Dirty: The Complete Series (Secret Baby Romance Love Story) (6 page)

Tuck
and Dad came in for lunch. Mom had made roast beef sandwiches with fresh bread,
along with some potato salad and sauerkraut leftover from the previous fall’s
canning. I sat down to eat with them, giving Addie a little bit of roast beef,
the soft innards of a piece of bread, a spoonful of potato salad, and a pinch
of kraut so she could eat along with us, though I doubted she’d be all that
hungry after nursing an hour before. “I didn’t notice Cade out there with
you—is he working the new fields?”

“Nah,”
Tuck said, around a bite of his sandwich. “He called this morning, sick as a
dog. Says he’s pretty sure it’s just a bad cold, maybe a flu, and he’ll check
in tonight if he doesn’t feel any better.”

“That
doesn’t sound good,” I said, torn between pity for the farm hand and worry for
Addie; I’d gotten her a seasonal flu shot, just like the doctor had told me to,
but I wasn’t sure how long it would last, or even if it would cover whatever
strain Cade apparently had.

“Probably
that bug that’s going around,” Mom said, shaking her head. “Elise Hansen is
down with it, too, and all her family with her.”

“I
hope Addie doesn’t catch it,” I said, looking at my little girl; coming down
with a spot of flu might explain her grumpiness the night before—though she
didn’t have a fever, at least not enough of one to notice. “Hell, I hope I
don’t catch it.”

“You
wouldn’t have much of a chance at that,” Tuck pointed out. “Seems to me most of
the people coming down with it are town people. You’re barely away from the
house.” I wasn’t sure whether he sounded approving or disappointed by that
fact.

“I
go to the store,” I countered tartly.

“I
read somewhere that colds and flus are actually contagious before you even show
symptoms,” Mom told us.

“I
guess we’ll just have to wait and see,” I said, turning my attention back onto
my plate and my daughter’s efforts to feed herself. When Tuck and Dad went back
out to work the fields for the afternoon, I told Mom I would take care of the
dishes and she went into the living room to watch Addie and take in one of her
shows on the TV.

I
thought about Cade—home alone, with no one to care for him, probably shivering
and sweating at the same time in his bed. It was a shame, I decided; the little
I knew about him was that he was single, that his parents weren’t around
anymore, and he was an only child. I tried to convince myself that he probably
had at least one friend who could bring him soup, but I couldn’t make myself
believe it.

When
I finished cleaning up from lunch, I came to a decision: I’d make a pot of soup
for dinner and bring some of it to Cade. “Hey, Mom?” I stepped into the living
room.

“What,
sweetie?” Mom looked up from jiggling Adelyn on her lap.

“How
do you feel about chicken noodle soup for dinner?” She thought about it.

“Make
some garlic-cheese bread to go with it and I think it’ll be enough,” Mom told
me.

“Sure
thing.” I went back into the kitchen and got to work. Mom had killed, plucked,
cleaned and frozen a few chickens who were no longer producing eggs—or, in the
case of the roosters, fertilizing eggs—at the rate they needed to be, so I had
that to start with. I chopped up some carrots, celery, onions, and garlic and
threw it all into the big stock pot with plenty of water, herbs, and salt, and
got it going.

While
I waited for the stock to come up, I started on the noodles. There is nothing
in the world better than fresh egg noodles in soup—and Mom had taught me to
make them from scratch since I was old enough to mix and hold a rolling pin in
my hands.

I
checked on the stock from time to time, hoping that the slowly heating water
would thaw the chicken out the rest of the way and still give time for the salt
to flavor it; I didn’t want bland, mushy chicken in my soup. I stirred the pot
every so often while I worked on the noodles, mixing together the flour, water,
eggs, and salt and letting the dough rest for a little while to check on my
little girl. Mom had put her down for her usual nap and I relaxed a little in
the knowledge that she still wasn’t running a fever.

