Cowboy Charm School

by Margaret Brownley

  Stifling a yawn, she set to work. Taffy was best made with two people, but tonight was choir practice, and her aunt had already left for church.

  Kate mixed sorghum molasses, sugar, and vinegar in a large copper kettle and placed it on the stove to heat, stirring it with a long-handled wooden paddle. When she thought the time was right, she dropped a small piece of the mixture into a bowl of water. The resulting hard ball confirmed it was ready.

  Uncle Joe had preferred testing candy the old-fashioned way—with only his finger. First, he’d dip his finger into cold water, then thrust it into the boiling-hot syrup, then back into cold water again. Kate had watched him do it numerous times but still hadn’t worked up the nerve to try it herself.

  Removing the pot from the stove, she added baking soda. After letting it cool, she poured the glistening brown mass onto the marble slab.

  A sudden banging on the front door startled her. Working alone at night had never bothered her before. It did now, thanks to that outlaw running into her shop. With more than a little apprehension, she left the kitchen.

  Spotting Brett’s tall form through the window, she let out a sigh of relief and rushed to let him in.

  “I saw the light,” he said, stepping inside and seeming all at once to fill every square inch of her shop. “I stopped by for that other list you mentioned. Hope that’s okay.”

  “Yes, of course. I’m just making taffy,” she said.

  “Taffy, eh? It that what smells so good?”

  “Probably.” She turned the lock on the door. “If you have time, I could sure use another pair of hands.”

  He cocked his head to the side. “Oh?”

  “Come on, I’ll show you.” She turned and led the way to the kitchen. Plucking a pink apron off a wooden peg, she held it out to him.

  “You want me to wear that?” he asked.

  She laughed at his expression. Nothing put a look of panic on a man’s face quicker than asking him to don an apron. “Required uniform,” she said.

  His gaze flickered over the apron in her hand. “I think I should warn you. When I was a teen, I took a job as a wrangler on a ranch. One of my duties was to help the cook. I lasted for exactly one meal.”

  “Are you trying to scare me?”

  He quirked an eyebrow. “Is it working?”

  “Not on your life.” She gave the apron a shake, and after a slight hesitation, he tossed his hat on a chair and shoved his arms through the ruffled sleeves.

  She tied the apron strings around his back and regarded him with a smile. The apron that reached all the way to her ankles didn’t even touch his knees.

  “Wash up, and we’ll get started,” she said, tossing a nod at the basin of soap and water.

  After he’d washed and dried his hands, she told him to hold out his palms. She then rubbed lard on them. He had large hands, nicely shaped, with long, tapering fingers and neatly trimmed nails.

  Feeling his gaze on her, she had the strangest urge to jump back. Instead, she forced herself to calmly move away. Heart fluttering, she turned to wash and grease her own hands. Even with her back toward him, she was aware of his eyes on her, and that only quickened her pulse.

  Moments later, they took their places on opposite sides of the counter, the taffy mixture mounded on the marble slab between them.

  “It’s easy,” she said. “You just pinch out a piece like this.” She demonstrated with two fingers. “Then all you have to do is twist and pull. Twist and pull.”

  With a boyish grin that made her heart do flip-flops, he set to work following her example. “This is pretty easy,” he said after a while.

  His infectious smile making her tingle inside, she quickly cast her eyes downward. “Just wait. It’ll get harder.” Pulling taffy never failed to bring back pleasant memories, and tonight was no different. “When I was a little girl, I used to help my uncle make taffy, and I’d get blisters on my hands.”

  His gaze met hers. “Sounds like you miss your uncle a lot.”

  “I do. He taught me everything I know about running this shop. He and my aunt.”

  Brett glanced around. “Speaking of your aunt, where is she? I was hoping to talk to her.”

  “Sorry. Tonight’s choir practice,” Kate said, furrowing her forehead. “Is there a problem?”

  “Problem? No. I just want to go over her statement again. She still insists that the man who knocked her down seemed familiar in some way. I keep hoping that maybe something more has occurred to her.”

  Kate knitted her brows. “I know something’s been bothering her. But…I don’t think she’s figured out what it is. I’ll tell her you stopped by.” She raised her eyes to find him watching her, and her cheeks flared.

  “I know, I know,” he said and laughed. “Twist and pull, twist and pull.” They worked in silence for a moment before he asked, “How do you manage this by yourself?”

  “When I’m here alone, I hang the taffy from that hook.” She drew his attention to the brass hook on the wall. “But it goes faster with two people.” She flashed a smile. “It’s also more fun.”

  He grinned back. “Glad I could oblige.” Holding her gaze, he changed the subject. “How’s…uh…Foster doing?”

