Eight-thirty. Martha watched the clock more closely, as though that might change the fact, but the evil thing wouldn't compromise an inch. It was eight-thirty, and she hadn't heard from Jonathan or her father. The latter wasn't unusual. Business dinners weren't uncommon. But Jonathan? She'd been certain he would have called by now.

She sat on the sofa in the study, next to the phone, and pretended to be uninterested in the object of her concern. Of course, she could call him, but that might give the wrong impression. Besides, if she didn't talk to him tonight, she would see him tomorrow, and she could survive until then. Right? That theory was well on its way to being tested when she realized she wasn't alone anymore.

"Martha, honey, I'm sure everything is fine." Her mother was standing in the doorway and made her way over to the couch. "Your dad may be stubborn, but he's fair," she said gently, sitting and placing a hand on her daughter's knee. Martha looked down at her mother's hand, but found little comfort in it.

"A few days ago I would have believed that, but I'm not sure anymore, mom."

Sarah Clark looked sympathetically at her daughter. "You know he's always been so protective of you. I'm afraid that comes along with being an only child, but it doesn't mean he's not trying. No father wants to lose his daughter, and no boy is ever good enough. You might as well know that right now, darling."

She shook her head but didn't look up.

"I'll talk to your father. Maybe I can lead him off the war path," her mother said encouragingly. "In the meantime, how about letting this young Mr. Kent show his face around here?"

Martha finally smiled, grateful for the kindness with which her mother spoke of the man she'd never actually met. Her mom had yet to say much else, really, except that she was sure Jonathan must be quite something to have gotten her father so out of sorts. And even though she never said it out loud, Martha suspected that her mother was a true romantic at heart. At least she had one ally she could count on.

"Thanks, mom. I know Jonathan would thank you, too, if he were here."

"You know, you never did mention how the two of you met."

"Well, it wasn't really a big deal. I just asked to borrow his finance notes, and he said 'yes.'"

That was almost the end of that particular avenue of thought until Sarah's eyes narrowed. "Wait. Weren't you the note-taker for that class?"

Martha blinked a few times and opened her mouth to respond, but at precisely that moment, the phone rang. She grabbed for it--nearly knocking it to the floor.

"Hello?"

Jonathan's "Hey, sweetheart," was audible to both women. She looked back at her mother who mouthed: "I think I'll go," then tiptoed out the door, closing it behind her.

"Hey, I was just thinking about you."

"I'm always thinking about you."

She could almost hear his impish grin as she cradled the phone closer to her ear and settled more contentedly into the sofa, offering her best sultry, "Really?"

His answering light but hearty laughter told her he enjoyed her willingness to play. "Oh yeah, in fact, I'm doing it right now."

She smiled, forgetting for a moment that he couldn't see the reaction, then laughed and added an eager, "So how did everything go?"

"It went fine."

Okay, that might have fooled some people, but her well-trained ear hadn't missed the half-second pause and the tad too-happy pitch in his voice that was a fair indicator that he was hiding something. She sat forward and twirled the phone cord around one finger.

"What did he do?"

The blunt seriousness of her question caught him off guard, and the line went quiet for a few moments. "Nothing. We just discussed some things." His nonchalance only raised her suspicions further.

"Things," she repeated flatly. "What kind of things?"

"You worry too much, you know that?"

Redirection. Ah, she knew it well. What law student didn't? It came right after the sections on jury sympathy and the artful use of reasonable doubt. She herself was a master of the technique. And she was certain that she had detected a hint of tell-tale reluctance from him.

The truth was, he couldn't hide something from her any better than she could from him, but he seemed more or less unscathed by the day's events. She supposed that was enough to be thankful for.

"I'm just making sure all body parts are accounted for--all ten fingers, all ten toes," she said, allowing the levity back into the conversation.

"Oh. Wait. Hold on, let me check." She laughed again at the sound of the phone actually being set down. A few rustling noises later and his voice returned. "All present and accounted for," he reported. "Hey listen, I was um...I was thinking. You know Christmas is next Thursday, and I was thinking maybe Wednesday, you could come over for dinner--if you don't have other plans."

That was a quick change in topic, wasn't it? But she surrendered to it. Christmas was one of her favorite times of the year, ever since she had been a little girl. The lights, the music, the way that for one month everyone was just a little bit nicer to their fellow man. The world seemed just a little more cozy, like sitting around a crackling fire on a cool winter's night. And this year, for her, it could be even better.

"Well, actually, my parents celebrate on Christmas Day so my Christmas Eve is open. But won't your parents mind? I don't want to be an imposition."

There was more soft laughter. "Are you kidding? My mom makes enough food for ten people--besides, I already asked her about it, and she said she'd love for you to come. I'm sure the two of you will find time to sneak off and discuss any number of my embarrassing childhood traumas," he joked. "Then there's Little Joe. He may begin to feel neglected if you're not here, you know. So will you come?"

"Little Joe? Mr. 'Don't call me Jon-boy'? You're nicknaming my poor, innocent calf after a character from Bonanza?"

