“Stuck in the friend zone?” Kyle spoke low, the crackle of the wood and fire covering their conversation.
“Yep.” Stuck there forever and always and as long as I shall live. First Cat and now Roxy. He kind of wished he’d asked Cat to come tonight. They would have had a lot more fun together than he was having feeling all alone. Besides, there’d been something between them in that chicken coop; something he couldn’t quite name.
“I feel for ya, man.” Kyle clapped Sam on the shoulder bringing him out of his ponderings.
“Yeah.” Sam tuned back in to the girls’ conversation.
“Call me the day you get back in town, and we’ll get everything submitted,” said Cameron.
“Great!” Roxy looked pleased.
Kyle gave a small wave and took Cameron’s hand to lead her through the crowd. Sam’s gaze followed after them, the hot chocolate turning sour in his stomach. Having a hand to hold wasn’t too much to ask for out of life. Sam gave himself a good shake. Self-pity was not an attractive quality and not something Sam was prone to fall into.
Roxy smiled tentatively at him as he sat down. “Are you feeling okay?” she asked.
Sam fought the urge to sigh—loudly. Roxy was a cute girl; down-home pretty. The kind of woman who didn’t need makeup to make her beautiful. And he could see how, to the man who loved her, she’d be the most beautiful woman on earth.
He could have been that man for her.
Swallowing his disappointment, he decided that if making a new friend was the worst thing that happened tonight, then the night wasn’t a total waste. “I’m good. Do you want to see if Susan Bauer’s apple cobbler cake is finished?”
Roxy’s smile was half happy and half relieved. “What’s a cobbler cake?”
Sam tipped his head to the side. “A cake that’s gooey, warm, and sweet on the bottom—like a dump cake. But this one has oats and stuff like a cobbler.”
“Sounds delicious.” They made their way over to the huge Dutch ovens, where Susan put Roxy to work drizzling glaze over a cherry cobbler while she sprinkled cinnamon and sugar over the finished apple cobbler cake.
Sam spent the rest of the evening being a good friend to Roxy, and when the clock struck midnight, he blew his noisemaker and pretended that he wasn’t at all disappointed that he didn’t get a kiss.
After dropping Roxy off, Sam meandered home. Watering and feeding Chet’s cattle would come soon enough, yet he had no desire to flop into bed and stare at the ceiling.
His log home was situated behind a bluff, just past his parents’ place, unseen from the road. He suspected a lot of people thought that at age twenty-nine he still lived with his parents. He’d never put much stock into gossip—except having heard his name batted around like an old sock in a box full of coyotes tonight had him thinking maybe he should pay closer attention.
A light was on in his mama’s kitchen, and Sam tapped the brakes to slow down. His parents never stayed up to see the ball drop, even when he was a kid.
Parking behind their house, he went in through the side door and peeked into the kitchen, where he found his mom at the table. She wore the fuzzy bathrobe he’d bought her last Christmas over a pair of faded flannel pajamas. Her blond-gray hair was braided down her back, tied with a scrap of fabric.
“Mom?” Sam removed his shoes.
Setting down her mug of herbal tea, Edna motioned to the seat across from her. “Hi, Sam. How was your date?”
“Fine.” He shucked his coat and hung it on the back of the chair.
“Just fine?”
“Just fine, Mom.” He got himself a drink of water from the sink and sat down. “How come you’re up?”
“Toothache.”
“Didn’t Doctor Mason tell you to lay off the soda?”
“Yeah, but I heard there’s a new dentist moving in, so I thought I’d get myself a second opinion. Besides …” She smiled. “It’s just so darn good.”
Sam took a drink of water. There was no changing his mother’s mind until she was darn good and ready to change it herself. Besides, she’d had a diet soda open on the counter every day of his life.
“Tell me about your evening,” Mom prodded.
Sam hunched over the table, his arms circling the glass. He didn’t want to tell his mom about the conversation he’d overheard. Besides reminding him that an eavesdropper never hears good things, she’d probably snub Roxy’s mom at church or the Dove’s, and there’d be hard feelings. “Roxy is a good friend.”
