You’re digressing again, Bett told herself, and opened the refrigerator. Stop thinking about sex. Think about…money. Or babies.

Nothing in the refrigerator announced itself as irresistible. She closed the door and ambled back to the desk in Zach’s study to attack the bills. Slitting the first envelope, she noted that the local fuel deliverer had put a sticker of a smiling face on the invoice, which indicated that they owed him a whopping $939. George had such a sense of humor. She hoped his humor would last until they were paid for last Monday’s peaches.

Babies were more fun to think about than money, anyway. Actually, the diapered species was another of their motivations for building a house. Upstairs there happened to be three spacious rooms-one the master bedroom, one a combination spare room and storage niche that Bett promised herself regularly she would organize, and the third…the third room was still unpainted, still empty. Waiting. This was the room she and Zach had designated as the nursery.

This year they hoped to finish paying off their major loan from the bank, and next year they had additional orchards finally coming into production. Babies were just about ready to be slotted into the agenda. They’d been practicing to make them for some time. Zach, probably because he had been orphaned as a teenager, wanted a hundred. Bett would have settled for one. At times, the nesting urge would fill her with longing, but then Zach would really get in the spirit of practicing again…

You have a one-track mind this evening, she scolded herself and went upstairs. After taking a quick shower, she donned a pair of old white jeans and a T-shirt of Zach’s, then padded barefoot down to the kitchen again. After swiping the counter with a sponge and popping the lunch dishes into the dishwasher, she reopened the refrigerator, hoping that this time a decision about dinner would miraculously occur to her.