While she did what she had to do, I raced into the bedroom, shoved mywardrobe of feminine finery into a plastic garbage bag, and then stuffedit under ...he bed.My days of shielding an alter ego in machismo had returned. Over theyears I'd hidden it from riding companions, girlfriends, businessassociates, and drinking buddies. The relative safety of the farm grantedme freedom to dress. An eight-year old had just shoved me back into thecloset.She came out of the bath, and then stood motionless in. Yesterday she had told him that Jonathan sounded too formal.Rebecca could sense Nathan’s hesitation to speak, so she started again. “I was hoping you would answer, we have a lot to talk about, how does coffee sound?” Her voice brought back memories of last night’s events; some were frightening, and some were amazing. “Nathan?” the questioning affliction at the end of his name made him realize he hadn’t said anything yet. Finally he gathered the strength to utter “Of course, there is a coffee. More

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