by Elder, Jan;
Hunter laughed and righted the chair. “That was Linus the Lionhearted, sometimes not so aptly named. But, don’t worry. He’ll be back. He’s also got the curious gene.”
“I didn’t mean to scare your cat. Thanks for breakfast, but I need to get out of here…I mean, get home. Hopefully, I can wedge in a short nap before I have to get ready for work.”
Hunter leaned against the counter. “All right. Just so you know, though, I like your stance on waiting until marriage. I wish more people felt the same way.”
OK. Now she had to duck out of here, or she would melt into a puddle of goo. This conversation was getting way too personal.
Hunter accompanied her to the back door. “One more thing. Would you like to name the calf?”
Warmth circled around her chest and took up residence. “Really?
He nodded.
Cassidy considered her options. “How about Buttercup?”
Hunter chuckled. “I like it. Marigold will be pleased.”
12
Cassidy rubbed her eyes and carried her fourth cup of coffee into the living room. She parted the curtain and glanced out the front window toward Hunter’s house.
Dr. Kimberly stood close to Hunter, her hand trailing down his forearm in a decidedly cozy fashion. He laughed at something she said, and then a big grin brightened his handsome features.
Something inside Cassidy curled up and died. Perhaps it was her resolve not to yearn for this man. Or maybe she just didn’t care for brazen women.
The annoying vet hopped into her van emblazoned with ‘All Creatures Great and Small’ and rolled down the window. Cassidy could lip-read the words See you soon, Hunter. Eyes sparkling, Dr. Kimberly gave Hunter an enthusiastic wave as she pulled out of his driveway. That woman wanted him, and she wasn’t subtle about it.
With a spring in his step, Hunter headed back toward the barn, his face covered in smiles. Was he happy to see Kimberly? Or was it still that new-calf-glow he’d adopted earlier that morning?
Cassidy fervently hoped it was the latter.
She let the curtains fall back into place, her mind on her earlier conversation with Hunter. There had been nights with Brad when she’d nearly given in. She wasn’t a saint, and she wasn’t immune to the tingles. But she had vowed to stay pure, as God intended, until she found the right man—the one who’d proudly walk her down the aisle.
Still, Hunter hadn’t said much after her confession. She could kick herself for broaching the subject of sex with him. What had she been thinking? To have shared her deep beliefs with the guy next door? Hunter, no less? She shook her head.
Soft fur brushed against her ankle followed by an insistent “merrow.” Gracey wanted breakfast. The little fuzzball was growing on her. At least until the cat started scratching the arms of the couch. Cassidy was supposed to do something concerning catnip and reminding Gracey to use the scratching post. Just how did one “remind” a cat? She’d have to talk to Hunter. Or maybe she’d ask somebody else.
Yawning sleepily, Cassidy padded back to Savannah’s guest room to finish dressing. She still couldn’t face the thought of tackling her stepsister’s bedroom. The stroll down memory lane would have to wait.
Two hours later, Cassidy arrived at Savannah’s Sweets with her laptop tucked under her arm.
Gabby was in the kitchen with a long face and sticky hands. “Well, hello there. Are you OK? You look beat.”
“Thanks for the compliment.” Cassidy quirked a smile to soften the comment. “I am beat.” She hopped onto a stool, pleased she could tell Gabby was preparing the ganache for the truffle center. A large block of chocolate sat proudly in the middle of the marble island with minced, chopped dark brown bits heaped next to it. Pile o’chocolate. Yum.
In a small stainless steel bowl, a moat of cream surrounded a thick, dark pool of melted chocolate. With practiced strokes, Gabby stirred the chocolate and cream together in the bowl, gradually widening the circle. The chocolate acquired a gorgeous, glossy color.
Cassidy leaned in to inhale the heavenly scent.
“Gabby, your truffles keep getting better and better. How do you do it?”
“There’s a meticulous procedure for molding the chocolate. A particular system for coloring, tempering, filling, and adding flavorings. Do we want white, milk, or dark—and just how dark do we want to go?” Gabby stirred more with expert strokes. “With the proper tempering we get a chocolate with more sheen, a creamy mellow flavor, and a firmer snap when it’s broken.”
