Lucy McConnell's Snow Valley Box Set

by Lucy McConnell

  “Thank goodness—for Chet’s sake.” Cat grinned as Mercedes flushed. She’d had to borrow a bucket from Chet to finish stripping the wallpaper in the front room. One thing led to another, and now they were in his kitchen making him cinnamon bread, and Mercedes wore his great-grandmother’s ring on her left hand.

  “My point is—” Mercedes’ voice dropped even lower, and Cat had to lean in to hear her. “Sam isn’t what we thought.”

  “I know.” Cat moved the second bread pan closer and put a ball of dough inside. “He’s sweet, and kind, and—”

  “Handsome?” Mercedes filled in.

  “Maybe.” Cat dropped her dough onto the counter.

  “You know what I think?” Mercedes rolled her dough around in the cinnamon-sugar. “I think you aren’t thinking about accepting the position. I think you’re thinking about Sam.”

  Cat pressed her lips together. “Maybe,” she admitted.

  “Just be careful.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, you’ve been writing perfect guys for so long, I’m afraid no one will measure up.”

  “Oh.” The statement bothered Cat on two levels. One, she worried that her perception of men might be off. Did she expect too much out of them—for them to be more like her characters than like themselves? The other worry came because Mercedes was her best editor. “Are my male characters that predictable?” she asked.

  Mercedes rolled her eyes. “No. They’re fine.” She rinsed her hands in the sink. “I’m just saying, tread with caution, and don’t throw away a guy because he isn’t perfect.”

  “They can’t all be as good as me.” Chet wandered into the kitchen.

  Both Cat and Mercedes rolled their eyes.

  “You know, your ego is a lot bigger since you married my sister.” Cat finished the last of the dough and began wiping off the counter.

  “Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll keep me from getting a big head.” Chet folded his arms and leaned against the counter.

  “What are sisters for?”

  “I haven’t figured that out yet.”

  “Hey!” Mercedes threw a dish towel at him. “Mind your manners, Chet Bauer.” Even though there was a warning in her voice, Mercedes had nothing but love in her eyes.

  Turning away from a scene that had become much to tender too share, Cat scrubbed a spot on the counter. Her mind drifted to the manuscript she’d pounded out over the last few late nights. Sam starred on every page. Perhaps, in her head, she’d turned him into the man she’d written. The feelings she had for him, however strong they were, could be figments of her imagination.

  Throwing the dish cloth in the sink, she flipped around. “I have to go.”

  “I didn’t mean that comment about sisters.” Chet looked at his wife, as if he’d be sleeping in the barn for scaring off Cat.

  Cat smiled. “I know. I’m good. No worries.” She snatched her coat off the back of the couch. “I have an idea for a book and I need to get it down.”

  “Off with you.” Mercedes waved her arm. “Go create.”

  Cat grinned. “I will.” She ran to the truck. I’ll create a guy so wonderful I’ll never think of Sam in that way again. And then, I’ll be free to think clearly about my future.

  Cat didn’t like to admit it, but she’d always felt like she’d let her dad down by becoming an author instead of running the professor track he’d set her on early in life. Following through with this decision was important for their relationship.

  With barely a hello to her grandpa as she ran through the front door, Cat opened her laptop and a new document. “Here we go,” she muttered as she began the outline. “Time to get Sam out of my head.”

  Chapter 10

  “Hello?” Sam set aside his grilled honey and peanut butter sandwich as he answered his cell phone.

  While he had the sandwich, it was a small piece of a much bigger daydream. Cat wasn’t sitting next to him, her long hair flowing around her shoulders. Somehow, two slices of bread and some honey just weren’t enough, and he was ticked that he’d allowed Cat into his home—and his head. Everywhere he looked, she was there. He couldn’t even go out to his forty acres without remembering the way her arms felt around his middle and her laughter echoed across the valley. She brought a melody to his life that he wanted to hum over and over again.

  “Sam, this is Timothy Snow at the bank.”

  “Hi, Mr. Snow.”

