Lucy McConnell's Snow Valley Box Set

by Lucy McConnell

  Sam took the box from her hand and carried it out to his old work truck. She grabbed her coat off the hook by the door before shutting it behind them.

  “I’ve got a few things you can borrow.” He put her tools in the back of his pickup.

  “I’m going with Sam to see his property,” Cat called.

  “Okay. Have a good time.” Grandpa waved and shut the door to his truck. His exaggerated wink was missed by Aiden, who was already in the passenger seat, his hands close to the heater vent, sucking whatever warmth he could get.

  Cat stomped her feet, her sneakers squeaking against the snow.

  Sam hooked his finger in her pocket, giving her all sorts of goose bumps. “Come on. Let’s get you back to my place.”

  Cat tilted her eyebrow with a suggestive slant. Standing in front of her was a living, breathing cowboy, and she wanted a taste of the country. Oh-yeah. There was no denying it. She was smitten. “You’re a smooth-talking one, aren’t you.”

  Sam turned red. Not just hey it’s cold out here red, but bottom-of-the-volcano red. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  Of course you didn’t. What had really happened at the shake shop suddenly became clear to Cat. Their nearly kiss was uncomfortable for him. Caught up in the moment, he almost went through with it but was now grateful nothing had happened between them. To get him out of the friend zone, she’d need a crowbar and flirting skills that were beyond her reach. “I’m just teasing, Sam.” She cuffed his shoulder. “Come on, my ears are going to freeze off.”

  The cab of Sam’s truck was, thankfully, warmer than the outside temps. He fired up the engine and the heaters blasted warm air.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen your house.” She chatted so her teeth wouldn’t chatter.

  Sam shifted and put his arm across the back of the bench seat, his hand close enough to her shoulder to give her ideas about scooting into the middle and leaning against his nicely formed chest. Who knew working in an orchard could create muscles like that? Turning her gaze out the side window, she schooled her thoughts, not needing the heater after all.

  “It’s more of a cabin.”

  Cat grinned. “A bachelor pad, eh?”

  Sam leaned against the door, where a small breeze came through the cracked window. He sucked in as much of the non-peach-flavored air as he could. When Cat had given him that come-hither look, his mind had followed the arch of her brow and dipped right into forbidden territory. He’d already issued the invitation to show her the land he was buying, so he couldn’t run like Joseph from Potiphar’s wife. Sam had a whole new appreciation for the temptation Joseph faced. Not that Cat was asking—or offering—that! But the flirtatious gleam in her eye had him thinking about sampling forbidden fruit, and the ice-cold breeze on his face was a good reminder to keep his thoughts this side of the temperature gauge. “I guess you could say that.”

  Before he opened his big mouth, he bit his tongue to keep from explaining that the master closet was big enough to fit a future wife’s wardrobe. His clothing filled a fourth of the space, which his younger sister assured him was the correct husband-to-wife ratio for a walk-in closet.

  They rounded the bend and his cabin came into view. He stopped the truck, clasped his hands, and laid them over the steering wheel.

  Cat leaned forward in her seat. “I’d love to say it’s really cute, with the smoke coming out of the rock chimney and everything, but I don’t want to bruise your male ego. Let’s call it … picturesque.”

  Sam grinned. “You like it?”

  “It’s postcard perfect. There’s mounds of snow all round. The green metal roofing is the perfect accent to the rustic log structure. The wraparound porch is ideal—that swing is so inviting. I even love the woodpile over there and the small shed in the back.”

  Sam started forward again. “That small shed is a two-car garage.”

  “Pardon me.” Cat grinned. “Please tell me there’s not an outhouse.”

  “Nope. Modern amenities included.”

  “Double ovens?” Cat clasped her hands in front of her as if his answer would fulfill her every wish.

  “There’s a nice spot on the west wall with a set of plugs, but I don’t cook much so one oven was enough for me.” Sam bit his tongue. What was he, a realtor?

  Cat grinned. “That’s smart. I wish the people who’d wired Grandpa’s place had thought ahead. We barely got away with adding one extra plug on the circuit breaker.” She tipped her head up. “Think of the bread I could make in a set of double ovens.”