“But not a girlfriend?”
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
He tried to play it casual and leaned back to sling an arm over the back of the chair. “I don’t think she’s all that interested.”
“Then she’s blind.” Edna’s voice was deadpan serious.
Sam chuckled at her bluntness.
His mom stirred her tea thoughtfully. “Have you thought about playing hard to get?”
He must be ultra-pathetic in the dating department if his mom felt the need to offer advice. Sam suppressed a groan. “I’m the man. I should do the asking.”
“I completely agree. But maybe you’re asking too soon.”
“What do you mean?”
“I know you, Sam. You see something you want, and you go after it full bore. Maybe, when it comes to women, you should hold off a bit, wait for them to come to you.”
Sam rubbed his hand through his short-cropped hair. “I don’t know if I’d feel right waiting for a girl to ask me out.” And I’d never get another date.
“That’s not what I’m sayin’.” Mom covered his hand with hers. “All I’m saying is that you should hold off a bit, see her around town a few times, maybe at church, and if she keeps talking to you, then you can ask her out. You’re like an excited puppy, son. Women think puppies are cute, but they don’t take them seriously.”
Sam took a sip of water. “I’ll think about it.”
“See that you do.” She stood. “My painkillers are kicking in. I’m going to give this sleep thing another try.” She kissed the top of his head. “Love you.”
“You too.” Sam retrieved his coat and boots and drove the rest of the way down the lane. His house wasn’t large, but it was the exact right size for a young couple. He snorted. At the rate he was going, there wouldn’t be any “young” left in that couple.
After adding a couple logs to the wood-burning stove, he climbed into bed. He’d spent a lot of years doing the best he knew how in the dating department. Maybe his mom was right. Maybe he should try playing hard to get.
The clock in the front room chimed one bell, the hum lingering. January 1st. New Year; time to come up with a new plan.
He took a deep breath, threading his fingers together and resting his hands on his chest, pondering. He’d asked Roxy out at their first meeting. He’d only seen her one other time after that—at church on Sunday. Had he waited, say one more meeting to put himself on the line, they wouldn’t have gone out at all, and she wouldn’t have played him like a rookie at bat.
So, three is the magic number. Three spontaneous meetings before he could arrange a date. Nodding once to cement his will, he rolled over to settle in.
Maybe by next New Year’s, he’d have someone to kiss at midnight. A guy could always hope, right?
Chapter 3
Cat stared at the empty sheet of paper before her, knowing that every author’s worst nightmare was a blank paper and no inspiration. New Year’s morning was half over, and she had yet to come up with one resolution.
Fiction was so much easier to write than a new path for her life.
Resolutions were a big thing in her family. Her mom made spreadsheets. Her dad created reward charts. One year he stopped cussing and earned a trip to the Library of Congress. A vacation in the biggest and oldest library in the U.S. may not seem like much of a reward for most people, but for an English professor, it was heaven.
Sure, she could put something down about releasing a book every
other month or attending some writers’ conference, but none of those options felt … personal.
Looking around Grandpa’s kitchen didn’t help much. The thick carving block she and Mercedes had installed for a counter was clean and orderly. The glass tile backdrop was stunning. The shiny stainless steel appliances hummed, and the beadboard walls were clean. There wasn’t a thing left to do in this house—or to put on her goal sheet.
“Morning, pumpkin.” Grandpa came in, already wearing his Sunday trousers and a blue button-up shirt. The bald spot on the top of his head reflected the overhead lights. He’d throw on his tie and dress shoes right before they left.
“Morning.”
“How’d it go today?” he asked.
Cat looked down at the fluffy kitty pajama bottoms she’d stuffed into snow pants to do Mercedes’s chores this morning. Someone, who shall receive a loaf of her best pumpkin bread, had already fed the chickens. The cattle’s water was topped off, too, so she had a pretty good idea of who had proven himself a knight in heavy winter clothing.