The
stock for the soup finally came up to a boil and I lowered it to a simmer while
I rolled and cut the noodles. It was only then that I wondered to myself why I
was going to so much trouble on Cade’s behalf—at first I told myself that it
was because my family would be eating the soup, too, and I didn’t want to
disappoint them. But Dad and Tuck had been known to eat plenty of things I
thought were disappointing without even batting an eyelash at it.

It’s because it’s a damn shame that
Cade doesn’t have anyone to do this for him, no family or…
I realized I didn’t actually know if Cade had a friend—a girlfriend or just a
buddy—to make soup for him when he was sick. For all I knew, he was at home
eating something homemade. The idea made my heart lurch in my chest and I knew
the real reason I was putting so much trouble into a simple care package for
the farmhand: I liked him.

I
almost stopped at that realization, but I made myself keep going; after all,
there was no point in half-finishing a project once I’d started it. But as I
went to work on the bread to go with dinner, I thought about Cade.

He
wasn’t just a decent farmhand; he was actually an interesting, funny,
sweet-seeming guy, all on his own. He’d gone out of his way, more than once, to
help me out when we crossed paths during the course of the day: helping me haul
groceries, or knocking down an early-spring hornet nest I had been trying to
get to on the eaves of the house so I wouldn’t have to risk getting stung. Tuck
had given me a hard time about having a crush on Cade, but apart from the first
dinner I’d made for him when he’d started working for us, I had tried hard to
keep from getting close to him.

Tuck
and Dad came into the house at one point to refill their water cooler and grab
a quick snack to get them through the rest of the day’s work, and Tuck asked
about dinner. “Soup and garlic-cheese bread,” I told him.

“Better
be some good soup,” Tuck said, gulping down a glass of water. Spring was fully
arrived, and it was already starting to get hot. We’d probably need to water
more heavily than usual during the summer, if the heat kept going up.

“Chicken
noodle, with homemade noodles,” I told him. Tuck beamed; chicken noodle was his
second-favorite soup after beef and barley.

“Think
you’ve made enough?” Tuck poked at the contents of the stockpot with the wooden
spoon I was using and I shooed him away from the stove.

“There’s
plenty,” I said tartly. “Get back out there and earn your dinner.” I wasn’t
about to tell him that I was going to take a quart of the soup over to Cade; it
would just give him the chance to tease me again about having a crush. I’d wait
until he and Dad were out in the field and use the excuse of “running errands
in town” to take Cade his supper.

I
put the bread into the oven and finished up the soup, picking the chicken off
of the carcass and simmering the noodles in the broth. I added some fresh
vegetables—peas, carrots, and corn—and waited for the bread to be done. The
soup could sit on the stove, on low heat, the whole time I was out and still be
fine. I might have to add a little water just before dinner, but that wouldn’t
be a problem.

I
felt my heart starting to beat a little bit faster as I got the bread out of
the oven and started to assemble everything to go with me to Cade’s house in
town. Because of his tax paperwork—which I’d handled for Dad—I knew what his
address was.

I
had the suspicion that Cade might actually think that it was weird for me to
show up at his doorstep with soup and bread, but I put it out of my mind; after
all, I was already committed to the idea, and there was no sense in not seeing
it through. I took a few moments to clean myself up a bit and put on a little
lipstick—not enough that Mom would notice and ask questions, but something to
get some color on my face. I took my hair out of the braid I’d had it in and
twisted it into a sloppy bun, and made sure I didn’t have any flour or stains
on my clothes.

Mom,
at least, I could trust with the real reason for leaving the house. “I’m going
to bring Cade some of the soup I made for dinner,” I said. “I’m just going to
run it by his house and make sure he’s okay.”

“That’s
a sweet idea,” she told me. “I’ll keep an eye on the stockpot for you and make
sure it doesn’t get too low.”

“If
I’m not home by six, go ahead and drop the noodles in to cook through,” I told
her, gathering my keys, my purse, and the insulated bag I’d stuffed Cade’s care
package into.

