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stroking her hair. She blinked to break the spell.
    “No,” he said at last. “There’s no need for you to leave at all.”

Chapter Three
    Smoke billowed from the woodstove as Anne frantically pulled blackened loaves of bread from the oven. Ingrid raced into the house, milk from her pail spilling onto the floor. She grabbed a tea cloth and pulled out the last loaf.
    “What on earth happened?”
    “I don’t know. I added wood to the stove just as Astrid said. But then it started to smoke.” The heat made Anne’s face damp with perspiration. She had no experience with baking, much less baking on a woodstove. It was impossible to control the heat on the iron beast.
    “I think perhaps you were a little too generous with the wood.” Ingrid examined the charred bread lying on the lid of the oven. “It’s not so bad. We can salvage some of it.”
    Anne hung her head in embarrassment and shame. She felt completely out of her element. Everything was so different here. “I’m sorry.”
    Ingrid waved off her apology. “It’s all right. It’s not your fault.”
    Astrid arrived with another pail of milk. “Oh, dear. I should have stayed and helped you stoke the stove. It takes some practice, I’m afraid.”
    “I’m sorry, Astrid. All your hard work—”
    “Nonsense. After all these years I can bake bread in my sleep. In a couple of days we’ll do it again. It’ll give you a chance to practice.”
    Anne nodded, feeling close to tears. Astrid squeezed her shoulder. “For now, let’s open the windows and air out the kitchen. Everything will be fine, dear.”
    She wondered at that. Perhaps returning to England was for the best. She’d never fit in here.
    ****
    Erik found Anne sitting on a wooden box in the barn, her head bent and her shoulders slumped. She looked so sad it broke his heart. He sat beside her.
    “What are you doing here? I thought you were getting a cooking lesson.”
    She gave him a wry smile. “Apparently I have no talent for cooking. I hope you like your bread well done.”
    He chuckled. “That would explain the smoke pouring out the windows. Have you never baked bread before?”
    “No, never. When rationing came, Mother took over all the cooking. Food was too precious to waste on a novice cook’s experiments. After my family died, I lived in the nurses’ residence and ate in the cafeteria.” She lowered her head once more. “I feel so useless here.”
    He understood about feeling useless. Every time his injuries prevented him from being able to do his chores he felt less a man.
    “There’s something you can help me with. Every day the cattle need to go to the dugout for water. Until freeze-up, you can let the milk cows out into the pasture in the morning after milking and bring them back in the afternoon in time for their second milking.” The milk cows were gentle and docile and wouldn’t give her any trouble. Besides, they knew their routine so well they could practically herd themselves. “What do you say?”
    She smiled. “I say show me what to do.”
    They walked from the barn to the adjacent corral where his ten milk cows idly munched on the last of the summer’s grass. He opened the gate to the corral and clapped his hands.
    “Hey up!” he called. The cattle slowly made their way through the gate, following one after another in single file. Erik and Anne followed, walking the quarter mile through the pasture to the dugout.
    “It’s so peaceful here. Quiet. I’ll miss that when I’m back in London.”
    When she was back in London. How dull and grey his life would be then. She’d brought much-needed color to his world. He desperately pushed the thought away. “Are you looking forward to going home?”
    She shrugged, her dark hair rippling in the cool wind. “I don’t know. Aside from a few good friends, there’s nothing left for me in England. Maybe that’s why I said yes to Anders. I needed a new start.”
    “How did you meet?” He had to know, even if it hurt