  “Your loan has been approved, and we’re ready to move forward.”

  Sam pumped his fist. “That’s great—what’s the next step?”

  “All that’s left is to have you and William sign the papers. Would Friday at 10 a.m. work for you?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Fantastic. I’ll see you then.”

  They said goodbye and hung up the phone. Sam stared at his plate. He should be happy—darn it all, he should be ecstatic. And yet, there was a hollow feeling in his chest. He had the strangest feeling that he was chasing the wrong dream.

  Getting up from the table, he slammed his black felt cowboy hat on his head and headed out for the truck. What he needed was a good dose of womanly wisdom.

  His mom wasn’t in the kitchen when he arrived. His dad called out from the living room, “In here!”

  Sam went through the swinging door and found his dad in the recliner with his feet propped up and the Bee Keeper Catalogue in his lap. “What brings you out this way?”

  “I was hoping for some home cooking. Mom around?”

  “Naw, she’s at something in town. Have a seat.” He kicked the couch next to him.

  Sam pulled up a cushion, running his hands along the worn floral fabric. His mom had carte blanche when it came to decorating, and she made no excuses for adding feminine touches—everywhere. She claimed she needed all the girly things because she spent her days with grouchy men. Sam’s dad never complained. He said he could sit on a floral couch just as well as a leather one. Although his recliner was made from camel-colored leather, so maybe Mom let him pick that one.

  “What’s eatin’ at you?”

  Sam erased the frown on his face and smiled. “I just got the news that my loan went through. I sign the papers Friday.”

  “That’s great. Just great. You’re doing yourself proud.”

  “Thanks.”

  His dad picked up the magazine and then set it down again. “I remember when I bought this place. I was scared to death. You’d just come along—and had a healthy appetite, I might add.”

  Sam smiled.

  “I wouldn’t have made it if not for your mother.”

  “Really?”

  Dad bobbed his head. “I could work myself to the bone knowing that when I walked through that door, I was her hero. The long hours and endless days weren’t … aren’t so bad with a woman like her on your side.”

  Sam dropped his gaze to his socks.

  His dad leaned over the armrest. “All the land in the world isn’t worth a dime if you don’t have someone to share it with.”

  As if Sam hadn’t been looking. “I’m taking a break for a while.”

  “Scamp! I saw you out riding with that Boston girl.”

  Sam jerked his gaze off the floor and met his father’s dancing eyes.

  “She’s got spunk, that one,” said his dad.

  “That she does.” Sam let out a sigh. “But we’re just friends.”

  “Come on, son. I see that look in your eyes, and I’ve caught you watching her at church a time or two.”

  It was all Sam could do to drop Cat off at home yesterday with no more than a wave. They hadn’t talked much, since the snowmobile was loud, which suited Sam just fine. He was getting used to having the pressure of dating off his shoulders. It was certainly much easier to drive through town without worrying about who he was going to ask to the sledding party in February or if he could get someone to partner up and chaperone the high school dance.

  Of course, being married would have the same aff
ect but that took a lot more effort. Sam shrugged. “She’s pretty. But I’m on a break.”

  “Says who?”

  “Says me.”

  “Well, unsay it.” Dad picked up the magazine, getting in the final word.

  Sam tapped his foot. Unsay it. Pft.

  He got up and paced circles around the coffee table as his mind percolated the thought. If he could unsay he was on a break, Cat could unsay they were friends. Perhaps he could help her change her mind.

  Unsay it?

  Sam sat back down and picked up a magazine. He stared at the printed words, not seeing them.

  Unsay it.

  Now there was a thought.

  He vowed that the next chance he got, he was going to give it a try.

  Chapter 11

  Cat used the nail gun to secure the last shelf in place in the small closet. The space was hardly big enough for her to squeeze inside, but the storage space would make living in the bunkhouse for any period of time that much more enjoyable.

  Cat found that she appreciated Sam’s willingness to spend money improving the housing. He didn’t have to. The buildings would be occupied for four to six weeks out of the year and could pass muster as they were. But he cared about the people that came through Honey Fruit Orchard as if they were his extended family.