“Say the name of that chocolate again?”
“It’s pronounced co-ver-ture.”
“When do I get a taste?”
“In a while. Today, I’m working on green apple truffles in honor of spring, and then I’ll start on a blood orange flavor so intense it’ll blast your socks off. I’ll call you when I have something to taste test. Weren’t you supposed to work on getting the website up and running?”
“Are you telling me to scat?”
“Yes. But not until you tell me why you were late. That is, if you want to. You’re the boss, and you can be late anytime you feel like it, you know.” Gabby swirled the mixture, pulling in more cream a few drops at a time to make a denser, creamier ganache.
It was nice being the boss—although Cassidy didn’t plan on letting Gabby do all the work while she polished her nails and fluffed her hair. “OK, I’ll tell you, but you’ll squeal. Just giving you fair warning.”
The stirring stopped and Gabby inhaled. “OK, I’m ready.”
“I was up with Hunter half the night and…”
Gabby shrieked. “I knew it!”
“You knew what?” Maybe Cassidy should have phrased that better.
“Did Marigold have her calf? Tell me she did.”
“She did.”
“But why were you there? No offense, but you’re not exactly farmer Jane.” Gabby slanted her head, eyes wide.
“Long story. I’ll tell you after you finish with the apple truffles, OK?”
“OK, but then you have to tell me everything. Why don’t you work in my apartment? It’s more comfortable there, and you can take a nap on the couch if you get sleepy.”
“Thanks, Gabby. By the way, where’s Kayla? Wasn’t she supposed to help you make truffles today? She should be able to multi-task and be your assistant when she’s not at the register.”
Gabby’s gaze plummeted to the bowl of ganache. She stirred even harder. “Car trouble,” she mumbled.
Cassidy pursed her lips, grabbed her laptop, and plodded up the stairs. It appeared she might have a problem with Kayla.
~*~
Hunter patted Marigold and tickled Buttercup’s chin. She was a fine, healthy calf, and he’d worked hard delivering her. Every time he passed Marigold’s stall he felt like a proud papa.
Hunter had been working diligently on the goat pen, and his old barn was almost totally renovated. He could hardly wait until the kids arrived later that day. He hadn’t been able to afford to buy adult goats, but the kids would grow. This time next year, he’d be in a better position to…search for a wife. Or at least a steady girlfriend.
He pulled out his phone and typed in a reminder to get in touch with Zach. After church on Sunday, Zach, Aaron, Robby, and a few of the other guys had gone out for an impromptu lunch at the diner. Over chips, salsa, and tacos, they’d kicked around the idea of starting a men’s group and asked Hunter to lead it.
Hunter wasn’t the only one having trouble dealing with women. God’s way…or any way, for that matter. Maybe they could all learn from his own poor choices. He’d asked God for forgiveness, and he was right with the Almighty, but he wished he could take back some of the many ways he’d hurt his girlfriends during college.
Feeling totally inadequate, Hunter stared at the phone in his hand. Might as well get it done. He thumbed through his list of contacts until he got to Pastor Jimbo. Taking a moment to drum up a semblance of courage, he jumped in with both feet, and hit “call.”
> “Hey, Hunter. What’s up?”
Did the Pastor have to answer on the first ring? He hadn’t had time to form a question in his head yet. “Hi, Pastor. Uh, do you have any time this week to get together? I’m in need of advice.”
“Sure. Want to give me a heads-up as to the topic, or wait and tell me when I see you?”
“It’s about a girl, or rather, women in general…or both.”
A deep chuckle echoed over the phone. “Perhaps we’d better schedule several meetings, then. Seriously though, can you be just a tad more specific?”
“Well, the guys in the college and career class want me to start a men’s group, maybe even a men’s accountability group, although that sounds pretty formidable. I feel woefully inadequate.”
“Don’t we all, Hunter, don’t we all? I have several helpful books on the subject, so you might consider doing a weekly study. It’s a great idea, and I admire you for being willing to tackle the challenge.”