“Better. I collected a full basket of eggs.” She grinned down at the table. Looks like Sam was getting some pumpkin bread after all.
“You’re becoming a pro.”
Cat snorted. “No thanks to Bessie. She planted herself in the roost. That chicken is the spawn of—”
“Hell-o?” Grandpa picked up the phone on the first ring. He gave Cat an amused shrug and a wink. “Good morning to you, too. What’s on your mind, Sam?” Grandpa settled into the chair across from Cat.
She tapped her pen on the paper and kept her eyes down, but she kept her ears on this side of the conversation. To say she’d thought about Sam now and again since he’d taken on the dragon chicken was something of an understatement. If her thoughts were a loaf of bread, Sam would have been the warm, soft center with everything else in her life taking up the crust.
“I can see how that would be a problem. Why don’t I come have a look first thing tomorrow? I can take some measurements and put a bid together for the work. All righty.” Grandpa hung up the phone. “What do you have there?”
Cat sighed. “My New Year’s resolutions.” She turned the blank sheet his way.
Grandpa dropped his chin as if he were trying to look over his bifocals—except he’d had laser surgery before moving to Snow Valley. He’d never quite lost the mannerism, though. Taking the pen from her hand, he slid the paper to his side of the table, wrote something, and handed it back. “There.”
Cat read: CREATE ROMANCE. She laughed. “Grandpa, I create romance every day. I’m a romance writer.”
“Not on the page, pumpkin.” He tapped the wood with two fingers. “You need romance in your life.”
She leaned onto the table. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”
“Get rid of you?” His heavy eyebrows rose like windshield wipers—up, up and away.
“Marry me off to some rancher so you can have this place to yourself? I see how you are.”
“Chowderhead,” Grandpa teased.
“Alls I know is, you moved Mercedes next door to Chet’s, and now you’re working on me.” Cat checked her smile. She and Mercedes had moved to Snow Valley to fix up Grandpa’s childhood home for him to retire to—but Grandpa couldn’t have known his next-door neighbor was a book-loving single cowboy who would sweep Mercedes off her feet.
“I just want to see you happy.”
“I’m perfectly content,” Cat held up her hands.
“Well, that stinks.”
“Says who?”
“Says me. You should be going out, dating, kissing boys, and staying out past curfew.”
“You are a bad influence.” Cat patted his hand. “Which is why I love you so much.”
Grandpa smiled.
Cat’s gaze fell to the sheet in front of her. “Romance isn’t as easy in life as it is on the computer screen.”
“Romance doesn’t have to be big. It’s in the little things. Like, saving a seat for someone or—”
“Feeding the chickens.” She bit her lip. Why she suddenly thought of Sam, of the way his strong arms tucked her close, or how he smelled of laundry soap and tree sap, she didn’t know.
“What?” Grandpa tipped his head.
“Nothing.” Cat gathered her sparse list and kissed Grandpa on his bald spot. “I’m going to get ready for church.” She hurried up the steps, her hand brushing the dark mahogany banister she and Mercedes had installed, sanded, and stained almost a year ago.
Showering quickly, she was wrangling a pair of nylons when her cell phone rang. The caller ID showed her dad’s number. “Hi!”
“Hello.”
“How are ya, Dad?”
“You, not ya—Catrina,” he corrected her diction. “I am doing well.”
Cat smiled. She loved needling her dad the English professor with her choice of words. “Good.” Her parents thought she was slaving away over the next great American novel—something full of prose and promise. If her dad knew she wrote historical romances—and now westerns—he’d have a conniption.
“What are your plans for the day?” he asked.
“I’m going to church with Grandpa, and then I was going to do some online shopping.” The nylons in place, she turned the phone on speaker so she could finish getting ready while they talked. Despite his pretentious literary preferences, her dad was one of her favorite people.
“You girls and your Sunday shopping. Your mom is going to the Grotto.”
Cat groaned in envy. The Grotto was an upscale shopping center with stores that catered to the clothes hound barking inside every O’Shae woman. “I love the Grotto. Will you tell her to keep an eye out for a red leather jacket? I’d take black, but I’ve been dying for a red one.”
