Melt My Heart, Cowboy (Love at the Chocolate Shop Book 1)

by CJ Carmichael

  “Duh. Of course.”

  “She’s never said anything.”

  “How could she? Sage doesn’t want to hold you back.”

  Rosie wasn’t sure how she felt about that. It was nice to know she was valued by her employer. But she didn’t like the idea of leaving Sage in the lurch, either. “At least Sage has you, now. In a few months you’ll know everything I do.”

  “I hope I’m a quick learner. But I’ll never replace you, Rosie.” Portia opened a couple random cabinet doors. “Where do you keep your frying pans? I’d like to fry the seasoned beef for our taco salad.”

  Rosie pointed to the drawer next to the oven. While Portia prepared the beef, Rosie chopped lettuce, tomatoes, avocados, and crunched some corn chips. Fifteen minutes later, their taco salads were ready. And they were delicious.

  “Bonus roommate points to you for being such a good cook.”

  “It’s a Carrigan thing. I learned from my mom, who learned from my Grandma Bramble. My sister Wren isn’t a bad cook either, though she’d rather be reading.”

  “My parents worked long hours, so when I was growing up we ate a lot of takeout. I’ve never been interested in cooking myself—unless the recipe calls for chocolate.”

  Portia laughed. “How on earth do you stay so slim?”

  Rosie told her about her one sweet a day rule. “But if you keep preparing these awesome meals, I may need to add a serious workout to my regime as well.”

  She got up from the table, intending to help herself to a bit more salad. That was when she noticed Portia had hardly touched her portion. “What’s wrong?”

  “Not as hungry as I thought I was. I’ll put this in the fridge and eat it later.”

  Rosie pointed out the drawer with the plastic wrap, then casually mentioned her conversation with Brant that morning, and the favor she’d agreed to do for him.

  Portia eyes grew rounder and rounder as Rosie explained about the meltdown.

  “Crap. Brant’s sister sounds like a real handful. Maybe I shouldn’t have encouraged you to take that job.”

  “I don’t mind. I just feel so sorry for her. She seems lost without her mother. Not only is Brant clueless, but I don’t think he even wants to try to figure her out.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Think about it. He said he was too far away and too busy with his job to spend more time with his sister. But he seems to have lots of time to fix my house in exchange for me spending time with Sara Maria.”

  “Oh. Good point.”

  Even after their conversation had moved on to planning the chocolate and wine tasting event, Rosie found her thoughts occasionally straying back to Brant. Her insight into his character should have made her like him less, and yet it didn’t.

  It seemed to Rosie this was a very dangerous sign.

  Chapter Eight

  After lunch on Tuesday, Rosie drove to the May Bell Care Home in Marietta with some trepidation. Not counting their short walk on Monday, this would be her first afternoon alone with Sara Maria, without Brant present as a buffer. What would they do?

  The weather wasn’t cooperating.

  The temperature had plunged last night, and bundles of clouds were pressing down from the mountains to the north. The smell of rain was in the air, though no drops had yet fallen.

  At the care home, the staff was very friendly and happy to see her. A young aide named Brenna told her to wait in the main sitting area, and only a few minutes later Sara Maria appeared wearing jeans and a sweatshirt and carrying her rain jacket.

  Even with no makeup and her fine blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, she looked very pretty. Her expression was serious, tinged with caution. At Rosie’s friendly greeting however, she relaxed slightly.

  “What would you like to do today? The weather looks a little iffy, but we could go for a walk along the river, and then pop into the Java Café for some tea and a muffin. How does that sound?”

  Sara Maria shrugged. “Okay.”

  Rosie studied her face. “Is there something else you’d rather do?”

  “Does it have to be outside?”

  “No.”

  “Then… I’d like to bake some pies.”

  It took a moment for Rosie to process this. “Pies. Like pastry and fruit—that sort of pie?”

  Sara Maria nodded.

  “Well.” This was the last thing she’d expected. And she wasn’t sure this was the sort of “stimulation” Brant expected for his sister. But there was no denying the look of expectation in Sara Maria’s eyes. “I have to warn you—I’m no cook. And I’m definitely not a baker.”

