by Jennie Marts
Hank had been the ranch’s blacksmith since Gram had first started giving tours of the living history museum. Jocelyn remembered him as a tall, broad-shouldered man who had a big laugh and kind eyes.
The sharp clang of the hammer against the anvil rang out through the shop as Mack molded and shaped the iron piece he was working on. Savage lay in the dirt several feet away. He must have smelled or sensed her, because he pushed to his feet and loped toward her, his big ears flopping in the dust as he ran.
She knelt to give him a cuddle, then wiggled her fingers at Mack in a small wave. “Hey. Sorry, didn’t want to interrupt.”
“You’re not. I was just fooling around with an idea.”
“Yeah?” She took a few tentative steps closer.
“Yeah, I’m just finishing it.” He held the piece with a pair of tongs and dunked it into the barrel of water sitting next to the forge. It hit the water with a hiss, and steam rose into the air. He swirled it around for several seconds, then took it out and wiped it with a rag from the workbench.
“I’m always amazed that you can touch it so quickly after it’s been in the fire,” she said.
“Yeah, that amazes a lot of people. It doesn’t take long to cool it.” He passed her the piece. “What do you think of this?”
The iron was heavy in her hands. She looked down at what was once a rod of iron and was now forged into the shape of a heart. “Aww. I love it. Are you giving me your heart?”
Her joke fell flat as he returned his focus to his work, picking up a hammer and another rod of steel. “I already did that,” he said, not quite under his breath. “And you broke it.”
She balked at his muttered comment. “You broke mine too.”
He jerked his head back. “Me?”
Before she could say another word, she was interrupted by the chiming of her phone. This conversation with Mack felt important, but it was her boss’s ringtone, and ignoring her calls didn’t feel like the best way to secure the promotion she so desperately wanted. She offered Mack an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. It’s my boss.”
“You should take it,” he said with a half shrug before turning to his workbench and wrecking her chances of getting a good read on his expression. Was he upset or nonchalant?
She tapped the screen and held the phone to her ear. “Hello, Andrea.”
“Jocelyn. Good. I’m glad I caught you. I just got off the phone with the coffee house clients, and they had a couple of thoughts on the briefs you’d proposed.”
Her stomach clenched. Good thoughts or bad thoughts? “Sure. Yeah, of course,” she said, doing her best to sound positive and accommodating. “What are they thinking?”
“Nothing too crazy. They had a few tweaks and recently updated some of their color schemes, and were hoping you could incorporate their new palette into your campaign.”
Whew. “Sure. That’s easy. What are their tweaks?”
She watched Mack methodically clean and return his tools to their spots around the workbench as she listened to the rundown of ideas the client had pitched. “Those all sound great. I’ll make the changes,” she told Andrea when she’d finished.
“I’m anxious to see the completed product,” her boss said.
Me too. “It’s going to be great,” she said with more confidence than she felt. There were a couple of other employees who were also gunning for the promotion, so she was up against some stiff competition.
She said goodbye and pushed the phone back into her pocket. “Sorry about that,” she told Mack.
“Don’t be. It’s your job.” He leaned his hip against the workbench, their earlier animosity seemingly forgotten, or purposely put away in the same manner he’d tidied up his tools. “What are you working on?”
“I’m creating a big marketing campaign for a new coffee house that’s opening in Midtown, but what I’m really working on is getting a promotion. I’ve spent the last several months putting in tons of extra hours and taking on more work, all in hopes of securing the new title and the raise that goes with it.”
He dipped his chin. “Impressive. But isn’t that a little hard to do from here?”
“Yeah. But I’m figuring it out. I’m still working while I’m here. I’m just doing it remotely. Gram doesn’t often ask for help, so when she called and said she needed me, I knew I would move heaven and earth, and add a bigger balance to my credit card, to get here.”
He smiled and something in Jocelyn eased. She liked that she could still make him smile. And she loved the way his face softened with the easy curve of his lips. “Speaking of your grandmother asking for help, I had another idea for the festival.”
