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He yanked his pants and shirt on and pulled up his suspenders, shoving his feet into his boots as he headed for the front door. Which stood open. He hurried out and then stopped short at the sight that greeted him. Lucille the goat ran by, a bright blue ribbon around her neck, while Martha and Mercy chased after her.
“Don’t let her get near the pen!” Mercy called out. “We’ll have to bathe her all over again.”
“I’ve got her!” Martha said, diving for the animal. She missed. Valiant effort, though.
They weren’t the only ones in the courtyard. Mrs. DuVere and Preacher stood beside a wagon full of empty baskets and several more were trundling up in the distance.
“Mercy,” he said, grabbing her arm when she ran past him again.
“Oh! Good mor…ning,” she said, faltering at the sight of him standing with his open shirt flapping in the wind.
He started buttoning it, though he couldn’t help the prideful smile that touched his lips at the sight of his wife staring at his bare chest. In fact, that look in her eyes made him want to take her hand and haul her back into the house only…
He looked around the courtyard again. “What is going on?”
“Apple picking day,” she said with a wide grin.
“Apple picking day? What is that?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Well, when the apples are ripe enough to be harvested, we have to go and—”
He raised a hand, closing his eyes briefly against her smirk. “I know what it is. But why is it happening here, with…” He waved his hand at the growing crowd. “Half the town.”
“Ah. Well, the townsfolk who wish to purchase apples come over and pick them themselves. They pay me by the basketful, or trade for them. It saves me from having to harvest them all myself, though I do deliver for some of the older folk who can’t come out. And I also sell some of the fare from my garden, the soaps and lotions I make, goat cheese. And occasionally a few livestock, if I need to.”
“Lucille?” he asked hopefully.
Mercy glared at him, though she seemed more amused than annoyed. “Lucille is not for sale. But she does like to look pretty for apple picking day.”
Gray opened his mouth to respond to that and then decided he didn’t have the energy.
“What about breakfast?”
She laughed. “Do you ever think about anything other than your stomach?”
He let his gaze rove over her, giving her a slow, heated smile when her cheeks flushed. “Actually, food was the last thing on my mind when I woke this morning. Except my wife was nowhere to be found.”
“Sorry about that,” she murmured. “We’ve had this day set for weeks. Couldn’t change it, even though it’s…”
“The day after our wedding,” he said, capturing her hand.
She blushed again, and he went to pull her closer but caught a glimpse of several of the townspeople watching them and grinning. He dropped her hand, unwilling to put on a show for everyone.
She cleared her throat and brushed a curl out of her face. “Are you going to help?” she asked, gesturing to Preacher’s wagon full of baskets.
Gray frowned. “So…what about breakfast?”
Mercy laughed. “Chores first. Food later.”
“What?” he asked, genuinely surprised. “Work before food? I need to keep my strength up.”
“I think you’ll be fine. And it’ll be worth the wait, I promise. Martha has brought all sorts of goodies. Perhaps you could help her while I get everyone organized.”
“Help her?”
“Yes. It looks like Lucille has gotten into the mud again. I’m sure she’d appreciate the help.”
“You want me to wash a goat?” His raised brow should be a sufficient answer to that request, he hoped.