I
checked out in the fields to make sure that Tuck and Dad were far enough away
that they wouldn’t necessarily notice me walking out to the car; I could barely
see them. I took a deep breath and carefully wedged the insulated bag in the
passenger seat before climbing in on the driver’s side. I got the car started
and tried to hurry down the driveway without looking like I was in a rush.

My
heart pounded in my chest right up until I turned onto the road leading into
town—and then it only slowed down a little at the prospect of seeing Cade, even
sick. I shook my head at myself, thinking how ridiculous I was being—but I couldn’t
help it.

Chapter
Eight

Cade

I
heard a knock at my door and very nearly pretended like I wasn’t home. My nose
was somehow running and stopped up at the same time, I’d been sneezing since
the night before, my head was killing me, and I had a nasty-sounding cough that
was making my throat hurt. I wasn’t sure if I had a fever, but I was feeling
pretty low all the same.

I
hated to have to call in sick, but I knew that if I didn’t nip my flu in the bud,
I’d be useless out in the fields anyway; and I didn’t want to expose the
Nelsons to my bug when there was a baby who would probably get much sicker, who
could be in danger from the flu.

But
curiosity won out; I had no idea who could be at my door in the middle of the
week, in the afternoon. I half-decided that it was probably either a salesman
or a Jehovah’s Witness—those were the only two options I could really think
of—when I got up off of the couch and started to walk towards the door.

Instead
of either one of them, though, I saw Autumn, standing there on my doorstep with
an insulated bag. I almost started to walk away from the door—I was in my
pajamas, and I especially wanted to avoid getting Adelyn sick—but then I
decided it would just be plain rude to leave her out there on my front patio. I
opened the door and pulled my shirt up to cover my mouth and nose. “I don’t
want to get you sick,” I told her right off the bat. “Or Adelyn.”

“It’s
okay,” Autumn said with a smile. “Addie and I have both gotten our flu shots,
so I should be safe. Can I come in?”

I
thought about that. Bob Nelson’s order that I not fall in love with his
daughter was one that I took pretty seriously, and inviting her into my house
probably wouldn’t be a good step on the road to obeying him. But I was sick; it
wasn’t as though I was going to make out with her in my current state. I was
also too tired to stand around talking.

“Come
in,” I told her, opening the door wider and letting the front of my shirt fall
away from my face.

Autumn
stepped through the door and hefted the insulated bag on her shoulder. “I
brought you a big jar of chicken soup—I made it this afternoon,” she told me as
I closed the door behind her.

“That’s
kind of you,” I said, surprised at the gesture. “I’m sorry the house is such a
wreck—I was going to clean last night, but started feeling under the weather
and well…” I shrugged.

“Don’t
worry about it,” she said, shaking her head. “Go get on the couch and let me
find a bowl to put some of this soup in.”

She
went into the kitchen and I smiled in spite of how miserable I felt, before
walking heavily back to the couch I’d been sitting on when she knocked and
sinking down onto it. I heard her moving around, checking cabinets, and I
almost told her where to look—but then she emerged, with one of my trays in her
hands. There was a big bowl with steam still rising off the top of it, a glass
with some Gatorade in it, and a bottle of Nyquil. “Have you taken anything
recently?”

“No,”
I said, shaking my head. “I was trying to get up the energy to heat something
up to eat first, but then you knocked at the door.”

“Well,
you’re going to take something after you eat this fine soup,” Autumn told me.
“You have to keep your fluids up if you’ve got the flu.”

“I’m
sure I’ve heard that,” I said as she set the tray down on the coffee table. She
looked around the living room for a moment, and I gestured to the chair next to
the couch. “Have a seat—that is, if you’re interested in visiting for a little
bit.”

“I
can sit for a spell,” she said. She perched in the chair and pointed at the
tray. “Eat!”

It
wasn’t hard to eat the whole bowl of rich, delicious soup; even with my nose
stopped up and my taste buds off, after the first bite I knew it was exactly
what I needed. “Are these homemade noodles?” Autumn nodded.