They decided to keep the weekend a surprise for Emily. Brodie called Becca ahead of time and told her what was going on, and Becca promised to stop over in the morning, very early, and leave a weekend’s worth of food for them both in William’s refrigerator. Brodie would get the morning chores done early, too, and then William and Alec would announce they were leaving. Brodie had a surprise delivery planned for around ten, and after that, it would just be the two of them. He couldn’t wait.
On Saturday morning, Emily frowned in concentration as she read the recipe from an old Fannie Farmer cookbook she found in the cupboard. Muffins. How difficult could blueberry muffins be? Jacob and Alec had brought her a whole basketful of blueberries they’d found, and she swore if she couldn’t turn them into muffins, she was telling Brodie tonight: she would never set foot in their kitchen again.
She blew a sweaty strand of hair out of her face after she put the muffins in the oven and looked around the kitchen. She’d been spending so much time in here lately that she’d sort of become used to the linoleum patches with plywood underneath and the dingy-looking, yellowed walls. With the twenty minutes she had until the timer dinged, she let herself imagine what the kitchen could look like. Embrace the vintage theme, she thought. Find new countertops that picked up the pink in the fridge. Maybe a kitschy black and white tile floor and some curtains with a retro flower pattern that echoed the green in the pink and green pattern of the 1940s enameled table that was starting to grow on her. Glass fronted cabinets that still showed off the antique dish collection without looking like the cupboard doors had all fallen off . . . and from there, she could work her way into the living room and on to the rest of the house.
Maybe that was it, she thought, excitement rising. She had loved the interior design job she’d had in New York, and she’d scored in the top three percent of the students in her interior design classes—she’d just disliked the boss that had constantly tried to hit on her the whole time she’d worked for him. Before she left, she’d given him such a blistering set-down that he told her he’d blacklist her from every other decorator in town. She’d been so young and unsure, she’d just moved on to a different kind of work and taken him at his word. Now, she realized that his competitors probably wouldn’t have cared less that she quit. The guy was a well-known womanizer.
She could renovate and decorate the whole inside of this house and turn it into a résumé for future jobs—take pictures of her work and design a website. She could take her fun and funky set of style that she used to apply to her clothes, before she’d bought overalls and black T-shirts, and apply that to design. Even if she had to travel a little, there still had to be other people in the area that needed interior facelifts for their homes—
The timer dinged, effectively bursting her bubble. Interior decorating was probably just another “big idea,” like William always used to tease her about. Who was to say she could commit to that either? She was ready to give up after a week of cooking lessons. And renovating the house would be expensive. She and Brodie still hadn’t talked about finances, and she felt guilty every time she bought something.
Emily put on oven mitts and braced herself for disappointment as she pulled open the oven door. Twenty-four perfect golden brown sugar-topped muffins waited inside. Hardly daring to breathe, in case they somehow collapsed, Emily carefully pulled out both trays and set them on the stove. The rich smell of caramelized brown sugar mingled with the underlying tang of blueberries, and she had to back away toward the kitchen table, afraid her legs wouldn’t support her anymore. She sank down into a chair and whispered, “Thank God,” before bursting into laughter. She had made muffins. There was hope, and suddenly her day was looking much better.
The boys stared at the platter almost reverently. Alec had already been practically vibrating with excitement when he’d burst into the kitchen, but he had immediately slowed, sniffing the air cautiously. Brodie, too, had come in with a big, mischievous smile that hinted to Emily that something was up, but the sight of the gorgeous pile of bakery-worthy muffins stopped him cold. She’d dressed up the table a bit, pulling out cut-crystal juice glasses for the OJ, and instead of the paper plates they usually used, she’d found delicate china with a pretty floral pattern and heavy silverware that wasn’t too tarnished. William let out a low, appreciative whistle when he entered the dining room.
“What’s the celebration?” he asked cheerfully. “Have you all told her?”
“Told me what?” Emily asked. “Never mind. Sit down first. I want everyone to taste these while they’re still warm. You can tell me after that.”