  “Wouldn’t the point be to have one oven for bread and the other for a turkey?”

  “On holidays, yes. But a family goes through a lot of bread.”

  Sam leaned away from the door and towards Cat. She didn’t seem embarrassed to talk about a future family. Women had it so easy. They could aspire to a home and young ones and not look like wimps. Men, on the other hand, had to tread with care. “I guess there are a lot of peanut butter and honey sandwiches for lunch.”

  “Honey?”

  The truck rumbled to a stop in front of the house, and Sam pulled out the key. “Don’t tell me you’ve never had a grilled peanut butter and honey sandwich.”

  Cat shook her head.

  “They were a mainstay at our table growing up. Stay there,” he told her as he came around to her side to open the door.

  “I guess, if you grow your own honey.”

  Sam chuckled. “Yes. Growing honey is hard work.”

  Cat started for the front door. “What do you call it then?”

  “Collecting. We collect the honey. The bees make it.”

  “My bad,” she joked.

  Sam reached around her to open the front door. She smelled of tools and dust and those darn peaches. She must have gallons of that shampoo at home. There was something else in there too. Coconut? Altogether, she was a temptingly sweet tropical concoction.

  “Speaking of bees …” She looked around. “Where do you keep them in the winter?”

  Sam put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to the east. “See that small red dot out there?” he said in her ear, pointing to the barn about a mile away.

  She swallowed and then nodded. Her hair was piled on top of her head with small wisps framing her face. They tickled his cheek.

  “When they go into cluster for the winter, we move their hives into the barn to protect them against the cold. Inside the hive it’s ninety degrees, but being out of the weather ensures that we don’t lose them.”

  “Oh,” Cat whispered.

  Too late, Sam realized his hands were still on her shoulders, and he was close enough to kiss her neck if he wanted to. He wanted to. Oh boy, did he want to lean close and press his lips to her soft skin. Instead, he pushed the door open and stepped inside. A temptation like her should be illegal. He could do this. Knowing she wasn’t in to him the same way made it easier to school his attraction than it would be if she was really interested.

  The house was comfortable, a stark contrast to the temperatures outside, with a fire in the woodstove. A plaid couch separated the kitchen and the living room, and there was a braided rug under the coffee table that ran right up to the furniture to keep toes warm on cold winter days. Like today.

  Hurrying to the enclosed back deck where he kept his work clothes and the washer and dryer, Sam grabbed his spare pair of snow pants, boots, gloves, and a knit hat.

  Cat had come in and shut the door behind her. She hovered near the stove, rubbing her hands. “This is great. It’s a place set apart from the rest of the world.”

  “Thanks.”

  She nodded towards the wall across from her. “You could knock out part of that wall and add a bedroom or two.”

  A silly little thrill ran through Sam’s stomach at the thought of him and Cat knocking out the logs and building a place together. She would be so much fun to create something with. A room … a shed … a family.

  Wish there was an antidote for wedding fever. Sam realized
too late that he’d caught the bug. His case was bad and getting worse with every moment Cat was in his home. “I guess.” He handed her the gear, wishing his mind could fight off those kinds of thoughts before he was made aware of them. “I’ll start the snowmobile and bring it around front.”

  Cat’s eyes lit up. “I’ve never been on a snowmobile before.” She took off her sneakers, or as she liked to call them, bobos. He never knew why, but he liked it because it was unique to Cat. She had her own way of doing things—ways that didn’t make sense and yet were just right on her.

  “You haven’t?”

  “No, but this would be great book fodder.”

  “Book fodder?”

  “Yeah, I like to do the stuff in my books before I write them.”

  “Don’t you write romances?” From what Sam knew of romance novels, they involved half-naked people on the covers in suggestive poses. “You don’t …” He cleared his throat. “Um … try everything, do you?”

  Her cheeks turned pink. “I write Christian romance.”

  He held up both hands. “No kissing?”

  “There’s kissing.”

  “So …?”

