by Deb Kastner
Jo sighed dramatically. “Phoebe, meet Frank Spencer. His son Drew is helping with the construction today, and Frank here is being a menace, as you can see. Frank, this is Phoebe Yates, our new pastry chef at Cup O’ Jo. Stop by sometime and taste one of her goodies.”
“I’d like that,” Frank agreed readily. Phoebe didn’t think his visit to Cup O’ Jo would be simply to try one of her pastries, if the feisty smile he flashed Jo was anything to go by.
With another self-satisfied grin, Frank turned and hobbled away.
“Now, where were we?” Jo asked.
She scooped a neatly stacked pile of red-checked tablecloths into her arms and headed for the nearest table. At each one, Phoebe spread the cloth while Jo fastened it to the table with small plastic clips. A couple of Jo’s friends, Gayle and Alice, followed with flower centerpieces and large pitchers of lemonade and iced tea.
“Are we saving any of the food for supper?” Phoebe asked, noting the long row of tables set end to end, on which there were dozens of plastic containers, Crock-Pots and casserole dishes. Enough to feed a small army.
Jo chuckled. “This is more of a graze-your-way-through-the-afternoon event. Pretty soon here we’ll break for lunch. Everyone will fill up their plates at least once and then come back for more when they get hungry again.”
“There’s certainly no shortage of food,” Phoebe remarked. “I think we could feed this crowd four times over.”
“You’d be surprised how much some of those young men can put away—old ones, too, for that matter,” Alice said with a chuckle. “Especially after they’ve been working so hard.”
Phoebe glanced toward the barn, which had already been framed. Several men were nailing large sheets of plywood to the sides. Her gaze didn’t rest until she found Chance among them, using a Skil saw to cut through sheets of plywood.
As always when she looked at Chance, her heart beat a little faster. She could not deny her attraction to the ruggedly handsome man. He was the type of guy any woman would do a double-take on.
As if he sensed her eyes upon him, he looked up and their gazes locked. Her breath caught in her throat. She was embarrassed to have been caught watching him, but she knew he wouldn’t be able to see the rosy stain of her cheeks from this distance, so she smiled and waved at him as if nothing was amiss, as if she’d just happened to be looking at him at that moment.
Of course he didn’t smile back. She hadn’t really expected him to, had she? And yet she couldn’t deny she was a little disappointed when he merely tipped his hat in her direction and went back to his work.
Sighing inwardly, she went back to hers, only now realizing she’d been standing there clutching a red-checked tablecloth to her chest while she openly gawked at Jo’s nephew. Clearly the older women had been watching her. She swallowed nervously. What must they think of her?
“Chance is a bit of a distraction, wouldn’t you say?” Gayle asked with a sly smile.
If Phoebe had colored when her gaze met with Chance’s, it was ten times worse now. With the heat flooding her face now, she knew she must be a bright, flaming red. If she could have crawled underneath the table and found sanctuary beneath the draping of the cloth, she would have.
In the end, she decided to be honest. It wasn’t like they were going to buy any other explanation, anyway.
“He is very handsome,” she admitted.
“Mmm,” Jo agreed. “And you’re not the only one who thinks so.” She nodded toward a small group of young women Phoebe guessed to be in their late twenties. They were ostensibly setting out plates and utensils. In truth, they were openly admiring Chance, whose T-shirt was straining against the defined threads of his arm and shoulder muscles. As if that weren’t enough, they were twittering like a flock of birds and giggling like schoolgirls.
Really? At their age?
“I don’t even want to know,” she muttered beneath her breath.
“Don’t worry, my dear. They aren’t competition.”
Phoebe’s gaze snapped to Jo’s. “I’m sorry?”
“Those girls don’t hold a candle to you. Besides, this is the first time in four years that Chance has attended a community function, and that is only because you are here.”
“I’m sure you’re mistaken,” Phoebe protested. She wasn’t even positive Chance wanted her in town, much less invading his home, and worse, his kitchen. For him to be pressing his own personal boundaries and issues on her account was completely out of the question.
Wasn’t it?
“You’re mistaken,” Phoebe said again, more firmly this time.
“You think?” Jo asked with a conniving smile.
“He’s here for Lucy.” That was by far a better, more probable explanation.
“I’m sure that’s part of it,” Jo agreed amicably. “But I’ve known my nephew all his life, and I’ve prayed especially hard for him these past four years. The poor man has suffered so much. But now something has changed in him. Something good. And it started the day you arrived in town.”
This conversation was making Phoebe appallingly uncomfortable—all prickly, like she was running through a briar patch.
Maybe she was. Fortunately, at that moment, the tinny sound of an old cow bell pealed through the air.
“Time to eat,” Jo said, threading her arm through Phoebe’s and drawing her toward the food tables, where a line was already forming.
Thank goodness. She heaved another sigh of relief. She’d been on proverbial rocky ground there for a moment, about to slip and fall right on her face. It would be good to have a moment to regain her equilibrium.
Her solace was short-lived. After filling their plates with a variety of hot and cold dishes that ranged everywhere from country-fried chicken to homemade spaghetti and meatballs, Phoebe and Jo found a spot at one of the tables. A moment later Chance arrived, balancing two plates stacked high with food and a tall glass of lemonade. He looked tired. Sweaty. And absolutely, breathtakingly gorgeous.