“I’m not very able, but I am willing.” Hunter stopped at Petunia’s stall and checked her sore foot. Good. It was healing nicely. “The problem is I don’t want God to come off as a buzz kill, if you know what I mean. Some of them have the idea God is all about the Thou shalt nots.”
Another chuckle. “Yeah, I hear you. How many guys are we talking?”
“Five right now, maybe six.”
“Perfect size for a group. All single men?”
“Yes.”
“You might want to go at it from the point of view of the right way to treat a woman, then.”
“There’s a right way?”
“Yes. For instance, ever hear the phrase women are the weaker vessel?”
“Yeah. Doesn’t sound very complimentary.” Hunter went down the row and checked on Iris and her new calf, Blossom.
“You’re not alone in thinking that way. The average man doesn’t understand the passage. They’ve heard it’s about women being weaker physically or emotionally. A lot of guys will use it to justify trying to dominate women, but they’re way off base.”
He scratched the little calf’s fuzzy ears. “So, what does it mean?”
“It means they’re made out of something precious, something that needs to be treasured and upheld. We men are made out of cast iron. We’re tough. We don’t break easily. These are good things. But cast iron can be a little rough and unsophisticated.”
“And, so…?”
“And so you wouldn’t use it to make an expensive vase, or those arty little figurines, or a set of fine china. You’d use something special, something refined. God made women out of the most elegant and precious stuff he had available.”
Iris’s water bucket was practically dry, so Hunter filled it with fresh, cold liquid. “Women are more like valuable gifts from God.”
“Precisely. But that’s just the starting point. We don’t want to turn women into objects. They deserve our respect, and—as men—our job is to show them Christ-like sacrificial love.”
“Sounds like a tall order.” Hunter gulped. Christ-like love. Becoming the man God wanted him to be sure wouldn’t be easy.
After a bit more chitchat, Hunter hung up. He loped to his truck and headed off to Hillary’s. Today, he would be cheerful and pleasant. Even if his sister was the queen of moodiness, he wouldn’t let her spoil his day.
As he backed out of the driveway, he glanced at Cassidy’s house. He couldn’t get the image out of his mind of her sitting in the straw with Marigold’s head in her lap. She had a soft side that had surprised him. He’d caught her whispering in his cow’s ear more than once.
Something to be treasured. Cassidy was certainly a woman to be treasured.
She’d left his house in such a hurry. She was downright evasive when he’d asked questions about her life, and that bugged him. They’d no doubt passed each other in the hallway in school when she’d lived here, but surely, there had to be something more.
His truck rattled as he drove into town. He really needed a new vehicle. But he’d loaned his sister money to open the bakery, and there hadn’t been much return on his investment.
This morning while he’d been busy delivering Buttercup, he and Cassidy had enjoyed a lively discussion. She’d seemed interested in his life and asked tons of questions. When he’d explained what he did regarding Cookies, Cakes, and Cobblers, it sounded so lame. Twenty-eight-years-old, and he drove around town passing out muffins. Darn good muffins, but still. He’d opened up and discussed his farm, the cows and the goats, and his plans for the future. They’d connected on a deeper level than he was used to with women. Cassidy was easy to talk to, not to mention easy to look at.
As if drawn by a magnet, Hunter made one last turn and drove by the chocolate shop. This time he’d stop in and say hello. He wanted to thank Cassidy again for helping him and check out the details of the grand opening of Savannah’s Sweets. Wasn’t it supposed to be this weekend? With the cleanup after the break-in, maybe they needed help.
He’d been meaning to call Robby to see if they had any new developments in the investigation. The police had found a fingerprint, and he wondered if they’d arrested the sleazebag who’d trashed Cassidy’s new store.
He pulled around the back of Cassidy’s shop and slammed on his brakes, skidding to a hard stop.
On the driver’s side of Cassidy’s new car, someone had spray painted the words “Git out of town.”
Who would do that? And why? He moaned. Hadn’t Cassidy been through enough?
13
Officer Jordan, a.k.a. Moose, slapped his notebook shut.
