"I'm a lawyer, not a farmer," Clay stated emphatically. "I didn't spend all those years in college studying law to throw it aside because of some sentimental nonsense."
As soon as Clay had said it, he realized he had just waved a red cape in front of Cathie. Her reaction was instantaneous.
"It is not sentimental nonsense! And if you think it is, then I'm proud to be a sentimental fool! The very first plowshare that broke this ground when it was a wild prairie was held by my great-grandfather Carlsen. He was one of the first settlers in this area after the Civil War. Look at this land, Clay, It's one of the richest sections of bottom land in Iowa. The dirt is black and fertile, made to grow food and families. This is where our family began. This is the Carlsen home, our legacy given to us by our ancestors. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"
"Of course it does," he placated. "All of the family is sad to lose it, your father and myself included. But family farms are a passing thing. And you just can't live in the past anymore, not if you want to succeed in life. It's progress, Cathie."
"Then progress be damned!"
"Don't swear, Cathie. It isn't becoming," he admonished gently, all the while thinking what a bewitching creature she was when she was in a temper, her eyes flashing green fires and her face alive with passionate zeal.