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Even though I’d just met her, I already adored her.  “But I don’t have to go inside yet,” I insisted.  “Is there more work I can help you with out here first?”
    He shook his head.  “I’m fine.  Go on.”
    “What about you?  You have to eat too, don’t you?”
    He shrugged.  “I’ll eat later.”
    I was beginning to understand what Maggie meant about her brother being a workaholic.  No wonder she worried about him.  Reluctantly, I went back inside.  I felt a bit guilty about leaving him even though he’d insisted.  I was exhausted and dripping with sweat, and Nate had been working since before I’d even gotten out of bed. I could only imagine how he must be feeling. 
    Inside the house, the aroma of burnt...something hit me as soon as I opened the door.  I couldn’t quite decipher what I smelled.  All I knew was it was very, very ruined.  Concerned, I made my way into the kitchen to make sure nothing was, you know, on fire.
    A distraught looking Maggie greeted me.  “I tried to cook you and Nate a nice lunch,” she said tearfully, looking like she might start sobbing at any moment.  “I tried to make this delicious stew that our mom used to always make.”  She gestured to a worn looking cookbook on the kitchen counter.  “But I must have messed something up because I burnt it!”
    “Hey, it’s okay,” I reassured her, puzzled by why she was so upset.  “It’s the thought that counts.  I can always make us sandwiches or something.”
    Maggie’s lower lip started to tremble at that and suddenly she seemed like a little girl instead of a college aged young woman.  “You don’t understand,” she sniffled.  “My dad was a farmer.  He taught us kids – especially Nate – how to do chores, operate the equipment and, well, run the farm.  My mom rescued animals and when she wasn’t busy doing that?  She cooked.”
    “Okay...?”
    “She was supposed to pass it on to me!” Maggie said as tears spilled down her cheeks.  “She was going to teach me the recipes that have been passed down for generations in our family but before she could she – she...”
    “Okay,” I said again as understanding dawned on me.  This wasn’t really about the failed attempt at making stew after all.  Maggie’s grief was linked to the untimely loss of her parents, and specifically, all the mother-daughter moments that would never be.  My heart broke for her.  “I’d hug you right now,” I said, gesturing to my sweat-soaked clothes, “but I’m kind of gross.”
    “Oh, I don’t care about that,” she replied, and practically fell into my arms.  I hugged her tightly as she sobbed on my shoulder, stroking her hair soothingly much like I’d stroked Penny’s mane. “I’m a terrible cook,” she cried, her shoulders heaving.  “I suck!”
    “Shh, don’t say that,” I responded at once.  For a while I’d believed I was terrible at everything, useless and worthless and unlovable.  I guess if you’re beaten down enough times, eventually you realize it’s easiest to stay there on the ground.  It had taken me a long time to reprogram that hateful little voice in the back of my head; some days it was still a challenge.  After what I’ been through, it pained me to hear Maggie speak poorly about herself.
    “I just want my mom to be proud of me, you know?” she sniffled.
    “I’m sure she was proud of you.  What if you and I work our way through your mom’s cookbook together?” I suggested gently as Maggie’s sobs died down.  “Sometimes two heads are better than one.  I bet we can figure out how to make that stew...and anything else you want.”
    She lifted her head and looked at me, her tear-streaked face hopeful.  “You’d do that?”
    “Of course,” I smiled.
    She smiled back and let go of me then, seemingly back in control of her emotions.  “Did your mom teach you how to cook?” she asked me innocently.
    I shook my head.  “No, but I worked at a