Greg drank a hearty swig of his own firewhiskey despite the burn in his sinuses. "Lavender and I," he said, stressing her name faintly, "have dinner together in the evenings. She works. I work. She helps me around the farm some. She cooks and bakes." Even if they had been having wild times in the hay stack, Greg wasn't sure he'd even mention it. Things like that weren't anyone else's business in the first place. He shrugged uncomfortably. "We get along."