She might not know much about farming, but she asked questions and listened to the answers. As the sun set, everyone gathered around an old picnic table beside the pecan trees. As Benjamin poured the wine he’d brought for his addition to dinner, everyone else watched the sun set.

Jenny’s way of pulling folks out of their shells fascinated him. He learned things he’d never known about people who’d lived next to him for years.

When Ben helped carry the dishes inside, his dad leaned close to him and whispered, “Any chance you like that girl, son?”

“I do, but that’s all, Dad. Just like.”

“Well, work on it. I’m not always going to be around to watch over you. She’s a keeper.”

Ben wondered if his dad was seeing the same woman he saw. She was chubby, laughed too loud, her hair probably glowed in the dark, and apparently she never met a stranger.

A few minutes later, when he handed her a plate with a helping of cobbler topped with ice cream, she said, “Thank you, dear. I just couldn’t make up my mind. I have to have both.”

Both Donna and Sarah puffed up a bit with pride. Donna said she’d give Jenny her secret recipe for homemade ice cream and Sarah let her know that the cobbler recipe was in the 4-H cookbook.

His dad must have heard Jenny call his son “dear,” because the old guy wiggled his eyebrows at Ben. An hour later as he said goodbye to them, Dad leaned over and whispered something to Jenny.

She nodded, then kissed the old guy’s wrinkled cheek.

Ben considered the possibility that his father had taken up hard drinking. He’d never seen Dad do much more than scowl at a woman.

As they walked to his Jeep, she slipped her hand around his arm. “It’s so dark out here, I need to hold on to you, Ben. City girls sometimes have problems walking on dirt.” She sighed as she looked up at the stars. “I can see why you’d love the farm.”

In the car, Jenny told him that his father had showed her the wall of pictures of Ben growing up while Ben was clearing the table. “You were a cute kid, Benjamin. Every birthday, every Christmas, every graduation from grade school to college. It was like watching you grow up.”

“Dad marked time with me at every age like he was keeping a log.... So what did my dad ask you as we left?”

“He asked if I was in my gestation years.”

Ben almost missed the curve. He gripped the wheel, slowed, then pulled off into a grove of low-hanging cottonwood trees.

Turning toward her, he forced words. “I . . . I’m so sorry. I hope you’re not sorry you came. My dad talks to so few people; he’s forgotten how to have a conversation.”