“Oh great. I worked on it this morning, too. This thing feels like almost more pressure than my promotion. I really want it, but if I don’t get this one, I can always try again. But we only get one chance with this event. If we don’t knock it out of the park, Gram could lose everything.”
“We’ve got this,” he assured her, pushing away from the bench and taking a step toward her. “Like you said, we’ll figure it out.”
She lifted her chin. “Dang right we will. So what was your idea?”
He pointed to the heart she still held in her hand. “You said you were looking for something to sell at the dance. I thought maybe you could tie some sprigs of lilacs or flowers to something like this. We could charge twenty bucks for them and hope the guys will shell out the dough to buy them for their sweethearts.”
She gave a slow shake of her head. “Well, Mack Talbot, you do surprise me. Under that tough exterior, you’re just a big romantic at heart.”
He furrowed his brows. “You’ve known me since we were ten years old. That shouldn’t really surprise you.”
A hint of a smile played at her lips. “No, actually it doesn’t.” She held up the heart. “And I think this is a fabulous idea. How many can you make?”
He shrugged. “How many do you want? That didn’t take me long.”
“If you can make me five or ten to start, I can decorate them with different flowers and color schemes, then post pictures of them on the event page. I can try to get some preorders going while you make more.”
“Good idea. I can make them this afternoon. But first I need to fix a hinge from one of the gates that got bent.” He stuck the twisted piece of iron into the coals, then gave her a sidelong glance. “You want to help me?”
“Sure. What can I do?”
“You remember how to double strike?”
She grinned, recalling the method of taking turns striking the hot iron like Hank had taught them when they were younger. She held out her hand. “Pass me a sledgehammer.”
He lifted one of the smaller hammers from the many sizes hanging from his workbench.
She shook her head. “No way.”
He eyed her bicep. “You sure? This is the one you used to use.”
“Maybe. But I’m much stronger now.”
“Much?” he teased.
“So much,” she said, forming her arm into a muscle. “Dude, I work out. Forty minutes of cardio five times a week, and I take a kickboxing class on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”
“I’m impressed.” He passed her a bigger hammer. “But we’ll see if your fancy kickboxing class helps you to keep up with me.”
“You’re on,” she said, taking the hammer. It felt good to be back on solid footing with him, joking around and teasing each other.
He passed her a pair of black safety goggles. “Here. Put these on.”
She nodded and pulled on the goggles as she repeated Hank’s old adage that he’d drilled into them as kids. “Safety first.” She laughed as Mack said the words at the same time she did.
He slid a pair of black-framed glasses on his face, then pulled the hinge from the fire and set it on the anvil. “You ready?”
She hefted the hammer to he
r shoulder and planted her feet in a fighter’s stance. “Ready.”
His eyes crinkled with his smile as he lifted a much larger sledge and banged the first strike.
Jocelyn struck the hinge next, trying to hit the center of the orange glow.
“Nice,” Mack said, hitting it again.
They went back and forth, forming a rhythm as they took turns striking the iron. Their tempo increased as Mack brought his hammer down faster and faster.
Jocelyn set her jaw and narrowed her eyes, all her focus on keeping pace with Mack’s steadily increasing swings. The double strike was not just about speed, but also about accuracy and rhythm, and she was determined to keep up with Mack.
Another swing. Another. Her shoulder ached from the intensity of the bangs and the swifter swings, but she wasn’t giving up. No way.
Just as her arm felt like it might fall off, Mack’s swing missed the hinge and hit the side of the anvil.
She opened her mouth to tease him that she’d won. But Mack’s attention was drawn to the door, and she lowered the hammer as she caught sight of the young woman standing inside the door holding a picnic basket. She wore a white blouse with full sleeves and a long blue cotton skirt with a white apron tied around her waist. Her hair was pulled up in a bun, and her face was free of makeup, but instead of looking washed out, she looked fresh-faced and pretty, like a gorgeous extra off the set of Little House on the Prairie.