“You baked these?” Alec broke open a muffin, and fragrant steam rose. “With the blueberries we brought you yesterday?”
“I sure did,” Emily replied proudly and resisted adding “all by myself.” She spread butter on her own muffin, glorying in the way that it melted into the still-warm, fluffy insides. She watched William, Alec, and especially Brodie, afraid for a moment that she’d done something dumb, like adding salt instead of sugar, but from the expressions on their faces, she deemed it safe. After two bites, she stood up and did a happy dance to their applause.
“Best muffins I ever had,” Brodie said appreciatively after taking a drink of his orange juice. “And now, we have a surprise for you.”
To Emily’s amazement, five minutes later, the big old house was empty, except for her . . . and her cowboy. An entire weekend, for just the two of them. Out the window went Emily’s plans to clean the dingy-looking grout in the upstairs bathroom, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Brodie’s blue eyes twinkled. “It’s just you and me now.” A shiver went through her. She knew what that meant. They were finally going to get around to . . . being married.
“Don’t you have chores? In the barn?” Emily felt her cheeks heating as he took a step toward her, but the sound of a truck pulling up made him slap his forehead and stop.
“I almost forgot. One more surprise.”
Two men came tromping in through the kitchen, carrying a huge plastic-wrapped box spring. It took some maneuvering and cursing, but they made it up the stairs to the master bedroom. Next came the mattress. Finally, packages of linens and comforters. Emily felt her cheeks getting redder with each trip. Did they guess? The delivery men couldn’t have known, but she felt like her love life was on display.
Finally, they were gone, taking the old, formerly chipmunk-inhabited mattresses with them.
“No more air beds for us.” Brodie grinned, sinking down on the bed, bouncing a little. “I’ve got a new one coming for Alec, too, on Monday, but I asked them to put a rush on this one.”
“Why, Mr. Callahan,” Emily asked teasingly. “Did you have something in mind for this bed?” It was beautiful. The big four-poster looked much better once Emily and Becca had taken down the rotting canopy and cleaned the whole thing, rubbing the gorgeous, dark antique wood with beeswax until it gleamed.
“Yep.” He smiled, flopping backward. “A nice, long nap.” He patted the bed beside him. “Care to join me, Mrs. Callahan?”
“Don’t mind if I do.” She kicked off her shoes, sitting down on the edge next to him, butterflies flitting nervously in her belly.
Leaning backward, she gave a huge sigh. Forget lovemaking, she thought dimly. The mattress had the perfect blend of softness and give, with a memory foam topper that put their former inflatable beds to shame. But when Brodie rolled over until he was looking down at her, one hand on each side of her, her breath caught.
He leaned down and kissed her. Softly, searchingly at first, and then broke away. “Are you ready?” he asked. “Because if not, that’s okay—”
She interrupted him by grabbing hold and pulling him down on top of her. No more words were needed. Emily was more than ready.
“We didn’t even put the sheets on,” Emily giggled afterward, her head resting on Brodie’s stomach. It shook beneath her as he laughed.
“Maybe next time.”
Despite being exhauste
d and a little achy in some interesting places, Emily couldn’t wait until next time. Her foster mother hadn’t really explained the physical side of marriage, being a very prim and quiet woman, who would only say that “that behavior” should be saved for marriage. Health class in school had given her the general idea of the mechanics, but the reality was far more fun.
She traced light circles on Brodie’s chest until he grabbed her hand. “Better not start, or we’ll have to put those sheets on the bed now,” his voice rumbled under her ear.
Emily giggled and sat up. “Why don’t I just take care of that now, then? Unless there’s something else you’d rather be doing?”
Brodie leaned forward and cupped her cheek. “There’s nothing I’d rather be doing right now.” And then he gently took her mouth in another kiss, sending tingles right down to her toes.
Nine
Thanks to Becca, Brodie and Emily didn’t have to venture far to find dinner that evening when they finally emerged from the bedroom. A quick trip to William’s apartment, and they were able to raid the fridge for a casserole that only required heating up. Brodie handled all the “cooking” and promised Emily a foot rub afterward.
