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

by CJ Carmichael

  “Good. Thanks a lot.” He slipped his phone back into his pocket, then turned to Rosie with his brow furrowed. “You think I’m too protective, but I assure you I’m not.”

  “I don’t mean to judge. But you have to admit you took the wind out of her sails when you jumped on her just now.”

  “Is that how you see the situation?”

  “You said yourself you hadn’t seen your sister laugh in a long time. And ten minutes after you show up, she’s in a huff and running out the door.”

  Brant’s jaw tightened. “Baking a few pies doesn’t make Sara Maria a responsible adult. You have no idea, Rosie. Just last year my sister, mom, and I were out for pizza, when Sara Maria looked out the window and saw a woman walking a border collie puppy. Before I knew it, she’d jumped out of her chair and rushed outside to pet the puppy.”

  “Okay, that’s a little impulsive. But what’s the harm in in?”

  “The woman was on the other side of the street. My sister didn’t even stop to check for cars. She just ran and she was nearly hit by a truck. The driver slammed on his brakes so hard he set off his own air bag.”

  Rosie felt humbled. “Okay. I’m sorry. I can see now why you freaked out about her walking home alone. But isn’t it possible she learned from that experience?”

  “Maybe. But I can’t predict what crazy thing she might do next time. Like I told you, my sister lives in her own world.”

  Rosie didn’t know what to say. She had no basis to challenge what Brant was saying, other than her own observations which told her Sara Maria was higher functioning than her brother gave her credit for.

  “Did your sister have to go to a special needs school?”

  “Academically, she’s smart. Very smart. It’s her common sense that’s lacking. After Dad split and we moved to Montana, I had to babysit her a lot and, believe me, it wasn’t easy keeping her safe, especially once she was old enough to start baking. She wasn’t supposed to even go in the kitchen when Mom wasn’t home, but I can’t tell you how many times she set off the smoke alarm. Luckily I was there before things got out of hand.”

  “Sounds like you had a lot of responsibility. And not much time for after school sports or hanging out with friends.”

  He waved that off. “I had no friends anyway. It was a tough age to move from an urban school in Chicago to one in the middle of ranching country. I didn’t fit in at all, not until my mom enrolled me in riding and roping lessons the summer after my junior year.”

  “My family lived in Marietta all my life. I’ve never had to try and fit in at a new school, but I’m sure I wouldn’t have enjoyed the experience much.” It would have been especially difficult for Brant given that he had to look after his autistic sister all the time.

  “The worst was missing my dad. We’d been close, but after the move I hardly saw him.”

  “He didn’t fly you back to Chicago for visits?”

  “He couldn’t handle Sara Maria. And I guess he figured it wasn’t fair to spend time with one kid and not the other.” Brant shook his head. “Hang on. I never meant to start complaining. And I sure as hell don’t want your sympathy. I just want to make sure Sara Maria doesn’t con you into believing she’s more capable than she really is. There’s a reason I put her in that home. It’s not like I wanted to do it.”

  Rosie nodded, but couldn’t help wondering if Brant was being totally honest with himself about that.

  *

  Rosie’s toffee-colored eyes were warm with sympathy, but Brant could see approbation, too. Obviously she felt he’d been too hard on his sister. What did she know about being the older sibling to a sister with special needs?

  He had no need to justify himself here. While he was far from a saint, he was a decent guy. He worked hard, treated people honestly, and tried to do right by his sister.

  If Rosie couldn’t see that, well that was her problem.

  “I ought to get to work now. I brought some lumber to fix the rotten boards on your porch.”

  That earned him a smile, at least, albeit a small one.

  “Thank you. Can I help?”

  Soft curls had escaped her ponytail and framed her slightly flushed, round face. She was standing with one hand on the curve of her waist and her legs seemed to go on forever. Even though he was annoyed with her, he still found her appealing.

  Which pissed him off. He preferred to be attracted to women who thought he was pretty much perfect the way he was.