The woman officer came through the back door after dusting Cassidy’s car for prints, and washed her hands in the sink. “No identifying evidence this time, but the degenerate with the spray paint can didn’t need to touch the car.”
No one was hurt, but Cassidy’s stomach still churned. She pulled out a chair at the front of the shop and collapsed, her head cupped in her hands. She just wanted to go home, cry, and take a much needed nap. And when she woke up, maybe she’d rethink if she should stay in a town where she wasn’t wanted. OK, maybe Gabby wanted her—Gabby liked everybody—but besides her new friend, she was very much alone.
Cassidy peeked through her fingers as Hunter sank into the chair next to her. He gently tugged her limp fingers away from her face and folded them in his warm hands. When he’d first arrived, he’d called the police and started a pot of coffee. Next, he’d helped her through Officer Jordan’s inquisition and suggested she call her insurance agent as soon as possible. Lastly, he’d sprinted to his truck or, as he preferred to call it, his bakery on wheels, returning with a plump banana nut muffin. He’d warmed the sweet treat in the microwave and served it to her on a plate along with a single sheet from a roll of paper towels.
Someday, she’d explain the concept of napkins to him. She gazed up at him through her bangs. He was so nice to her, but she was hardly his type. In high school, he’d gone for the stereotypical bimbo bombshells.
Hunter squeezed her hand. “Do you want me to take you home?”
“I don’t know what I want. I’m not even sure if we should have the grand opening this weekend.”
Gabby hovered nearby, lips trembling. “I’m so sorry, Cassie. Of course we should open. We’ve been planning this since you got here. Go home and get some sleep. Your mind will be clearer when you wake up.”
Cassidy let Gabby’s “Cassie” slide; the day was stressful enough. “I can’t wrap my head around why someone would hate me so much. First the shop, now this? What have I done?”
“No sense in trying to figure it out right now. The police are on it.” Hunter pulled her to her feet. “I’m taking you home, and we’ll pick up your car later. OK?”
Cassidy’s temples throbbed, signaling the beginning of a migraine. She hadn’t had one in a long time. Her tummy roiled and she cringed at the bright light shining down from the overhead fixture. “OK. I’m not feeling all that great, so thank you. I’ll take that ride.”
Gabby dropped a spoon on the kitchen counter with a sharp clatter.
Waves of pain washed over Cassidy. Her vision blurred. She stuffed a sheaf of papers in her laptop case, headed for the parking lot, and climbed into Hunter’s sweet-smelling truck.
Hunter drove slowly to minimize the bumps, and he walked her to her front door. “I know. It doesn’t make any sense, but we’ll figure it out.”
We’ll figure it out?
“And we’ll work on getting that paint off later. My friend, Aaron, from church, has a great body shop. He’s a wizard with cars.”
There was that “we’ll” again. She really wanted to lean on his strength and let him make all of this go away. And she really wanted to lie down. Cassidy started to shake. Between the lack of sleep and the realization someone was out to get her, she’d just about had it. “Maybe in a few hours when I’m feeling human again, we’ll go back and get my car.”
Now he had her doing it.
“Call if you need anything, OK?”
“Thanks.” Cassidy turned and inserted her key in the lock.
Strong, corded arms circled loosely around her neck and rested on her shoulders. Hunter tugged her gently until her back pressed against his rock-hard chest. “It’ll be all right, Cassidy. Sleep well.” He whispered in her ear, his breath warm and sweet.And then he kissed the crown of her head and nudged her into the house.
Weak-kneed, Cassidy found her way to the guest room, Gracey trailing along behind. She closed the window blinds as tight as they would go to block out the light and then slid between the covers, not bothering to undress. Gracey leapt onto the bed, orbited her feet, and planted herself right alongside Cassidy’s ankles.
Today, Gracey could stay—just this once. Cassidy didn’t have the energy to chase the cat off. She carefully propped up her head with the pillows, the space behind her eyebrows pounding. Her head spinning, she cried out for help. God, what’s going on? Should I stay where I’m not wanted? Is this a sign Crystal Falls isn’t the right place for me? Chest heaving, she kept her eyes shut tight to keep the room from tilting.