All that evening and the next day, except for when Brodie left briefly to check on the horses, he and Emily spent nearly every moment together. To Brodie, it was heaven. He felt like they’d finally connected, physically and emotionally. He wanted to tell Emily what he discovered—that he was head over heels in love with his matchmaker-chosen bride—but he was waiting for just the right time. Plus, he was a little afraid. He knew that some unhappiness had been nagging at her, and he wasn’t convinced that a batch of beautifully baked muffins had solved the problem. He knew how many jobs she’d gone through in the past. What if she got frustrated with the position of wife, mother, and homemaker and, he felt terrible for even thinking it, decided to quit that, too?
Emily was struggling with similar thoughts. She’d finally admitted to herself that there was only one cowboy—and one man—for her, but part of her still wondered if she’d be able to measure up to what a good country wife should be. Remembering her idea about becoming an interior decorator, she wondered, too, how she could make that happen. She still had no idea what it took, financially, to start a horse farm, and with all of the materials he’d been buying for the outside renovations they’d done so far, what if they couldn’t afford to even fix up their own house, much less start another business? Maybe they’d be stuck sitting on ripped antique sofas until he sold his first colt, whenever that turned out to be.
She decided she’d keep her interior decorating ideas to herself for now. She’d apparently mastered muffins, so from here, she’d just keep working with Becca, maybe starting with breakfast and working her way up to dinner. Then, Becca could start showing her how to do other things. . . . Eventually, she’d put together a scrapbook of ideas, and when the time came, and money allowed, she’d work on the house. For now, she just needed to focus on her housekeeping skills, as much as she hated the thought.
Studying Brodie’s face by the light of the candles she’d put out to make Saturday night’s dinner more romantic, she loved the way his blue eyes were shadowed in the dim light, and the light stubble on his cheeks made her itch to run her fingers over it. Maybe she wasn’t excited about the work ahead of her, but for Brodie, she felt like she was making the right decision.
Brodie decided he’d let things lie one more night. Maybe they could drive to Greeneville the next morning. Emily would probably like a mocha, and the guys weren’t due back until mid-afternoon. Maybe they could even go out to lunch. Emily, too, seemed to be in a pensive mood, lost in her own thoughts across the table, so he tried to tease a smile out of her.
He yawned and stretched, making a big show of checking the time on his watch. It was only eight o’clock. “I’m going to go down and check on the horses one more time. Then, I was thinking about taking a bath in that gigantic clawfoot tub before I turn in.”
“Going to bed early, huh?” She smiled slowly. “You must be worn out from all the . . . relaxing we’ve done.”
He nodded sadly. “Plum tuckered out for some reason. Hey, you wouldn’t be interested in going to bed early after a bath in a gigantic clawfoot tub, would you?”
Emily frowned in mock thoughtfulness before she gave him a wicked grin. “You know what, cowboy? I think I’d be very interested.”
Serious discussions could wait until tomorrow, she decided, running up the stairs to start the bathwater. For now, Emily just wanted to pretend the outside world didn’t exist and enjoy this time with Brodie.
“You know,” Emily said as they headed down the highway toward Greeneville the next morning, the warm breeze from the half-open window teasing curls free from her ponytail, “it’s almost September. We’re going to have to get Alec enrolled in school, get him school clothes—” She stopped. Crud. She’d forgotten all about the money concerns she suspected.
But Brodie didn’t look bothered at the thought of expenses. “You’re right.” He laughed. “Being out here in the country air has made him grow faster, I swear. He’s probably put on two or three inches since we came here.”
Brodie wanted to facepalm. The last thing he meant to do was remind Emily of the move from the city that she probably still regretted. But when he glanced at her, she didn’t seem worried.
“So, hey,” he started awkwardly. “There’s some stuff we should probably talk about.” His hands gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles whitened. He didn’t want their interlude to end, but it was probably past time they talked about more than Alec, or horses, or mundane day-to-day things.