  “That’s okay. I know how to make a pie. I don’t need any help.”

  Maybe she did. Maybe she didn’t. But Rosie supposed it didn’t matter, as long as Sara Maria was happy. “I suppose we can use my kitchen. Sound okay to you?”

  Sara Maria smiled.

  And that was enough to convince Rosie she’d made the right decision. “What do you need to make a pie?”

  “Flour, a bit of vinegar, and some vegetable shortening,” Sara Maria said. “Plus fruit for the filling.”

  “I have several bags of rhubarb and raspberries in my freezer.” Her next door neighbor had a huge garden and was always bringing Rosie produce she had no idea what to do with. “Would that work?”

  “Yes. Do you have the other things?”

  “Not the vegetable shortening. But are you sure you want to make the crust from scratch? We could buy one of those frozen crusts.”

  Sara Maria shook her head vigorously, her expression appalled.

  “Okay. No frozen crusts.”

  They stopped at the market on the way home to pick up the vegetable shortening. At the last moment Rosie added a small bag of pastry flour.

  “I can’t remember the last time I did any baking. The flour at home might be rancid.”

  “Buy more flour,” Sara Maria said. “I want to make lots of pies.”

  “Lots of pies as in… two?”

  Sara Maria took a moment to consider. “Maybe six.”

  “Whoa. Are you serious?”

  Sara Maria exchanged the one pound bag for the five. Apparently she was.

  *

  The rain started fifteen minutes later, just as they were letting themselves inside through the back entrance. Rosie dropped the sack containing the flour and the shortening on the counter while Sara Maria said hello to Huck, who had made the effort to greet them at the door.

  Once she’d finished petting Huck to his satisfaction, Sara Maria washed her hands and asked for a tour of the kitchen. Methodically Rosie opened each of the cabinet doors so Sara Maria could see what was what. When she was done, Sara Maria wrinkled her nose.

  “You have things in the wrong places. When we’re finished with the pies I can reorder your cabinets.”

  Rosie didn’t know whether to be insulted or to laugh. “We’ve organized things this way for years and it works fine for me.”

  “You don’t cook. How do you know it works?”

  “I may not cook, but I heat food in the microwave. And then I wash my dishes in the dishwasher.”

  “Yes. And wouldn’t it be a good idea if your dishes were closer to the dishwasher? And if you kept your glasses near the fridge?”

  “Hm.”

  “I’ll fix it for you. But first I’ll make the pies.”

  “Do you want anything to drink first?”

  “No.”

  “Do you want me to help?”

  “No.”

  A little bemused, Rosie settled on a stool at the end of the butcher block island and just watched.

  What she saw amazed her.

  First Sara Maria pulled out every pie plate Rosie’s mother had owned—a total of five, not six—as well as a bowl, a knife, the vinegar, and the measuring cups. Then she set out the flour and the shortening.

  Sara Maria moved about the kitchen as if she’d known it for years. Not once did she open the wrong cabinet door. Not once
did she hesitate over how much of something to add.

  In less than thirty minutes she had ten discs of pastry dough wrapped in plastic, which she placed in the fridge to cool.

  “We need to let the dough rest for thirty minutes. Maybe I’ll play with Huck now.”

  Huck was only too happy to oblige with this plan. He soon had Sara Maria rolling on the floor with him as they fought over Huck’s favorite pull-toy. Then, oblivious to the light drizzle, Sara Maria went out to the fenced-in back yard and threw Huck’s tennis ball to the far corner. Huck bounded for it, retrieving it as proudly as a gold ribbon at a track and field event.

  But would he give it back to Sara Maria?

  Oh, no.

  Soon they were tussling on the back deck, with Sara Maria laughing until she was in tears.

  Until that moment she had seemed not quite human to Rosie. Too detached, too clinical, too… cool. But Huck was able to access a part of Sara Maria’s humanity that few people—certainly not herself, or Brant—were privy to.

