He slanted a sideways look at her. She appeared to be listening intently, so he went on. “As for your mom, she’s made me laugh again. That’s mighty important. It’s always seemed to me that folks weren’t meant to go through life without a companion, someone who thinks they’re terrific. I don’t know a lot about what happened between your parents, but divorce is never easy. I think you and your mom deserve someone who’ll put your needs first. And I could sure use someone to liven this place up.”

Jenny looked torn between wanting him to feel better and her own distinctly opposite needs. “Maybe you could just play the radio real loud or ‘Geraldo’ and ‘Oprah.’ Wouldn’t that work?”

He grinned. “It’s not the same.”

“You mean you just want people to talk to, stuff like that?”

“More or less.”

“Oh.” She seemed to be considering the idea, then she lifted her chin and stared him straight in the eye. “I thought you wanted sex with her.”

The blunt and far too perceptive remark sent blood climbing up the back of his neck. He had to choke back a chuckle. “That’s a whole other issue and one I do not intend to discuss with you, young lady,” he said sternly.

“My mother and I talk about everything. She doesn’t keep secrets,” she said, regarding him with a sly look. “Not from me, anyway.”

“I’ll bet she’ll keep this one,” Harlan countered. It was beginning to seem to him, though, that there were too damned many people fascinated with his love life these days.

“So?” he asked. “What’s the verdict? Do you object to your mom and me seeing each other?”

“Would you stop if I did?”

“Probably not,” he admitted. “But I’d work like crazy to make you change your mind.”

“Would you let me off this prison sentence you imposed?”

He grinned at the ploy. “Is being out here really so terrible?” He fixed a steady gaze on her. “Tell the truth.”

“No,” she said with an air of resignation. “It’s just the principle of it. You get to boss me around and I have to take it.”

“That’s right,” he said. “That’s the way it works in the real world.”

“Yeah, but in the real world you get paid. I’m doing slave labor.”

He nodded. “Okay, maybe I didn’t set up the rules quite right. How about we go back to the house and figure out how much you owe me for the truck—and the toolshed,” he added pointedly. “Then we’ll set a salary for your chores around here. You can pay me back out of your earnings each week.”

“Will I have to pay you every dime?”