didn’t you tell her you hated licorice?”
Nick’s expression was suddenly sheepish. “I didn’t want to hurt her feelings.”
Allison couldn’t imagine this sergeant in the army being worried about such a thing. “What about Sam? Didn’t he want to hear Civil War stories, too?”
Nick shook his head and jammed his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “Sam was always content to work on the farm. Whether it was planting time or harvesting time, he wanted to be in on the doing of it.”
“And you didn’t?”
“Not always.” Which was true enough, Nick thought. But he’d never been as good at it as Sam. Sam had been able to plow a straight row from the time he was twelve years old, whereas Nick had always ended up daydreaming and straying off course. S.T., hotter than the devil himself, would come out to the fields and order Nick off the tractor and Sam up in the driver’s seat. It was a scenario that had been repeated over and over during their growing up years. Sam was still in the driver’s seat as far as the farm was concerned, Nick realized. This year his brother had taken over sole responsibility of running the farm. Nick didn’t know how he felt about that. Actually, he tried not to think about it at all.
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