  “You can pick out colors for the house exterior and trim. I brought samples with me.”

  Without another word he strode outside to grab them from his truck. When he returned, she was at the sink, peeling vegetables, standing in a position that made it impossible for him not to notice what a cute rear end she had.

  He dropped the samples on the table, maybe a little more forcibly than necessary, since the smacking noise caused her to jump.

  “Just write down the colors you want and next time I come I’ll start painting.”

  She turned around, wiping her hands on a towel. “Are you annoyed with me?” She studied his face. “Still mad about my comments on the way you spoke to your sister?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve moved on. Now let me get to those steps while I’ve still got plenty of light.”

  She said nothing to that. Fine. It wasn’t as if he’d expected an apology.

  Outside, he pried his crowbar into the space between two rotten boards and gave a good push. The wood cracked loudly and splinters flew up in the air.

  Guess he’d used a little more force than necessary.

  Gradually his work calmed him down. Though he loved training horses best, his second favorite job was building things. Something on the ranch was always in need of fixing, whether it was a gate, a fence, or one of the outbuildings.

  Last year the boss had commissioned a new horse barn. When the manager of the construction company had realized how talented Brant was with a saw and a nail gun, he’d been assigned to the project full time.

  Brant had loved every moment and was incredibly proud of how it had turned out. The barn was state of the art, a perfect marriage of function, practicality, and beauty.

  Compared to that project, fixing a few rotten stairs, some window trims and a soft patch on an old porch floor was a cakewalk, but Brant still took a lot of care. No matter how small the job, he was meticulous. As he worked he became aware of delicious cooking smells emanating from the kitchen. His stomach rumbled—his last meal had been six hours ago—but he kept working.

  Brant was putting away his tools when Rosie came out the front door about an hour later.

  He’d forgotten his resentment, but a sliver of it returned at the sight of her. “Want to inspect my work? Make sure it’s up to code?”

  She didn’t seem to notice the heavy sarcasm in his tone.

  “Looks great.” She went closer so she could see how perfectly he’d matched the rungs. “Better than new in fact. Thank you.”

  She glanced at his truck, then back at him. “But I didn’t come out here to check on your work. I was wondering if you’d like a bowl of stew before you leave?”

  The offer was tempting, especially since he’d been drooling over the cooking smells, wafting from the open kitchen window for the past hour. Plus, it was already seven-thirty and he’d put in a long day.

  “Wouldn’t want to put you out.”

  “I made a big batch.” She hesitated, gave him a cautious look, then added, “Plus I’ve got five pies for dessert.”

  A second ticked by, then another. Finally Brant laughed. He couldn’t help it and, as soon as he did, her shoulders relaxed.

  With their discord apparently behind them, they went inside and Rosie pointed out the powder room where he could wash up for dinner.

  Once he was done, he found Rosie in the kitchen where she’d set out place mats, bowls, and a basket of dinner rolls to go with the stew. The kitchen table was in an alcove overlooking a lawn choked with Virginia creeper and
lilac bushes in need of serious pruning.

  Following his gaze, Rosie sighed. “Yes, the back yard is looking pretty rough, too, isn’t it? Dad was the one with the green thumb. You should have seen how nice it looked back in the days when he had his health.”

  The combination of sadness and nostalgia on her face brought back the pain of Brant’s own recent loss. “We both lost our parents too young.”

  “Yes. It’s easy to take them for granted, isn’t it? Until you don’t have them, and then you realize how much you needed them.”

  “Mom was in excellent health up until her car accident.”

  “That must have made her loss even more of a shock.”

  Brant nodded. He and his mom had never talked about what would happen to Sara Maria after she died. They’d both assumed they’d have years—decades—to sort that out. Now Brant would have given anything for some of his mother’s counsel. But all he had was the advice she’d given him as a kid.

  “Watch out for your sister. Keep her safe.”

  Rosie handed him a ladle. “If you don’t mind being casual, how about we serve ourselves straight from the pot on the stove?”