  “Cat,” called Grandpa from the front room.

  “In here!” she yelled.

  “Cat!”

  Cat set the nail gun on the shelf and ran out to find Grandpa on his backside, leaning against the wall and holding his left knee. “It froze up.” He sucked in through his teeth as he massaged his leg.

  Cat squatted next to him. She looked him up and down. “Can you stand?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She bit her tongue in worry. There was no way she could lift him off the ground. She was tough, but a two-hundred-plus-pound elderly man needed balance. “Maybe if I brace my back against the wall and get behind you.”

  Grandpa scowled.

  Yeah, dumb idea.

  “Call Chet.”

  “I’m already on it.” Cat had her phone in her hand. She hit send and waited impatiently for the phone to ring four times before going to voicemail. “He must be in the field.”

  Grandpa nodded. “He was going to ride the fence today.”

  A familiar sound bounced off the front of the building. Cat ran out to flag down Sam on the snowmobile. He waved as if she were just saying hi, did a double take, and flipped a U-turn to pull up alongside her. “Where’s your coat?” he yelled over the engine before cutting the power.

  Cat hugged herself. “I wasn’t cold until you said that!”

  “Sorry?” Sam furrowed his brow.

  “Grandpa’s knee locked up. I can’t get him off the floor.”

  Sam was off the machine and halfway to the bunkhouse before Cat finished speaking. She ran after him.

  “Edward, what were you doing?” Sam took Grandpa’s outstretched hand with his opposite one and used his right hand under Grandpa’s arm to lift him off the ground as if he weighed no more than a log for the fire.

  “I was just coming in to check on Cat. We’re ready to nail the shelves in the closet next door.” Grandpa leaned against the wall. He put his foot out in front of him and made an I-just-sucked-on-a-lemon face when he tried to put pressure on it. “No offense, Cat, but there are sometimes I wish a lady weren’t around.”

  “Grandpa, swear if you have to.”

  Grandpa shook his head. “Swearing won’t make it better. Believe me, I tried that before I called for you.”

  Cat’s phone rang. She answered, “Mercedes?” After explaining the situation, she hung up. “Chet just came in. He and Mercedes will be here in fifteen minutes to take you to the doctor. I’m calling right now to get you an appointment.”

  Grandpa scowled.

  “It still counts if you think the swear words,” Cat teased.

  “Nope. He gets credit for trying to hold them in,” Sam countered.

  “Says who?”

  “Says Jeremiah seventeen.”

  Cat narrowed her eyes. “I don’t mean to take issue with Jeremiah, but …”

  “Wanting to do good gives you partial credit.” Sam winked.

  Grandpa grinned. “I knew I liked this guy.” He patted Sam on the back.

  “Fine, you get a passing grade.” Cat put her arm under Grandpa’s. “I just heard Chet’s truck.”

  Sam mirrored her posture on the other side. His arm lay parallel to hers, the soft fabric of his heavy coat brushing against her skin. She blushed as she gave his arm a squeeze—just to say thank you, not to flirt.

  They managed to get Grandpa out the door and into Chet’s truck without any mishaps. Cat waved as they drove away. Mercedes had the doctor’s info. Someone had to stay behind, finish the job, and clean up.

  Cat patted her pockets and let out a groan. “Grandpa’s got the truck keys.”

  Sam waved towards his snowmobile. “No problem. I can give you a ride home.”

  “I should probably finish up that other closet so Grandpa doesn’t think he needs to come back tomorrow.” It was the last one on their list, and then the job was done.

  “What can I do to help?”

  “Nothing—you aren’t paying us so that you can do the work. If you want to come back in an hour, I should be packed up and ready to go.” An involuntary shiver overtook Cat. “Brrr.”

  Sam put his hand on the small of her back and guided her into the bunkhouse, shutting the door behind them. The gesture made Cat feel taken care of, allowing her fears about her grandpa to come to the surface. She tipped her chin up to keep from crying. Grandpa’s knee was hurt. It wasn’t his heart. He didn’t have a stroke. He was going to be fine. Yet Cat didn’t like the sense of vulnerability that came from finding him stuck on the floor.