“Hey, Sophie,” Mack said, setting his sledgehammer down and taking off his glasses.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” the woman said. “I just figured you’d be about ready for lunch.” She raised the basket in front of her. “I brought fried chicken.”
Who the heck was Sophie? And why was she bringing Mack fried chicken? Jocelyn set her sledgehammer down and took off her safety goggles. She fought the urge to smooth her hair.
“Hi, I’m Sophie,” the woman said, smiling at Jocelyn. “Are you a new apprentice?”
Mack laughed, and Jocelyn gave him the stink eye. He lifted one shoulder. “Oh, come on. Admit it. You’d be a terrible apprentice. You’ve never let me tell you what to do.”
The man had a point. She turned her attention back to Sophie. “I’m Jocelyn Stone.”
“She’s Molly’s granddaughter,” Mack explained. “She’s here to help out with the festival since Molly’s in the hospital.”
“And to help take care of my grandma.”
“Good luck with that. Molly doesn’t let anyone take care of her,” Sophie said, crossing the workshop. “It’s nice to meet you, though. I don’t think I’ve heard much about you.”
Jocelyn’s back bristled at the familiar way Sophie spoke of her grandmother, like she somehow knew her better than her own granddaughter. And she also didn’t like the way the other woman took a spot next to Mack and laid a proprietary hand on his arm.
“Sophie is one of the docents,” Mack told her. “She’s been volunteering here for the last several years. And this year, we hired her on as one of the seasonal staff.”
“I thought the staff didn’t work today.” Jocelyn’s tone was chillier than she’d intended. Why was she sounding snotty to this woman? It wasn’t like her.
“We don’t usually,” Sophie explained. “But I’ve been putting in extra hours to help get ready for the festival. We all have. But Mack works so hard, he forgets to eat, so I’ve been packing us a picnic lunch on Thursdays so we can brainstorm and plan for the weekend ahead.”
Jocelyn did plenty of planning meetings with her boss, but she’d never considered bringing a picnic. Calm down, she told the green-eyed monster threatening to rear its ugly head. Even though Jocelyn had history on the ranch, she hadn’t been here in years and had no right to disrupt their routine. “What a nice thing to do,” she said, forcing her lips into a smile and her tone to stay even.
“You’re welcome to join us,” Sophie said.
“Sure. I do love fried chicken,” Jocelyn told her, and noticed the way Mack’s eyebrows raised.
“Great,” Sophie said, grabbing the picnic basket and heading for the door. “It’s a beautiful day. I thought we’d eat outside.”
Jocelyn followed them out, quickly smoothing her hair and trying not to notice Mack’s hand on the small of Sophie’s back as he took the picnic basket from her. She stepped into the sunshine, then stopped as she caught sight of the blue-and-white-checked blanket neatly laid in the grass outside the shop. It was set with two place settings, two bottles of iced tea, and a clear container of pink watermelon wedges. A small jar of purple wildflowers sat in the middle of the plates, giving the whole arrangement a cozy romantic feel.
Savage trundled out behind Jocelyn and plopped onto the corner of the blanket with a sigh.
“Oh gosh,” she said, pressing a hand to her stomach. “You know, I’m suddenly not feeling so great. I think I’m going to head back to the house and let you two enjoy this.”
Mack’s mouth turned down in a frown. “Are you all right?”
She waved away his concern. “Really, I’m fine. But I don’t want to ruin this nice lunch Sophie has obviously gone to great effort to put together.”
“It’s no trouble,” Sophie said, with genuine feeling, which only made the odd ache in Jocelyn’s stomach hurt more. “We have plenty of food.”
The word “we” twisted the ache that much more. “Please, enjoy your lunch. I need to make some calls for work anyway. I’ll just catch up with you all later.”
She turned and hurried toward the house before either of them could offer her another chance to stay.
Jocelyn pulled a loaf of bread from the pantry, then slammed the door shut. She stomped toward the counter, tossing the bread onto it. The bag slid into the jars of peanut butter and grape jelly already sitting there.