“I’m sure you’ll live without a red jacket, but I’ll pass along your message.”
“Thanks. What are you doing today?” Cat avoided asking about his resolutions. He’d have something wonderful, like eliminate unnecessary adverbs from his vocabulary and incorporate the whole G section of Webster’s into his everyday conversation. All she had was “create romance,” and Grandpa had written that one down. She wasn’t sure if she was officially picking it up.
Dad cleared his throat, a sure sign that whatever he was about to say would be a change in one, if not both, of their lives. “Do you remember Robert Floyd?”
Cat bit her lip. She did remember Robert, and she also remembered that he liked to be called Bob. Dad knew it too, but he’d never felt comfortable around Bob who liked to grab his shoulder as they talked. “He’s the adjunct faculty member who takes the night classes in your department, isn’t he?”
“Right. He’s accepted a full-time position, and we’re looking for a replacement.”
Cat coughed to cover her laugh. “Great. You two will be the best of friends in no time.”
“Sarcasm?” asked Dad.
“Of course.”
“You get that from your mother.”
“And I love her for it.” Cat searched for the silver loop earrings that went with her dress. “In all seriousness, tell him congratulations.”
“I’d rather be telling you congratulations.”
“Excuse me?” Cat slid one earring in place.
“I talked to the department head about the possibility of you becoming our adjunct instructor. He was impressed with your résumé. You’ll need to take a few teacher development classes, but there’s no reason you couldn’t start this semester.”
Cat froze. “Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“I—I don’t even know what to say?” She looked about the room. The room she’d painstakingly sanded, scraped, painted, and refurbished. “I hadn’t even thought about moving home. Grandpa just got here and Mercedes—”
“Mercedes is married now, her focus is going to change.”
Cat sat on her bed. Her dad had expectations for his children and often expressed them with a firmness that hindered argument. “She’ll
always be my sister.”
“That’s true, but she has a home now, a husband, a ranch to run. You two have been peas in a pod for so long …”
He left the rest of the sentence for Cat to fill in. For so long that being apart will be hard—but it’s inevitable—it’s time to let go.
Cat knew things would change once Mercedes got married. She’d planned on it. Chet’s family had welcomed Mercedes and Cat like they were their own, despite their Boston accents and city ways. She enjoyed learning how to bake from Chet’s older sister, Whitney, and teaching his young cousin, Aiden, home maintenance.
But … maybe what her dad said was true. Maybe she needed to step back and let Mercedes settle into her new family. After all, it was Mercedes who wanted the country life. Cat had come along, happy for the adventure, but she’d always planned on returning to Boston at some point. An adjunct position at the university was huge. It could be a stepping stone to following in her dad’s footsteps. “How soon would I need to be there?”
“We start in three weeks. You’ll need to go through orientation, so you’ll have to be here the week before classes start—at the latest.”
Two weeks? “Let me think on it?” She slipped her feet into the knee-high denim boots with a two-inch heel. Not practical for playing in the snow, but they looked great with her creamy lace skirt and black button up shirt. A wide brown belt studded with faux ivory completed her ensemble.
“Sounds fair. Have a wonderful day.”
“I will, you too. Give my love to Mom.”
“As always.”
They hung up, and Cat checked herself in the mirror before making her way downstairs.
“All set?” asked Grandpa as he held out his arm.
Cat took it, not sure if he offered because she needed help traversing the snow in her boots or he needed the help in his slippery dress shoes. “Of course.” If she moved home, who would be here to help Grandpa to the car?
Grandpa opened the door for Cat before making his way around to the driver’s side. He’d taken to Snow Valley like a bird coming home to nest. Said he loved the quiet.
Cat loved that too. She could think here and often found that all she needed for inspiration was a half hour on the back deck watching the sun set. Or five minutes with Sam in the chicken coop. Her body flushed with the memory of his chin brushing her cheek.
Lucy McConnell's Snow Valley Box Set Page 33