  Finally worn out from all the activity, Huck went to his water bowl and began slurping. Sara Maria stretched out on the deck for a moment. Then she sighed and stood up and came inside.

  “Time to roll out the dough.”

  “Can I help?”

  “You can heat the oven to 375 degrees if you like.”

  “You sure you can trust me with that?”

  Sara Maria paused to stare at her for a moment. Then slowly she smiled. “I guess I’ll find out.”

  Rosie smiled back, then set the dial as she’d been instructed while Sara Maria washed her hands, yet again.

  When Sara Maria asked where the rolling pin was, Rosie had to shrug. She hadn’t seen it since her mother died. But it didn’t take Sara Maria long to flush it out and as soon as Rosie laid eyes on the scarred wooden utensil she was flooded with childhood memories of her mother baking pies for Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays. She remembered being given small balls of dough to play with… and how grimy they had looked when she was done with them.

  Expertly Sara Maria dusted flour onto the counter and the roller, before unwrapping one of the pastry disks and dusting it, too. Her hands moved with elegance and confidence as she gently coaxed the disk into a soft sheet of paper-thin pastry. As soon as she settled it over one of the pie plates, the dough obligingly sank into the proper position.

  “That’s wonderful, Sara Maria. You make it look so easy.” But Rosie knew better.

  She could just imagine the way the dough would stick and clump under her hands. She’d end up with flour all over the kitchen, and pies that looked like they’d been made by someone in kindergarten.

  Four more times Sara Maria repeated her magic show, transforming lumps of dough into silky-soft pastry.

  Then she prepared the filling.

  Rosie pulled out her bags of frozen rhubarb and raspberries. “Are you going to make some of each flavor?”

  “No. I’ll mix them together, along with some corn starch, sugar, and orange zest.” Sara Maria snagged one of the oranges from the fruit bowl on the counter, then pulled out another kitchen utensil Rosie hadn’t seen in a long time.

  Apparently it was an orange zester, because soon tiny slivers of orange peel had accumulated in a pile on the counter and a sweet citrus aroma was teasing Rosie’s nose and taste buds.

  Sara Maria piled each pie plate high with the fruity mixture, then she repeated her pastry magic and produced covers for each of the pies. For her final trick, she pinched the top crust to the bottom, creating a beautiful, wavy pattern like the kind Rosie had seen in the very best bake shops.

  Once they were in the oven and the timer had been set, Sara Maria went into organizational mode. She removed everything from the kitchen cabinets, scrubbed them down, then began reorganizing the contents according to some internal schematic.

  After watching for a few minutes, Rosie said, “If you’re okay here, I have some emails to answer.” Two had come in from her brother while Sara Maria was putting the finishing touches on her pies. She was anxious to see if Daniel liked the scene she’d sent him yesterday.

  “Sure.” Sara Maria didn’t even pause to look at her.

  “Okay, well I’ll be down the hall if you need me.”

  In the other room Rosie settled on the sofa with her laptop and quickly opened her email account. In his first message Daniel enthused over her scene in gratifying detail. In the next email, however, he asked her to make a bit of a change to fit in an idea he’d had for a new plot twist.

  Assuming the change wouldn’t take long, Rosie opened her screenplay document. Soon she was so immersed she barely registered the sound of the oven timer going off. Sometime after that Sara Maria interrupted her.

  “Um… Rosie? The pies are out of the oven.”

  Crap. She’d forgotten all about Sara Maria and the pies. Hurriedly she saved and closed her document and then rushed to the kitchen with Brant’s sister following behind her.

  Rosie found five perfectly golden pies resting on racks to cool. The room was filled with the heavenly aroma of fruit and pastry.

  “Wow, they look beautiful. I can’t wait to have a taste. Should I make some coffee? I think pie and coffee are one of those perfect combinations… you know, like honey and peanut butter.”

  “I don’t want any.”

  “No coffee? Would you rather have tea with your pie?”

  “I don’t want coffee or tea or pie.”

