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“To help,” he said.

Her gaze remained firmly locked on his face— searching, almost. “Is that all?” she whispered. “To work?”

It was the perfect moment, the ideal opportunity, to explain it all. He couldn’t have asked for an easier means of making his confession. “I wanted— I wish to—” He couldn’t seem to find words. That hadn’t happened in Helene’s presence since his very first day at the farm. He forced out a deep breath, holding his hands up in a show of frustration. “It is amazing how awkward conversation becomes when one isn’t wearing a shirt.”

She smiled a little, color rushing to her cheeks once more. “You also aren’t wearing shoes.”

“Somehow that’s not quite as disconcerting,” he muttered.

“Would you rather I leave?” She sounded disappointed at the prospect.

For a moment, he considered asking her to go. Cowardice appealed then. But he needed to have the conversation with her, as inopportune as the situation was. “I’ll just fetch my coat from the barn.”

“I don’t wish to put you out.”

“Not at all.” He took a single step toward the barn, but turned back when he realized she might walk away while he was gone. “I’ll be back directly.”

“You had better be. Your socks are lying there all alone beside the washbasin, crying out to be cleaned.”

He made quick work of rushing to the barn, where he snatched his wool uniform jacket. When he returned, Helene sat on a log near the washbasin.

She looked up as he approached. “It’s far too warm for such a heavy coat.”

He sat at the basin again and grabbed his socks. “It’s either this or a wet shirt.”

“Or no shirt at all,” she added with a smile.

“Which is only helpful if my goal is to make certain you neither look at nor talk to me.” He scrubbed quickly at his socks. He’d never been alone with her before, and he didn’t want to waste the moment with laundry. “How long have you been in Nebraska?”

“Almost five years.” She looked out over the river. “I didn’t care for it at first. Everything was so different from Massachusetts. But I fell in love with the quiet and openness. And the people are so friendly.”

“You’ve taken on a lot of responsibility with such a large farm to run.” He kept on scrubbing.

“It’s small by comparison to many farms around here.” She turned a little, so she looked more in his direction. “Now that the war is over, where do you mean to settle?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” He stood and hung his socks beside the rest of his drying clothes.

“Perhaps you’ll fall in love with Nebraska, as well,” she said. “It is a very nice place.”

She didn’t wish to be rid of him. That fact argued firmly in favor of her caring for him, or at least not disliking him. “I have enjoyed Nebraska, although I haven’t been here in the winter. Is that season likely to change my opinion of the place?”

She smiled. “I’d better not tell you; you might leave now.”

“The winters are quite cold in Massachusetts,” he reminded her.

But she shook her head. “It’s not the same kind of cold here.”

Gregory sat beside her on the log. “The only trees growing around here are along the river. Do you chop them for fuel?”

“We do gather driftwood, but we don’t cut trees. We’d quickly be out of them if we did.”

“Then what do you burn?” He had a sudden, horrible picture in his mind of her freezing through bitter winters.

“Sunflower stalks. Straw, sometimes. We burn a lot of buffalo chips.” Her nose crinkled adorably. “That is one of the few things I don’t like about living here.”

He slipped his hand around hers. He’d done so before, but the experience hadn’t grown any less enjoyable. “Do you need me to start gathering chips?”

“Mother and Bianca do that. They’ve already begun, actually. It’s an urgent task from the first thaw of spring until the snow is too thick for gathering.”