Suddenly, the most perfect idea came to him. He blurted it out before he thought it fully through, convinced that it would solve everything.
“I was thinking we should hire Becca on a full-time basis.”
That was not what Emily thought he was going to say. She paused for a moment, her plans scattered.
“Why?” she asked slowly.
“You know,” Brodie said. “You like her cooking. That chicken she made for us that we ate last night was amazing. And those chocolate chip cookies? Just like my mom’s.”
Wrong approach, he thought, taking his eyes off the road to gauge her reaction. Emily’s eyes were narrowing, and he didn’t think that was a good sign. He hurried to reassure her. “The muffins you made for breakfast the other day were awesome, too! I’m sure Becca couldn’t have done better. I was just thinking about, ah, the attempts before that.”
“You know I’m learning, right? But you had guessed Becca made the cookies even though I didn’t correct you when you said I did.” Emily kept her voice low, but suddenly she wanted to start screaming. Never mind that she didn’t like cooking—she’d been trying, hadn’t she? And here, the whole time she was trying to please Brodie, he was salivating over another woman’s cooking.
“Oh, look.” Brodie pointed. “Starbucks. Next exit.” He hit the turn signal fast.
It was a pathetic attempt at distraction.
“I don’t want Starbucks anymore. How about you tell me more about how much you love Becca’s cooking,” Emily said sweetly.
“It’s not that,” Brodie replied quickly, feeling like he was suddenly in quicksand. His temper sparked. Why did women always think men meant the worst? “You’ve been doing amazing, sweetie. I just thought maybe you’d want to try something different, so you don’t get burned out on house stuff. We could have Becca do the cleaning, too, if she was up for it.”
“Does Becca make the toilet shine brighter than I do?”
“No!” Thoroughly exasperated now, he searched frantically for the green and white sign that would indicate chocolate was imminent. “Is this PMS again?”
“Oh, that’s just great!” Enough was enough. She finally understood the expression “steam coming out of her ears.” “First, I’m a crappy cook. Second, I don’t clean up to your high standards. Third, I’m incredibly irritated with my bonehead h
usband, and it mustn’t be his fault. It has to be PMS just because I’m mad that my husband would prefer another woman’s homemaking skills to mine!”
There it was. Starbucks. He pulled in quickly. The line looked about three miles long. “I don’t prefer her homemaking skills.” He tried valiantly, one more time, to dig himself out of the hole that had opened under his feet. “I just don’t want you to get bored. You were always doing something different, job-wise, in New York, and here, you’re just stuck on the farm, doing the same thing day after day and obviously not having the best time of it. I’m afraid—” Out with it, he decided. Honesty was the best policy, and he was already in deep enough. “I’m afraid you’ll get tired of living out here, or the work will be too hard, and you’ll leave me. Us.”
Emily reared back as if Brodie had slapped her. Her argument was going to be that they couldn’t afford to hire Becca full-time, but this? The fact that Brodie thought she was the kind of person that would just outright leave her husband and orphaned nephew?
“I would never leave you both,” she hissed, tears clogging her voice. “And I don’t know if I can ever forgive you for thinking I would.”
“This is Jayden,” came a bored-sounding voice to Brodie’s left. “Welcome to Starbucks. What can we get for you?”
A rewind button? Brady thought miserably. He’d love to go back and start this whole day over.
Alec had a stomachache, but it was totally worth it. He and William had so much fun in Pigeon Forge. It was like Vegas! For kids! They’d played three miniature golf courses, gone to two different go-kart places, played a game of laser tag, spent a few hours at some corny-sounding but secretly very cool place called Dollywood, explored a weird museum that looked like an upside-down house, and eaten so much at an all-you-can-eat buffet that he had to lay outside the restaurant, spread-eagled on the grass, until he was sure he wasn’t going to throw up in William’s Cadillac. For an old guy, William sure knew how to have fun.
Treasured in Tennessee Page 8