  “Works for me.” He insisted on letting her go first, then took a generous serving of the chunks of beef, potato, onion and carrot bathed in a caramelized gravy that smelled heavenly.

  Just one taste brought back happy memories of weekend dinners when he’d been a child, before Sara Maria decided she was vegetarian.

  “This is good. Reminds me of my mom’s.”

  “Thanks, but in the interest of full disclosure you should know there are only about ten recipes I do a decent job of and stew is the top of the list.”

  That made him chuckle. “You surprise me. I had you pegged as the domesticated kind.”

  Her gaze shifted to a chair in the corner where she’d stacked a laptop and a rather beaten-looking notebook. Then she cocked her eyebrow in a fashion he was beginning to recognize as politely confrontational.

  “Because I’m a woman?”

  He saw the need for a quick sidestep. “No. Because you work in the food industry.”

  Her expression shifted from affronted to amused. “Chocolate isn’t food.”

  “Why not? We eat it, don’t we?”

  “Maybe you do. I savor it. Chocolate…” She paused to search for the right words, “Chocolate is like fine wine or really good coffee. It’s about flavor and texture, yes, but it’s more than something to eat. Enjoying chocolate should be a full-on, sensory experience.”

  The sensory experience Brant was experiencing watching her describe chocolate had nothing to do with food. At all.

  He remembered a woman once telling him the perfect human face shape was oval, but watching Rosie, he saw that was wrong. Round faces were much more appealing, especially if they were accompanied with soft, plump, kissable lips and eyes that brought to mind melted toffee.

  He wondered what Rosie would say if he told her the way she described chocolate was the way he felt about sex.

  Good sense made him decide to hold his tongue.

  “Maybe I should come to your chocolate shop more often.”

  He watched, fascinated, as the corners of her kissable lips turned up in a smile.

  “For three months I wondered who you were buying those chocolates for. I never once guessed your sister.” A light sparked in her eyes. “That’s why you’d never try anything new, right? Because Sara Maria doesn’t like change.”

  He nodded, acknowledging the truth in that. “The first time I bought her chocolates, she was still in the hospital after her breakdown.”

  “The one she had after your mother’s accident?”

  “Yeah.” Just thinking back to those days made his chest ache. “I’d never seen my sister in such bad shape before. It was awful. Mom was the only one who could help her, but Mom wasn’t with us anymore. Out of desperation I decided to try buying her a box of chocolates. Do you remember what you said, the first time I was in your shop?”

  “Uh huh. You asked what our most popular chocolate was and I said it was the dark chocolate caramels with Himalayan pink salt.”

  “Right. So I bought a box and took them to Sara Maria, fully expecting her to ignore both me and the chocolates. But she surprised me by eating one. And then another. And after that she started talking again.”

  “See? I told you there’s something special about chocolate.”

  Brant wasn’t fooled by her little joke. He could see tears sparkling in her eyes. “Every time I visited her after that, I brought her another box of chocolates.”

  “I’m sorry I ever tried to get you to buy anything else.” Rosie tilted her head as she regarded him thoughtfully. “You really care about your sister.”

  “Of course I do.”

  “I’m sorry I accused you of being heavy-handed. But I do wonder if Sara Maria belongs in the May Bell Care Home. I know some of the employees who work there and they’re lovely, kind people. But it seems to me that most of the other residents are either a lot older or recovering from a serious medical trauma.”

  She was eyeing him cautiously. Maybe she expected another flare up. But he’d worked off his anger and all that was left was a heavy load of exhaustion. “When Sara Maria was released from the hospital after her breakdown, she was in rough shape. I didn’t know where to turn. The care home seemed like the best solution then.”

  “Now maybe it isn’t?”

  “Yeah, that’s what they’re telling me—but what are my options?”

  “There’s got to be some other place.”

  “Trust me, I’ve looked. There isn’t.”