  Cat laughed as she swatted him with a glove. “Stop watching me get dressed and go get a snowmobile.”

  Sam grinned. “Yes, ma’am.” He gave her a mock salute and used the back door to go to the garage. The minute he stepped outside, the sense of ease he’d felt in Cat’s presence evaporated with his breath in a puff of air.

  Being near her, teasing her, laughing, was all so easy. Too easy for a guy who was trying to reprogram his way of thinking about women and learn how to play hard to get. With Cat, it didn’t feel like a game, and he couldn’t figure out why.

  Was it her?

  Was it because they were friends?

  Was it because the moment she stepped across the threshold, she’d become a part of the home? He could easily picture her on the couch, pecking away at her latest Christian romance, while he made grilled peanut butter and honey sandwiches. Then they could work together on those kissing scenes.

  Yanking the pull cord on his thoughts, he fired up the snowmobile.

  He needed a distraction. No, he needed to change his focus. Focus on the land. Focus on building a business. Then maybe, one day, he could find a woman like Cat. Except he didn’t want a woman like Cat; he wanted Cat.

  Darn that stupid wedding fever.

  Chapter 9

  Cat threw her arms around her sister. “You jerk—don’t ever get married again!”

  “Hey,” Chet called from his home office. “I can still hear you.” He poked his head out of the door.

  “I didn’t mean that I don’t like you!” Cat laughed. Chet, though shy, was much easier to talk to once he’d accepted her as a sister. Well, sister-in-law, but she and Mercedes were so close that he had to throw out the “in-law” part or suffer the consequences.

  The happy couple had returned from their honeymoon a few days ago, but Cat promised herself she’d give them time to settle in and hadn’t called. It had been torture not to have Mercedes to talk to on a daily basis, and she was giddy with the reunion.

  Chet disappeared again, and Cat picked up a ball of lumpy dough and began kneading it with practiced movements.

  “I’ve already done that.” Mercedes tipped her head towards the countertop. She poured a cup of sugar into a bowl and measured out a third of a cup of cinnamon to mix in. They were making pull-apart bread—one of Chet’s favorites.

  “That explains a lot,” Cat teased.

  Mercedes groaned. “I’ll never get this bread thing down. I’m going to stick to chicken farming.”

  “You do that—I almost lost an eye to your dumb birds.”

  It was Mercedes’s turn to laugh. “You have to treat them like queens.”

  “Ha—dragon queens.” Cat smiled, thinking of Sam taking on Bessie. Like a knight in dingy work clothes, he’d faced the evil Bessie and come off conquering—winning the kingdom and a place in her heart forever. Her hands stilled. Maybe more than just a place in her heart—maybe her whole heart. She was having a hard time getting Sam off her mind.

  “You seemed to come out of it okay.”

  “Only because Sam saved me.”

  “Sam?” Mercedes asked with an air of mock indifference. “Sam Miller?”

  “Yes.” Cat was dying to talk to Mercedes about her not-so-mixed-up feelings for Sam, but Chet had already made it clear he was eavesdropping. Instead, she decided to talk about the other big news. “Dad called a few days ago. He offered me a position in his department teaching adjunct.”

  Mercedes spoon paused mid-stir. “In Boston?”

  Cat rolled her eyes. “No, they’re opening a remote location in Snow Valley.”

  “Shut up.” Mercedes smacked her shoulder. “Are you going to take it?” She finished with the cinnamon-sugar and found a stick of butter in the fridge to melt.

  “I accepted.”

  “What a great opportunity. You’ve already got your bachelor’s in education. You could get your doctorate while you teach nights and then move into a full-time position.”

  “Yeah.” Cat set the dough in a greased bowl, flipped it once, and then covered it with a damp cloth. She put the bowl near the wood-burning stove to rise. The room was quite warm, so it should only take half an hour. “I like the idea of becoming a professor. I just …” She paused, unable to put into words how conflicted she felt about all this. Taking the job was a calculated move to build a career she could be proud of. And, she’d be closer to her parents. Still, she hesitated.

  “Is it your writing? Couldn’t you keep doing that?” asked Mercedes.

