feet. “I don’t have any bathing trunks.”
“My grandfather kept extra clothes on hand for guests and ranch hands. There’s bound to be something in one of the bureaus that will fit you. Wait here.” She disappeared into the other room.
Half an hour later, with towels thrown over their shoulders,both of them clad in swimming attire beneath their denim trousers, they rode their horses up a narrow deer track into the forest.
“I usually settle for a creek that runs north of the house,” she said over her shoulder, “but it’s running low this summer. I wanted a real swim after the work we’ve done today.”
The sky darkened, revealing the evening’s first stars. The forest sounds changed as day gave in to night—the harsh cries of the jays silenced, the muted hoot of an owl taking their place. If not for the rising crescent moon, filtered through the branches of towering ponderosa and lodge-pole pines, Gabe would have lost sight of Akira altogether.
“‘He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High
“Well,” she said, “you have plenty to learn, then.”
He glanced toward the mountains—strong, sure, immovable. “Yes. I’ve got plenty to learn, but I’m ready.”
They worked hard for the remainder of the afternoon, talking little except for Akira’s answers to Gabe’s infrequent questions. She found him quick to understand and willing to follow directions.
Around and around the field they went, the sharp blades of the mower leaving layers of fragrant cuttings behind them. Sometimes the alfalfa was so thick and tall it bound the sickle. Whenever that happened, Gabe stopped the horses and Akira pulled the pile of matted alfalfa aside. By the time the last row was cut, the first rows had been dehydrating in the sun for several hours. The mowing machine was put away and the team was hitched to the hay rake. They followed the same route around the field a second time, raking the hay into rows and bunches. And when that was done, the cuttings were tossed onto the hay wagon with pitchforks.
Cheat and weeds sifted out of the drying alfalfa, covering Gabe and Akira, sticking to their sweaty necks and arms, working beneath their shirt collars and up their pant legs, chafing and poking and torturing. The irritating dust made their eyes smart and their lungs burn.
Akira was surprised by Gabe’s endurance. Eight days before, he’d passed out on the road from hunger, but now he was putting in a full day’s labor. True, they rested more frequently than normal, although she didn’t tell him that.
Early evening had settled over the valley by the time Gabe drove the wagon, with Akira seated beside him, to the stack yard. Sunlight caressed the trees, gilding the leaves. A slight breeze caused the grasses to undulate, rising and falling like the ocean.
Gabe wore a look of weary satisfaction as he drew the horses to a halt.
“No one would believe you’d never done this before.” Akira smiled when he glanced in her direction. “You’re a born rancher.”
After a moment’s hesitation, when he seemed to seriously consider her comment, he replied, “Maybe you’re right.”
As hungry as he was, Gabe was too hot, too sweaty, too tired to eat much. Even Akira’s cooking, which was always excellent, didn’t tempt him. She apparently felt the same.
Ten minutes after they’d sat down to supper—just the two of them, Mrs. Wickham having already eaten—Akira pushed her almost untouched plate away, then scooted her chair back from the table.
“Do you swim?” she asked as she stood.
“What?”
“Do you know how to swim?” She did the breaststroke through the air.
He frowned. “Yes. Why?”
“Because I can’t stand myself another minute. I need to wash off the dust and get rid of the cheatgrass in my hair.” She turned toward her bedroom. “I’m going for a swim. You’re welcome to join me if you’d like to come along.”
She didn’t have to ask twice. Nothing sounded better.
He got to his feet. “I don’t have any bathing trunks.”
“My grandfather kept extra clothes on hand for guests and ranch hands. There’s bound to be something in one of the bureaus that will fit you. Wait here.” She disappeared into the other room.
Half an hour later, with towels thrown over their shoulders,both of them clad in swimming attire beneath their denim trousers, they rode their horses up a narrow deer track into the forest.
“I usually settle for a creek that runs north of the house,” she said over her shoulder, “but it’s running low this summer. I wanted a real swim after the work we’ve done today.”
The sky darkened, revealing the evening’s first stars. The forest sounds changed as day gave in to night—the harsh cries of the jays silenced, the muted hoot of an owl taking their place. If not for the rising crescent moon, filtered through the branches of towering ponderosa and lodge-pole pines, Gabe would have lost sight of Akira altogether.
“‘He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High
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