He sat for a moment without saying anything, then squeezed her hand. “I couldn’t have chosen a better daughter-in-law if I was to have picked you myself.”
She had to clamp her lip between her teeth to keep it from quivering.
He cleared his throat noisily and said, “Now that’s done, come hoist me up.”
Sixty-Four
Thatcher walked from the train station straight to her back door, which stood open. He watched her through the screened door as she placed a circle of rolled-out dough into a pie tin and began working the edges with her fingers.
“Fluting.”
She started at the sound of his voice. For a span of ten seconds, she held his gaze, then went back to what she was doing. “Go away.”
“Didn’t you get my telegram?”
With one flour-covered hand, she gestured toward the drainboard, where the torn-up pieces of a telegram lay scattered. “‘I’m coming for you.’ You have your nerve. Get away from my house. I’m busy.”
“I had to go, Laurel.”
She stopped fiddling with the dough, but kept her head down, looking at her handiwork rather than at him. “Sheriff Amos told me about Mr. Hobson.”
“How’d that come about?”
“Well, after days of hearing nothing from you and not knowing where you were, if you were alive or dead, I went to see the one person who might know what had happened to you. He was still recovering from the surgery.” Finished with the pie crust, she reached for a dishcloth and wiped her hands. “He told me about his lie.”
She set down the cloth and looked at him sorrowfully. “That was an awful thing for him to do, Thatcher. Did you make it to Amarillo in time?”
He opened the screened door and went inside. “He passed last Wednesday.”
“You got to see him?”
“Yeah.” He searched her eyes. “Laurel, I know it must’ve looked like I had run out on you, but I had to go, and I had to go right then before anyone could try to talk me out of it, or delay it, or whatever.
“And I don’t regret that decision. I loved the man, and I wouldn’t give anything for the time we had together before he died. I don’t blame you for being mad. Just please try to understand.”
She had softened considerably. “Of course I understand, Thatcher. I was more afraid for your safety than mad.” She covered a laugh with her hand. “No, I was furious.”
He smiled. “You had reason.”
She glanced at the telegram she’d ripped up. “Where have you been since last Wednesday?”
“I made a side trip to Bynum.”
“In East Texas? That’s more than a side trip.”
“We can talk about it later. Is Irv here?”
“No.”
“Are you expecting him?”
“He’s staying out with Ernie and Corrine tonight.”
Thatcher still didn’t know who Ernie was. “Turn off the oven.”
She placed her hands on her hips. “I’m in the middle of baking pies.”
He went to her, put his hands at her waist, and drew her to him. “Turn off the oven.”