Her heartbeat picked up when he grunted and dropped down onto the seat next to hers. She didn’t know how she was going to swallow even one bite of food with him sitting this close to her, especially after the conversation she’d just had with Jo.
“Where’s Lucy?” Chance asked in his usual low, raspy tone that, at least to Phoebe, made him sound irritated.
“Eating with the other kids,” Phoebe answered.
Chance grumbled something unintelligible.
The truly frightening thing was, his surliness no longer put Phoebe off. It didn’t affect her perception of him. It was simply part of what made him unique, and in the most unexplainable way possible, attractive.
While, as she’d told Jo, she doubted she was having any effect on Chance, he was definitely having an effect on her. She couldn’t ever remember feeling as light-headed and giddy over a man as she did at this moment, for Chance.
The next thing she knew, she’d be giggling and fawning over him like one of those young women she’d observed earlier. She didn’t know what was happening to her. Maybe it was simply her conversation with Jo that had set her off down the rabbit hole to Wonderland, but she had the unnerving feeling it was more than that.
Much more.
All the more reason for her to keep her distance—if not physically, an impossibility with them living and working together, then at least emotionally. Chance was obviously still grieving his wife, despite the amount of time that had passed since Lindsay’s death. He was just as unavailable as a man with a ring on his finger. She needed to put a cap on it.
And yet another reason to keep her distance—the gaggle of women now sitting two tables down from them. Earlier, they’d clearly been watching Chance and gossiping about him. Now, Phoebe wasn’t so sure where their gazes were settling, despite the fact that he was sitting next to her on the bench.
“Are those ladies staring at me?” she whispered to Jo, who was sitting on the opposite side of her. Chance was busy stuffing food into his mouth at
an alarming rate. Hopefully he wouldn’t hear the conversation between her and his aunt, but she had to know what the deal was with those young women.
“You’d better believe it,” Jo answered in a voice too loud for Phoebe’s comfort. “They’ve just discovered why Chance has finally ventured out of his kitchen. It’s pretty obvious they perceive you as a threat.”
“Threat?” Phoebe squealed. “What threat?”
Jo shot her a knowing glance.
“Should I go talk to them?”
Jo chuckled. “That would take the wind out of their sails, now wouldn’t it?”
Resolved, Phoebe turned to her own meal. She would speak to the women after she ate. She was here to make friends, not create rifts where none should exist.
She put a bite of homemade potato salad in her mouth and savored its tart goodness. Deli-made was just not the same as good country cooking. She’d be sad when she had to go back home, if just for the food alone.
But, she reminded herself, she had quite some time before she had to leave Serendipity. She would enjoy every moment of it while she could.
Chance leaned toward her, his hand across her shoulder as he whispered into her ear. His breath was warm on her neck, and it made her shiver. “Why don’t you sit the rest of the afternoon out? Relax under one of those cottonwoods or something.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”
He chuckled. “I tried that, already. Remember? Look how that worked out for me.”
“True. I think you’ve met your match in the stubbornness department.”
“All I’m saying is, this is supposed to be your vacation, isn’t it? You’re already working full-time at the café. Give yourself a break.”
“I don’t know.” She was caving, and she could see from the triumphant expression on his face that he knew it. “What are your neighbors going to think if I don’t do my share?”
His brow shot up. “Not do your share? So far this morning you’ve spent several hours of hard labor helping me prepare lumber for the barn and then you helped Aunt Jo get the tables ready for service. You deserve a break after that.”
“You’re not taking one,” she pointed out with a stubborn tilt to her chin.
“Yes, but I’m a guy. Look around you. A lot of young women aren’t rushing to get into the fray of things.” He gestured to the same group of women Phoebe had been observing earlier.
“That is so—” Phoebe paused, fuming. “Sexist!”
He shrugged. “I’m just saying—”
“Yes, I hear what you’re saying. Forget it. I’m going to help the ladies with the clean-up and then I’ll be back bothering you again.”
“Great,” Chance groaned. “A woman under my feet. Just what I needed.”
“Maybe that’s exactly what you need,” she challenged, propping her hands on her hips.
He shook his head. “In the words of my daughter Lucy, whatever.” His self-deprecating grin showed Phoebe just how he meant it.
He was teasing her. It was a baby step forward in the progress of their relationship—their working relationship, that is—but it was a start. Phoebe prayed it would be the first of many.
STATUS UPDATE: PHOEBE YATES: Whew! A barn-raising is hard work—but it’s worth it just to sample all the food. I’ve met so many nice people here. I’m glad I came.
JOSEPHINE HAWKINS MURPHY: I was hoping you’d start to feel that way, dear.
Chance wiped his sweaty brow against his sleeve and sighed. Having lived in Serendipity all his life, he’d grown up with numerous barn-raising type events, which were community functions as much as they were Christian charity to any neighbor who had fallen upon hard times.
He’d learned his way around a hammer and a Skil saw when he was a young teenager, and though he had always been reserved, he’d enjoyed helping out—at least until Lindsay died.