  “Are you worried about spoiling your dinner?” Speaking of which, Rosie noted, it was definitely time to get Sara Maria back to the care home for hers.

  “I don’t like to eat pie. Only to bake it.”

  “Seriously? You don’t like pie? And you just baked five?” Rosie started to laugh, and then Sara Maria joined in, at which point Huck started to bark, and so no one heard the knock on the back door.

  Or the door opening and a voice calling out, “Anybody home?”

  And then the voice drawing nearer. “Okay, someone’s definitely home. And having a hell of a lot of fun, sounds like.”

  Chapter Nine

  Rosie hadn’t expected to see Brant for another couple of hours. His sudden appearance in the intimacy of her kitchen, his masculinity conspicuous against the backdrop of her mother’s floral wallpaper, was incredibly distracting.

  He was in jeans and a navy work shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Without the restraint of his hat, his dark hair curled at his forehead, around his ears and against the collar of his shirt, in a boyishly appealing manner.

  Rosie’s pulse raced and she automatically patted down her hair, trying to remember if she’d bothered with mascara this morning.

  “I tried knocking but no one answered.”

  “I guess we were laughing too hard to hear you.” Rosie glanced from Brant to his sister, who had immediately sobered at his arrival.

  “I can’t remember when I last heard Sara Maria sound so happy.”

  “We were breaking up over the fact that she doesn’t like pies—and she just baked five.” Rosie smiled and expected Brant to do the same, but oddly he frowned instead.

  “You mean with your help, right?”

  “Not really. Sara Maria did it all. I just sat here and watched. Well, for most of the time I watched.”

  “I told you I know how to bake pies,” Sara Maria said self-righteously to her brother.

  “Yeah and you also told me you could drive, then damn near killed us by running into a tree.”

  Sara Maria’s gaze dropped and her skin flushed a hot red. “I got nervous when you yelled at me.”

  “I didn’t yell the first two times I told you to hit the brakes.”

  “Time out,” Rosie said, quickly. “I’m surprised to see you so early, Brant. I thought you had to work until six.”

  Sara Maria crossed her arms over her chest and glowered at her brother as he took a deep breath, obviously reining in his temper.

  He answered Rosie tersely. “Boss let us off early be
cause of the rain. I admit I figured it would be good to check how you were making out. I hope you were careful with the oven? Sara Maria shouldn’t be using one without supervision.”

  “Well, when I wasn’t right here, I was in the very next room.”

  “You left her alone in the kitchen?”

  “Only for half an hour or so.” Not that long, but still Rosie felt a little sheepish knowing how completely she’d forgotten about Sara Maria during that time.

  “Mom let me bake whenever I wanted.”

  “Sure. With her help.”

  “That’s not true,” Sara Maria’s eyes flashed with anger and tears. “You always act like I’m a baby, but I’m not.”

  Rosie held her breath, wondering if they were in for one of the infamous tantrums but Sara Maria didn’t fall to the floor or start wailing. Instead, she brushed past her brother, heading for the door.

  “I’m going back to the home. It’s where you think I belong anyway.”

  Brant was about to follow her, when Rosie caught his arm. “Hang on. I think you should let her go.”

  “Are you crazy?”

  “If you follow after her now, you’ll end up wounding her sense of pride even more than you already have.” She studied his face, but saw no sign of remorse for the way he’d spoken to his sister.

  “Her safety is more important than her self-pride.”

  What a stubborn man. Did he really believe Sara Maria wasn’t capable of walking four blocks? Rosie studied his eyes and could only see sincerity. “We can call the care home and ask them to watch for her. If she doesn’t arrive in ten minutes we’ll both go out looking for her. Do you have the number?”

  Brant took a few moments to consider her words, then pulled out his phone and made the connection.

  “Hello, this is Brant Willington. My sister is on her way to you right now. She should be there momentarily. Could you give me a call back when she—”

  He paused as the person on the other end of the line spoke for a few moments.

  “So you can see her?”

  More speaking from the other end, and finally Brant’s shoulders relaxed.