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ahead, her voice filled with vinegar. “Kate had some errands to take care of. I can drive this old truck.”
    Dusty tipped his hat back to get a good look at her and grinned. “’Course you can. Any reason why you don’t do it full-time?”
    She turned her head and looked him over, her eyebrows raised over snapping blue eyes. “Maybe because I don’t like doing it?”
    “If you say so.” He didn’t believe her excuse for a minute. Aggie had the same love of land and farming he sensed in her redheaded niece.
    Aggie’s stubborn expression turned to one of disgust. “Bad knee,” she said in a low, embarrassed voice.
    Dusty only nodded.
    “I can drive some,” she hurried on. “But I can’t take a full day of it. Working the brake and the clutch is more than I can take after a while. If I do it for too long, I can’t walk the next day, my knee gets to aching me so bad.”
    He could relate. His body had taken plenty of abuse riding bulls. “Understandable. I have my own aches and pains.”
    “Dinner should be ready by the time I get back from the elevator. Keep an eye out for Trish so you’ll know when to quit.”
    He noticed the combine bin had nearly finished emptying, so he moved away. “I’m looking forward to it.”
    “Thought you might be.” Aggie chuckled, but her mouth settled in a tight line when she started the truck.
    He watched her drive away, bumping along the rough road, and then he climbed back into the combine cab to set the machine in motion again. Folks around Desperation admired the woman. She might be the brunt of jokes about her unmarried state, but Agatha Clayborne was a woman people respected. He was hard-pressed not to agree. And she’d raised a niece who had caught him off guard and had him wondering what the next few weeks might bring.

Chapter Two
    The aroma of freshly fried chicken hit Dusty like a sledgehammer when he stepped onto the porch. He’d seen Trish waving to him from the edge of the field and had forced himself not to rush his last round.
    Inside, Trish was crossing the room with a heaping bowl of buttery mashed potatoes in her hands. Having been raised a gentleman, Dusty hurried over to lend a hand.
    “Let me help.” He took the hot bowl from her and quickly dumped it on the table, wishing he’d thought to take the oven mitts, too.
    Laughter rippled from behind him. “She keeps it warming in the oven until we’re ready,” he heard Kate say.
    “I’ll keep that in mind.”
    Kate took the same chair she’d had that morning. “Go ahead and clean up at the sink, and we’ll get started. We don’t wait on ceremony during harvest.”
    After washing and drying his hands, Dusty planted himself in the chair he’d sat in at breakfast, next to her. “Aggie should be back any minute unless there’s a long line at the elevator.”
    “We can warm things up if there is,” Trish said.
    The platter of chicken Kate passed him drove any thought of work from his mind. He hadn’t seen chicken so perfectly done since he was a kid.
    Choosing a golden-brown thigh from the platter, he took a bite, and the chicken seemed to melt the instant he wrapped his mouth around it.
    Before he could swallow and remark on it, the back door banged open, and Aggie entered, heading for the sink. “Those brakes feel kind of mushy to me,” she announced, quickly washing her hands.
    “I’ll take a look at the brake fluid,” Kate answered. “I need to remember to do the same with the old tractor. I noticed last fall that the brakes were kind of soft.”
    Dusty slid a glance at her, and his pulse picked up. But now wasn’t the time, and he concentrated on the meal while the others discussed Trish’s wedding plans and other womanly things that held no interest for him.
    When he’d finished eating, the urge to kick back and enjoy the contentment of a more than satisfying meal was cut short by the need to get the work done. “I don’t believe I’ve ever had better fried chicken,” he