  “I wouldn’t have as much time if I were going to school and teaching.”

  “So you take fewer classes and do it in four years instead of two.”

  Cat had already thought of that—in between remembering how great it felt to ride the snowmobile with her arms around Sam’s middle. She’d squeezed tight at first so she wouldn’t fall off the back. Then she’d held tight because she’d liked having him close. She liked so many things about him. The way his winter clothes smelled of laundry soap and him. His enthusiasm for what he did. Sam loved farming, or orcharding, or whatever it was called. He loved it as much as she loved writing. The idea of leaving him behind in just a few short days was eating away at her resolve. The land coursed through his veins. She got it, she really did, because she felt compelled to write the stories in her heart. And she could never ask him to leave Snow Valley. To even pose the question would be offensive—like asking him to remove an organ.

  “I know it’s possible. I’m just—” She glanced at the open office door, wishing she could lay her heart open for Mercedes to see instead of voicing her feelings. Dad was right, things were changing now that Mercedes was married. She wasn’t just her anymore—she was her and her other half.

  “What about Grandpa?” She washed the flour and dough off her hands as she talked. “He’s not getting younger. He groans all the time, and I know his knees bother him. If I go, he’ll be alone.”

  Mercedes leaned against the counter. “Chet and I are here. And Whitney is right up the road.”

  “It’s not the same as having someone in the house. He could fall down the stairs or slip in the shower—”

  Mercedes put her arm around Cat’s shoulders. “And a meteor could hit the earth tomorrow.”

  “Aliens could land in our field,” Chet called from the office.

  “Good point, sweetheart.” Mercedes exchanged a look with Cat, and they burst into giggles.

  The laughter dissipated the gloomy mood. “We’ll take care of Grandpa. You came to Snow Valley with me so I could fulfill my dream of living in the country. It’s your turn to chase your dream.”

  “Don’t forget marrying a cowboy,” Chet called.

  “A hot cowboy!” Mercedes called back.

  “Do you two want to be alone?” Cat asked.

  “Yes!” yelled C
het.

  “No,” replied Mercedes at the same time.

  Cat lifted her eyebrows.

  “Ignore him,” Mercedes admonished her.

  “And so it begins,” said Chet, laughing.

  Cat laughed, too. She’d missed their easy banter. Although when she was around Sam, she hadn’t missed them as much. Stepping into his house was like walking into her bedroom, familiar and true to something inside of her. She’d loved the rustic décor—like the writer’s cottage she’d pictured in her mind, right down to the plaid couch. Although in her head, the rug was a plush, heavy pile, oatmeal-colored thing she could sprawl out on as needed. Would Sam be open to the change?

  “Cat?” Mercedes waved her hand. “Write your romance later. This dough is ready and I have no idea what I’m doing.”

  Relieved that Mercedes thought she’d gotten caught up in a plotline and not rolling out carpet in Sam’s living room, she dusted her hands with flour and lifted the cloth off the bowl. The dough had doubled in size sitting next to the warm stove. Perfect. She punched it down and then pinched off a golf-ball-sized piece. “First dip it into the butter, then roll it in the cinnamon-sugar.” She demonstrated. “Then drop it into the bread pan. We only need to fill it halfway because it will rise again before we cook it.”

  Mercedes’ forehead wrinkled as she concentrated on the task. After the first few balls of dough were in the pan, she bumped Cat’s hip with her own. “So,” she spoke low enough Chet might not have heard, “Sam?”

  Cat couldn’t help the heat that crawled up her neck and dusted her ears pink.

  “I thought so.”

  “Shh.” Cat jerked her head towards the open office door.

  Mercedes pressed her lips together, stifling her giggles. “Do you remember when we first moved here and he cornered me at IFA?”

  Cat nodded. They were drawing all sorts of attention from the local cowboys. Sam had asked Mercedes out—more like insisted she accompany him to Big C’s. City girl instincts kicked in and they both went running scared. “We were so dumb.”

  Mercedes laughed. “I know. And I was so flustered I left the bucket behind.”