This is ridiculous. Why am I angry? He can have lunch with anyone he wants.
She yanked two pieces of bread from the bag and slathered a thick layer of peanut butter on one, then gobbed jelly on the other. Smashing them together, she shoved the sandwich into her mouth and tore off a bite.
Get a grip. Sophie had seemed nice. And Mack hadn’t been surprised by the picnic blanket spread, which could only mean this was their usual lunch routine.
The bite of sandwich sunk like a stone in her stomach. Was she missing the obvious here? Were they a couple? She thought back to the way Sophie had laid her hand on Mack’s arm and the way he’d touched her back as they’d exited the blacksmith shop. Why wouldn’t Mack have a girlfriend? He was a good-looking guy. And this was a small town. He was probably on the top of the list of eligible bachelors.
She needed to get her mind off the bearded blacksmith and his bachelorhood. Grabbing her laptop, she took it and the rest of her sandwich to the kitchen table. She had plenty of work to do, and with the promotion looming, now wasn’t the time to slack off or let herself get distracted by some guy. Even if that guy had stolen her heart a decade ago and still had a smile that sent butterflies racing around her stomach like they were in the Daytona 500.
Three hours later, she looked up at the sound of a knock on the front door. She’d made great progress, spending a few more hours on stuff for her job, and the last hour working on marketing for the festival.
“Joss? You home?” Mack’s voice came from the next room.
“I’m in here,” she answered, setting her laptop down and pushing up from the big wingback chair in the sunroom she’d moved into an hour before. She stood and stretched as Mack appeared in the doorway. “What’s up?”
“I finished a bunch of those hearts,” he said. “I left them in a box on the table. And I was going to take a walk, stretch my legs a bit. Thought I’d see if you wanted to go along, and I could show you the progress of what we’ve set up for the festival so far.”
“Sure, sounds good.” She stuffed her feet into her sneakers and followed
him outside. Savage was waiting on the porch, his head hanging forlornly over the edge of the steps. She bent to give his head a scratch and got a lick to her hand in return.
They wandered the grounds of the farm. Mack showed Jocelyn where they’d already set up the area for the food vendors and craft booths. “We’ll do games throughout the afternoon in the middle grassy area,” he said. “Gunny sack races, three-legged races, the stick and hoop races, and the ever-popular watermelon seed-spitting contests. We’ll do the tug-of-war after the races, then have the pie auction.” He pointed to the grassy edge behind the barn. “We’ll have the hayrack rides over there, then the barbeque and the big dance in the barn will finish out the night.”
“Sounds like such a fun day.”
“If it all goes according to plan.”
“It will.”
They stopped at the edge of the pond, and he bent to pick up a couple of flat stones. He passed one to her. “Can you still skip this?”
She huffed. “Of course I can. And if you recall, I could always skip farther than you.”
“But I’ve been practicing,” he said, sending a rock skipping over the calm water. “Just to keep up my skills. I can’t imagine there’s a lot of opportunity for rock-skipping in New York.”
“I’ve still got skills,” she told him, and flung the rock he’d handed her. It landed with a plop in the lake. Shoot. “Pass me another one. That rock must have been a dud.”
His smile was amused as he handed her another rock. “Uh huh. I’m sure it was the rock’s fault.”
“I might be a little rusty, but I’ve still got this.” She tried again, and this time the rock sailed over the water, skipping three times before it sank. Yes.
Mack lobbed another rock. It flew smoothly over the water, skipping four times. “Ha. Top that.”
She swung her arm in an exaggerated circle. “Just warming up my pitchin’ arm.”
“You’re gonna need to get it really warm to beat my last turn.” He tossed another rock and got five skips this time. “Oh no, you’re going down now, Stone.”
She scrunched up her face in concentration, staring at the lake and willing the rock to go in the trajectory she pictured. Sliding her arm sideways, she released the rock and it skimmed across the water. She counted each skip. “One, two, three, four…oh no.” She groaned and hung her head as her rock sank on the fourth skip.