  Sam put one arm around her shoulders. “He’ll be okay.”

  “I know. I just hate seeing him get older.” She smiled, but the effort felt weak on her part. “He’s always been the He-Man in the family and—” She bit her lip.

  Sam wrapped both arms around her and pulled her into his chest. She buried her face in his neck and breathed in the scent of him. He smelled like fabric softener and body wash—two smells she really enjoyed. Really, really enjoyed. Like, a lot. With hot fudge on top. “Thanks, Sam,” she whispered.

  He squeezed her tightly and then took a step back. “Let’s get that closet done.”

  Cat rolled her eyes. He was set on staying, and she found that she wasn’t all that set on sending him away because he was two-ways solid.

  The first way Sam was a solid guy was his strength, and she could use that when it came to lifting the shelves into the closet. Plus, that meant the view from her “office” was pretty nice—Sam had a great set of shoulders. She’d always liked guys with broad shoulders.

  The second way Sam was solid was in his ability to handle life. He’d been through some pretty tough times, gotten a bad rap here and there, and yet he was always friendly and kind to everyone. Solid. A good, solid man. The kind of man that made her feel better just having him around—at least until she heard how things worked out for Grandpa. She might need a hug again. A longer hug…

  “I have to nail the last section in here, and then we can move everything next door to do that closet.”

  “Sounds good.” Sam stripped off his coat and hung it next to Cat’s on the set of hooks. She put in the six nails, and then they hauled the air compressor and nail gun next door.

  Grandpa had cut the shelves and laid them out on the floor. Sam picked up the closest shelf and tried to place it on the wood strip. It didn’t slide into place. “Uh, Cat? I think we have a problem.”

  Cat smiled. She stood in the closet doorway. “Let me see.” Sam pulled the shelf out and placed it in her hands. He was only inches away, and Cat had to tear her gaze from his cobalt eyes. “There should be a number here—ah.” She pointed to the upper right corner, where a number tw
o was written in carpenter’s pencil. “And a matching number here.” She reached past Sam to point to the back right corner of the closet, where there was a number two. “See, they have to match up, and then the shelf should fit just right.”

  Sam hadn’t turned to look in the closet. He reached out and brushed a wisp of hair off her cheek.

  Cat froze, her arm still in the closet, bringing her body nearly flush with Sam’s.

  “I didn’t think to check fit,” admitted Sam, his eyes dropping to her lips.

  “It’s a must.”

  Sam’s hand moved to her cheek, his eyes moving between her gaze and her lips. “I think I’d better check it now.”

  Every fiber of her being understood that they’d stopped talking about shelves and started talking about their lips. Cat was pretty sure they’d be a good fit—the kind of fit that a girl never forgot. “That would probably be a good idea.”

  A quick smile splashed across Sam’s face. His fingers slid behind her neck and he pulled her in.

  Cat forgot to breathe. She forgot to think. She forgot about closets and nail guns and air compressors and grandpas with bum knees and just-married sisters and job offers. All that existed was this moment. Sam’s fingers brushing her skin. The fresh air smell in his clothes and the warmth building in the bottom of her belly. Her eyes dropped shut, and his lips pressed hers, causing her arms to reach for something solid.

  Fortunately for her, Sam was a solid guy. His other arm went behind her back, holding her up as she melted into his kiss. Turning her head, he deepened the moment, backing Cat against the closet door and taking both his hands to her face. Cat’s arms wound around his neck and she held on, enjoying every moment, every brush, every warm breath.

  Sam slowed the kiss and touched his forehead to hers.

  Cat still hadn’t opened her eyes. She sighed, happy to let the kiss linger between them. Sam didn’t seem in a hurry to move either.

  “Good fit,” she whispered.

  Sam dropped his lips to her neck, leaving a warm trail of kisses. “I’d say.”

  Cat giggled.