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were
plump and firm, a sure sign that the corn was ready to harvest. He
blinked into the morning sun. They could start on the corn this
week and leave the cabbage and the potatoes for next week, then
finish up the kale and the wheat the following week. He shrugged
and tucked the corncob in the pocket of his vest.
    His second real harvest at Donovan’s Lot. The
first one hadn’t been miserable, but had fallen short of actually
supplying the camp with enough food for the winter. If it hadn’t
been for reserve supplies in abandoned root cellars, it would have
been worse than it was.
    Except for a simple garden plot Ellen had
tended when they were first married, he had no real experience with
growing food before last summer. Moving away from the coast—and
fishing—was the one and only concession he’d made when he created
Donovan’s Lot. Everyone else knew next to nothing about farming or
fishing. At the time it seemed the learning curve on an inland
homesteading experience was the least daunting.
    “Well, Da? Are they ready?” Gavin nodded at
the rows and rows of tall green corn.
    “They are. Tell the others. We’ll pick this
field this week and start on the south field when we’re done.”
    “Starting today?”
    “Yes. Tell the others to stop what they’re
doing.”
    Gavin was trotting away toward the camp
before Mike even finished his statement.
    Why do all the young run everywhere? They’re
always in such a hurry.
    Turning back toward camp, Mike saw Sarah
coming toward him. He should have expected this. It had only been a
few days since she’d announced she was leaving—a few days when a
lot else had happened in the interim, not to mention that bogger,
Gilhooley, taking up residence practically in the middle of the
camp. But he hadn’t had much time to talk to Sarah—or rather he had
but preferred not to—and he should have expected she wouldn’t put
up with that for long.
    So American , he thought, as he watched
her stride purposely toward him. He could almost hear her voice in
his head: What are you thinking, Mike? Are you feeling okay,
Mike? Is it something you’d like to talk about, Mike?
    Bloody woman . Yet the sight of her
growing ever nearer filled his heart with an aching sense of peace,
too. Like a feeling of a magnet drawing its metal shavings to
itself. The innately right feeling of two things that belong
together being brought back together.
    Such fecking rubbish.
    “Mike? Do you have a minute?”
    It was daft to think he could avoid her until
the moment she climbed on that military transport copter. He
arranged his face into a smile.
    “Sarah.” Her face was flushed with color, her
breath coming in pants from the exertion of the hike. Except for
her daily ride on old Dan, she didn’t usually venture too far from
the comfort of her cottage and the camp.
    Especially not after her last outing, which
left her husband dead and her forever changed.
    “We need to talk about my leaving.”
    “What would you have me say?”
    “Fiona won’t even talk to me and you’ve been
avoiding me.”
    Well, it was true. He sighed and ran a
hand through his hair. “I guess it’s just hard to say goodbye.”
    “Don’t you think this is hard for me, too?
It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. Do you think I want to leave?”
    “You know, Sarah, I don’t think I can stand
here and listen to outright bullshite. Because if you’re going to
bang on that same drum that says you’re just doing this for John’s
sake—”
    “I am just doing this for John’s
sake!”
    “Well, that’s just a little difficult for
those of us left behind to fully believe, ya see.”
    “ You wouldn’t leave if you could?” She
stood in front of him now, her hands on her hips. Her jeans were
snug and fit her in all the right places. Mike looked away from
her. Thinking like that wasn’t going to get him anywhere.
    “Seeing as how this is my home and all I’ve
ever known, I’d have to say, no.”
    “But