  Rosie stared at him, wondering if he was avoiding the obvious, or if he truly didn’t see it. Surely the best place for his sister would be living with him.

  Chapter Ten

  Brant had been gone for twenty minutes when Portia came home around eight-thirty that evening, using the front door and walking straight into the living room. As soon as Rosie heard footsteps on the porch, she automatically saved and closed the document she’d been working on.

  “Hey, Rosie.” Portia paused to hang up her jacket and set down her purse and a plastic shopping bag. “How was your evening? I see someone fixed the porch. Was it Brant?”

  The neat ponytail Portia had worn to work that morning was barely hanging in there. Not only was her hair a mess, but she had faint smudges under her eyes and her smile looked both fake and weak.

  “Are you okay? Did Sage make you work this late?”

  “No. I went for a walk after work. A long walk.”

  Rosie was concerned, but didn’t want to nag. “If you’re hungry we’ve got stew. And rhubarb raspberry pie.”

  “Did you say pie?” Portia perked up and headed to the kitchen. Rosie set aside her laptop and followed.

  “Wow, you weren’t kidding when you said we had pie.”

  Although Rosie had convinced Brant to take one home to share with his bunkmates, four picture-perfect pies remained on the kitchen counter, one missing a couple slices.

  “Turns out Sara Maria loves to bake.”

  “These look gorgeous. I’ve made lots of pies with my mom and ours never turn out like this. Do they taste as good as they look?”

  “You may find this hard to believe but they actually taste better than they look.”

  “Okay. I’m going in.” Portia grabbed a plate and a knife and cut herself a slice even more slender than the sliver Rosie had eaten after her stew.

  As Portia pressed the side of the fork into the pie for her first bite, the pastry flaked around the thick, lusciously red fruit. Carefully Portia raised the fork to her mouth. A moment later her eyes widened. She chewed very, very slowly, then swallowed and let out a sigh.

  “What the heck is in there? There’s got to be some kind of secret ingredient.”

  “I watched her bake them. No secret ingredients. At least none that I saw.”

  Portia’s gaze swept around the kitchen and paused at the t
wo bowls sitting in the drying rack.

  “So did Sara Maria stay for dinner?”

  “No. Brant grabbed a quick bite after he fixed the stairs.”

  “A quick bite of what?” Portia teased.

  “Oh, stop it. We did have a good talk, though. He’s really mixed-up about his sister. He’s so preoccupied with keeping her safe he’s stuck her in that home where she doesn’t fit in. Sara Maria is suffocating.”

  “Anyone who can bake a pie like this shouldn’t be in a care home,” Portia agreed.

  Rosie noticed that despite her admiration for the pie, Portia hadn’t taken a second bite.

  Leaving her plate on the counter, Portia went to the fridge. Her hand went from the pitcher of water, to the gallon of almond milk, then back to the water. She poured herself a tall glass and drank half of it.

  “I hate to sound like your mom, but did you have any dinner tonight?”

  “Please don’t quiz me, Rosie.”

  Rosie wanted to respect her wishes, but in the short while she’d known Portia, the other woman hadn’t eaten a proper meal. She hoped her new friend didn’t have an eating disorder. “Just tell me you normally eat more than the bits of salad and bread I’ve seen you nibble on since I met you.”

  “Trust me, I do. A month ago, if you’d put that pie in front of me, I probably would have devoured two pieces already.”

  “So why not now?” Rosie persisted.

  Portia turned her back to the fridge and sagged against it. “I haven’t been feeling well for almost a month.”

  Rosie hadn’t expected this answer and was immediately worried. “Have you been to the doctor?”

  “I hoped it was just a virus and I’d be better soon.”

  But she obviously wasn’t. “I really like my GP. Want me to send you her contact information?”

  “Yeah. That’s probably a good idea.” Portia left the room and returned a moment later with the plastic shopping bag she’d left at the front door. “There is one more explanation for how I’m feeling that I need to rule out.”

  In that instant, Rosie knew what was inside the shopping bag.