Very brief, silly chapter. Doesn't matter where you fit it in. Hope you enjoy.

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WOOLGATHERING

"We never did look up that word," Jack commented one morning at breakfast. They were sitting in the dining area of their new house which looked out through the glass wall at the lovely, crystal blue lake and rolling hills rising to majestic mountains in the background.

"What word?" Sam asked, spearing another bite of pancake.

"Woolgathering. Remember? When we were on the runaway star planet?"

"Oh, yeah, that. Woolgathering means daydreaming."

"Sure. I know what it means. But what's wool got to do with daydreaming?"

Sam frowned, thinking about it. "I don't know the answer," she admitted finally.

"What?" He rounded his eyes in shock. "There's actually something you don't know?"

"Very funny. I'll look it up after breakfast." She put the bite of pancake in her mouth.

"After breakfast? Why not now? Isn't your curiosity killing you?"

"Noo..." she mumbled around the delicious maple syrup and butter-flavored morsel.

He pouted. "But... but... It's killing me!"

She almost choked, swallowed quickly and stifled a giggle. He was just so adorable when he pouted! "After breakfast," she said firmly.

Predictably, the pout deepened. "Pretty please..."

"Jack," she said, grinning. "It's been... what... seven months? It can wait ten more minutes."

He dropped his chin toward his collarbone and looked up at her through his lashes.

"Oh, for crying out loud!" She threw up her hands, surrendering. "Get the laptop. It's on the coffee table."

He jumped to his feet, grinning, and vanished into the living room. Three seconds later he was back, behind her, placing the laptop on the table beside her plate, and opening the cover. Then he bent down to nuzzle her neck and shoulder and cheek, hands sliding around to squeeze her breasts through the velvet robe she was wearing. One hand slipped lower to stroke the Beanie-bump. "Only six more weeks," he whispered.

"Oh, God—is it still that long!" Right now six weeks sounded like a lifetime!

"At least the morning sickness has stopped," he said gently, wrapping his arms around her.

"Well, we're both thankful for that."

"You betcha!" He kissed her cheek, and then straightened and returned to his own chair.

Sam took one more delicious bite, then wiped her hands and pushed her plate to the side. Pulling the laptop toward herself, she brought up the search engine and typed in 'woolgathering word origin.' A list of websites popped up immediately. Sam clicked on a promising one and skimmed the results. "Okay," she said, "Listen to this:

"The origin and meaning of this expression lies in the rural fields and farms of old England. Sheep, moving and grazing freely in open fields will typically brush up against bushes that tear off and keep bits of wool from the animals. It was once common among the rural poor in England to wander about the countryside, collecting those pieces of wool. Because that practice required erratic movements and produced very little of value, the word woolgathering came to be used in the figurative phrase 'to be woolgathering,' which meant to indulge in wandering fancies or purposeless thinking, or to be in a dreamy, absentminded state."

Sam raised her head. "There really was a practical reason for the meaning of the word."

"Yeah. How about that. So I wonder if they were counting sheepwhile they were woolgathering," Jack speculated with a grin.

"And do you suppose they ran into any black sheep?" Sam added. "Or wolves in sheep's clothing."

"They'd have felt pretty sheepish if the landowner saw them!"

"Maybe they just made sheep's eyes at the owner and charmed him into leaving them alone!"

"Or maybe they grabbed the whole sheep and ran with it—after all, you may as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb!"

Sam burst into laughter. "They'd be gone in two shakes of a lamb's tail," she sputtered.

"That kind of thing would sure separate the sheep from the goats!"

"And when the owner caught them, they'd try to look as innocent as a lamb!"

Jack was too convulsed to even have a comeback at that point. It was a few minutes before he regained the ability to speak. "I never realized there were so many idiocies related to sheep."

"That's idioms, silly," she said, still laughing.

"Sounded like idiocy to me."

"Speak for yourself."

"Hey," he objected. "Don't make me the sacrificial lamb!"

"Stop!" she cried, holding her belly. "I may go into labor!"

All the humor drained from his face. "Sam!?" he exclaimed in alarm.

She just laughed harder. "I got your goat that time, didn't I?"

He narrowed his eyes at her dangerously. "Oh, for cryin' out loud!" he growled.

"What? Nobody ever went into labor from laughing, Jack!"

"How do you know?"

"I just know." She started to giggle again. "I know everything, remember? And I've got more than one SHEEPSKIN to prove it!"

He put up his hands. "Okay. Okay. You win. I've run out of idiocy."

"No, Jack," she snorted, and stood up. "You will never run out of idiocy!" With that she made a fast exit into the kitchen.

"Oooh! Woman, I will sooo get you for that!" And he went after her.