Carpentry was an art form, much like cooking, only it was a good deal more physically strenuous. Despite walking to and from work every day, he was suddenly feeling very out of shape—at least for this type of hard labor. His arms and shoulder muscles were already beginning to bunch up and get sore and tight. He didn’t even want to think about how he was going to feel tomorrow.
He groaned and flexed his shoulders. Maybe, at the ripe age of thirty-two, he was getting old. The thought made him chuckle.
“What’s so funny?” Phoebe asked, startling him. He hadn’t even seen her approach.
“You here to help?” He asked his own question instead of answering hers.
“I am.”
“About time. I thought I’d lost you to the Little Chicks.” He nodded his chin toward a small group of young women.
“Little Chicks?”
He shrugged. “That’s what my friends and I called them back in high school.” He paused. He could see how Phoebe might think that sounded a little condescending. It was a little condescending, now that he thought about it. Shrugging, he plunged on. “They were all freshmen when we were hotshot seniors. Always fawning over us. Giggling. Cheeping at each other.”
He’d expected a disapproving smile, but Phoebe smothered a laugh.
“It appears some things haven’t changed,” she commented, pinching her lips in an effort to control her amusement. “They’re still fawning. And they’re still giggling. I get where you’d think that they sound like chickens, but I was leaning toward geese, myself.”
“Ha!” He laughed out loud. Really laughed. And it felt good. “And so why were you hanging out with that bunch, again? I saw you talking to them after lunch.”
Her shimmering hazel eyes widened and she made the funniest face, as if she’d just swallowed a whole frog or something. Then she grinned and shrugged.
“I’m just out there trying to make new friends. Those women looked to be around my age, and they obviously aren’t married.”
“Obviously,” Chance agreed, studying her intently. The woman had no fear. She easily made friends with everybody.
Phoebe did her best to pitch in as they put the finishing touches on the barn. She didn’t know a thing about carpentry, but her willing spirit went far to help. And she was a good sight better to look at than the bunch of dirty, sweat-soaked men milling around.
“It doesn’t look finished,” Phoebe observed when the men began putting their tools away and migrating back toward the food.
“It’s not. We’ve done the majority of the work, but the Sparks family will still have to insulate the walls and put shingles on the roof.”
Phoebe laughed. “It’s a good thing they have four boys, then. Still, I imagine they saved a bundle with all the work that’s been done today.”
“And the neighbors had an excuse to get together, not that they need one.”
“Killing two birds with one stone,” she agreed.
“Shh,” he said in an exaggerated whisper. He put a hand on her shoulder and bent his head close to hers with a conspiratorial air. “The Little Chicks might hear you say that. You wouldn’t want to alarm them with all your talk about murdering poor, innocent birds.”
She leaned back to smile at him. The movement stirred up her vanilla scent and Chance’s head started to spin.
With his heart jolting into his throat, he quickly stepped away from her. He’d forgotten himself there for a moment. This wasn’t what he wanted. His teasing, he realized, might be interpreted by Phoebe to be flirting. It was flirting, he reluctantly admitted to himself. And he wasn’t ready for that. The woman rattled him to the core, especially when she graced him with that warm, open smile of hers.
What a quandary.
What a difference a week could make.
What was he going to do?
“Are we waiting for something now?” she asked.
“More food,” he answered, patting his lean stomach. He was relieved to have something neutral to talk about, because his feelings were anything but neutral. “And it’s a good thing, too. I’m famished.”
“You worked hard.”
He nodded. “So did you.”
They each served themselves, piling platefuls of food and then Chance led the way to the table farthest and most isolated from the crowd.
“You can go sit with my aunt if you’d rather,” he remarked, nodding his head toward the older woman, who was merrily chatting away with her own group of friends.
“She looks like she’s enjoying herself,” Phoebe remarked thoughtfully. “But I’d rather sit here with you, just the same.”
“Not too isolated for you?”
“No, not at all. My brain is entirely overstimulated from all the people I’ve met today.”
Chance’s brow rose. He highly doubted she was telling him the truth. Most likely, she was just trying to be nice.
She smiled mysteriously and forked a bite of a colorful pasta salad into her mouth.
“I’m looking forward to attending church tomorrow,” she said when she had chewed and swallowed. “I know Serendipity is small, but I can’t believe everyone in town fits into that small little chapel I saw there on Main Street. Or are there other churches I don’t know about?”
Chance winced as if a lightning bolt had just zapped him from above. He hadn’t been near a church in four years.
“Not everyone goes to church,” he replied gruffly, clamping down his emotions. He was not going to go there.
“Oh,” she murmured, sounding both hurt and surprised, though why she should feel either was beyond him.
“Surely not everyone who lives in the Big Apple drops what they are doing on Sunday morning to attend church?”
Her extraordinary hazel eyes widened. “Well, no, but—”
“Sorry.” He apologized quickly, but he knew he still sounded as surly and withdrawn as he felt. “I’m just being facetious.”
“Yes, you are,” she agreed.
This time he was surprised.
“You didn’t have to agree with me,” he muttered crossly.
“No?”
“I guess I should have expected that from you. You’re nothing if not honest.”