"You could say that--or you could say: 'Yes, Jonathan, I'd love to come. '"

She giggled helplessly. "Yes, I'd love to come."

----

"Hey, dad? Do we need anything else for Wednesday?"

"No, son, we're set," Hiram answered, weary of the question. "Your ma's already preparing the vegetables. If you really want something to do, you could go on in there and snap some peas to make sure they're all the exact same size," he added drolly.

Jonathan hopped down from the truck and looked back at the farm house, apparently giving the matter some serious thought. Hiram Kent chuckled to himself and rolled his eyes. "We don't need a thing, son. Stop fretting so much and get over here."

He shot his father an annoyed look, sure the man was taking far too much pleasure in his son's personal torture. "I just want everything to be nice," he said crisply, and grabbed a bale of hay from the back.

"It will be. Besides, I hardly think that dinner is the reason she's coming all this way."

Jonathan stopped and took a step back but said nothing. After a moment of thought, he continued toward the barn again. When he returned for another bale, he still had the same pensive expression. All at once, he dropped the bundle and blurted out, "What do you think about Martha and me?"

Hiram stared back at his son, slightly confused. "I told you, I think she's a very nice girl."

Jonathan frowned. "No, that's not what I mean. I mean--" He struggled, searching for what it was he wanted to say-- "I mean, do you believe two people who come from different backgrounds can still be happy together? Or would their differences eventually get in the way?"

The older man put his hands on his hips and studied his boy. "Well now, I suppose that depends on the people," he began cautiously. "For some, they don't like change and can't ever get past it. For others, change is a street to be traveled like any other road in life. If you're asking me which one of those people I think Martha is, well, I'd guess her to be a traveler. But then, you would know better than I would, I suspect."

Jonathan took the information and examined it carefully, turning it over in his mind, this way and that. "So you think we could make it work."

Hiram nodded. "If you have a mind to. Every relationship has its challenges. Nobody's life is perfect, Jon-boy, but if you work at it, if you're sure of what you want, nine times out of ten you can work things out."

That received a lopsided half smile. "I think so, too." Surprisingly, when the two weren't in the heat of a bitter argument about school, football, or the farm, his father could actually offer valuable insight. A bale of hay gripped in both hands, the younger man hesitated a second, then two, and dropped it to the ground. "Thanks, dad," he said hurriedly, followed by a quick pat on the back and grip around the shoulders-- a reaction which obviously surprised his father.

"Oh, go on." Hiram shrugged off the affection with a self-conscious grunt. "It's about time you realized I've got more between my ears than the wind. Why don't you go on in the house. I'll finish this up. I wouldn't want anything to be out of place when your lady friend gets here. It's a whole two days away, after all. Go tell your ma I'll be in shortly."

Jonathan grinned and yanked off his work gloves, shoving them in his back pocket. He sprinted toward the house, leaving a smiling Hiram looking proudly after him.

---

"Drop that cookie." His mother spoke firmly, pointing a commanding finger at her son. Jonathan, who had been moments away from sinking his teeth into the peanut butter snack he held in his hand, dropped it back onto the plate with a disappointed face that could have given any three year old a run for his money.

"Just one?"

"No, sir. Where's your dad?"

"He's finishing up outside. He should be in soon." He sat himself at the kitchen table and rested his chin in one hand while absently tracing imaginary designs on the wood with the other. "Do you need any help?"

Jessica Kent didn't looked up from the bowl she stood over, slicing celery with a deft hand. "I'm doing just fine, thank you," she said happily. Jonathan had thought that would be her only comment until she added, "Have you spoken to Martha today?" Her attempt at seemingly completely casual conversation might have been successful, except that he could see the slight upward turn of her lips.

Mothers. Always so enamored of their boys' love lives-- or maybe that was just his mother.

"Yeah, I'm gonna pick her up Wednesday afternoon."

"Any special plans?" she asked, trying to sound just as uninterested as before and only managing to be less convincing.

Jonathan, whose gaze had drifted while he thought of the days to come, turned his head in her direction, and watched as she pretended to be more interested in celery than his response. "I suppose so," he said, sounding just as distant.

For the first time since the start of their conversation, Jessica looked up at her son. "All right. I can take a hint. I'm not one to pry," she replied innocently.

"You, mother? Of course not." That got him a well directed scruff of the hair as she passed by. He chuckled and leaned backward in his chair, setting it on its back legs.

"Oh, you. Go hurry your father along, smarty pants," she scolded teasingly and returned to her work. He smiled again, with a mischievous glint, and snatched a cookie from the plate on the table before he left.

It was almost dark. With one hand, he guided the screen door open and stepped outside. "Dad?"

The only sounds to answer him were the beginning chirps of the night creatures and the call of the many farm animals in the distance. "Dad, are you out here?" He ventured further out toward the barn but stopped when he saw the truck--only the truck, with one bale of hay still sitting in the back. An uneasy twinge pricked the edge of his consciousness. His father would never leave a job undone...

"Dad?"

His steps quickened, then stopped short when a prone form became visible just beside the vehicle. "Dad!"

Suddenly his feet couldn't carry him fast enough.