Free The Alpine Yeoman by Mary Daheim

Vida with good wishes. I would, of course, have preferred it to be the other way around.
    After buying a blackberry pie and a half dozen French rolls, I headed home. Driving my Honda into the carport, I could see a pile of logs out in the backyard. I grimaced, wondering if my cozy little cabin would feel chilly. The fitful April showers had ceased, though clouds still hung low over the mountains, drifting slowly to the west.
    I’d been inside just long enough to turn on the oven and put the game hens in the microwave to defrost when the phone rang. Dashing out into the living room, I snatched up the phone from the end table.
    “Scratch Tanya for dinner,” Milo said. “She’s going out to eat with an old pal, Deanna … I forget her married name. She’ll be back around seven, seven-thirty. I’m in touch with the Yakima County sheriff’s office, so I might not get home until six or so.”
    “Okay,” I said—and realized that the sheriff had already disconnected. Maybe he thought he was talking to my voice mail.
    I wondered if I should hold off cooking one of the game hens, but given Milo’s prodigious appetite, I put both in the oven. If there was anything left over, I could take it to work for lunch. By the time I’d prepared a mixture of white, wild, and brown rice out of a box and readied the asparagus for steaming, I considered making a drink but decided to wait for Milo. I sat down on the sofa, opened my laptop, and started an email to Adam. He’d returned to St. Mary’s Igloo Sunday night after attending a conference in Fairbanks. I’d received a brief message from him saying he’d arrived safely—details to follow. I hadn’t heard anything further, so I assumed he was busy with his villagers. As ever, I wished he’d be assigned somewhere that wasn’t so isolated and remote. Like Ben, he had to go where he was sent.
    I told him how the remodel was progressing and that I’d decided to keep my old double bed in the expanded spare room. “I’ve moved all of your stored belongings to the so-called den, between the living room and your old room. As you may recall, that area was so small that there wasn’t enough space for a kid’s school desk. Scott Melville suggested we also rip out that wall to double the bedroom’s size.”
    I paused. For all I knew, the church and rectory where Adam lived wasn’t as big as my little log cabin was now. I wondered if he thought his mother was bragging. Or cajoling. Or …
    I gave a start when I heard the kitchen door open and bang shut. “Milo?” I called, closing the laptop and hurrying into the kitchen.
    “It’s not Mother Nature,” my husband growled, taking off his hat and tossing it on top of the dishwasher. “All I can get out of Yakima is the drought that’s predicted over there. The fruit crop’s heading for disaster and the governor is alreadyworried about forest fires. Worst water shortage in the state’s history.”
    “We’ve had some rain here,” I said in an unnaturally meek voice.
    Milo shrugged out of his regulation jacket. “Not enough. Besides, we’re on the so-called wet side of the Cascades, in case you forgot.” He grabbed his hat and stalked out of the kitchen.
    “Hey,” I yipped, chasing after him as he hung up his hat and jacket on a peg by the front door. “How many times do I have to remind you I’m your damned wife?”
    “Oh … hell.” Milo’s broad shoulders sagged before he took me in his arms and kissed me. “Damnit, Emma,” he said, resting his chin on top of my head, “I don’t deserve you. I told you that before we got engaged.”
    I rested my cheek against his chest. “Hey, big guy, I knew what I was getting into. You deserve something better than a bitchy homecoming.” I managed to pull away to look up at him. “What’s wrong?”
    “Wait until we sit.” He glanced over at the end table. “You don’t have a drink?”
    “No. Now that we’re married, I don’t like drinking alone.”
    He