  “Improving,” she said. “The swelling is down.”

  “He’s lucky he has you to take care of him.” The tone of his voice sent a ripple of awareness rushing through her.

  “I’m not so certain about that,” she said. “I’m the one who caused the problem.”

  He quirked an eyebrow. “I don’t think he sees it that way.”

  She drew in her breath, but the air seemed almost too thick to breathe. For several moments, they lifted and pulled in silence. Looping the taffy back, her fingers brushed against his. Their gazes met for an instant before she looked away.

  The taffy suddenly became a lifeline, demanding her full attention. When at last it had been pulled into long, narrow ropes, Kate carefully avoided his eyes and showed him what to do next.

  “Fold it over like this. Then twist and pull again.”

  “How do you know when it’s done?” he asked, following her lead.

  “Oh, you’ll know,” she said. “You’ll know.”

  Gradually, the appearance and feel of the taffy changed. It now felt more solid, and the color was almost as blond as the hair on Brett’s head.

  When their glossy ropes measured a couple of feet long and a quarter of an inch thick, she gave the final instructions. “Okay, you can stop pulling now. Just overlap it and twist.”

  After a moment, he said, “I can’t get it to budge.”

  “That means it’s ready.” She reached for a knife, cut off a piece, and handed it to him.

  Brett popped the taffy in his mouth. “Hmm. Now that’s what I call good.”

  “Of course it’s good,” she said and, feeling self-conscious beneath his approving gaze, added, “Thanks to your help, all I have to do is cut the rest and wrap it for tomorrow’s pickup.”

  They both turned to the sink at the same time and stopped.

  “Sorry,” he said, pulling off his apron. “After you.”

  Kate plunged her hands in the water and scrubbed them with soap. Brett handed her a towel when she was done, their fingers briefly making contact.

  Fortunately, he then turned his back to wash his own hands, missing the flare of her cheeks.

  After he dried his hands, his gaze found hers. “You have a speck of sugar on your face,” he said, stepping closer.

  Something passed between them. A light. A silent message. The sharing of a single heartbeat. It wasn’t the first time she’d sensed something—a connection—between them, but never had it felt so strong.

  She lifted her hand to her heated cheek.

  Shaking his head, he stepped closer and ever so gently ran his finger over the tip
of her nose. “Here.”

  But he didn’t stop there. Instead, he drew an imaginary line from her nose along the side of her face to her chin, his gentle touch sending pleasant sensations rushing through her.

  “And here,” he said softly. Tenderly, he traced the fullness of her lips, forcing them to part with a burning need that was all at once exciting and frightening.

  His eyes searched hers, the questioning depths demanding an answer. Her mind said she mustn’t, but somehow, he knew the desires of her heart, because he did exactly what she wanted and captured her lips with his own.

  When she offered no resistance, he took her fully in his arms and kissed her with an urgency that shattered her defenses. Clinging to him, she kissed him back, savoring the sweetness of his probing mouth. Relishing the willingness of her own.

  By the time their lips parted, they were both breathing hard.

  Momentarily dazed by what had just happened, it was all Kate could do to pull away from his arms. The air still sizzling with the heat of their embrace, she ignored the temptation to fan her hot face. Instead, she ran her damp hands down her apron.

  His kiss had been unexpected, as had her own eager response. But nothing surprised her more than the disappointment she felt now that it was over.

  A shadow flitted across his face. “I…better go.”

  There it was again, the question. Only this time it was in his voice as well as his eyes. Do you want me to stay?

  Her heart said yes, but some niggling voice in her head said no. No, she mustn’t do this. No, this was wrong. Looking for something to do with her hands, she grabbed a wet sponge and wiped down the counter as if her life depended on it.

  “Th-thanks for your help,” she stammered, keeping her gaze focused on the task at hand. “You made my work so much easier.”

  “My pleasure.”

  He stared at her from beneath a furrowed brow, his eyes dark with apology and something else she couldn’t decipher. Her hand stilled, and her heart sank.

  “That shouldn’t have happened.” He took a deep breath, and his voice broke. “I don’t know what got into me… I had no right. You and Foster—”

  Oh God, Frank! How could she have forgotten him, even for a second? True, things were still up in the air between them, but he was trying hard to mend his ways, and for that, he deserved her fidelity, at least until things were settled one way or another. Turning so soon to another man’s arms was unforgivable. And this time, she couldn’t blame it on her near-drowning.

  “It was just…a mistake,” she said, more to appease her guilty conscience than to relieve Brett’s mind. She moistened her lips, only to find that the taste of him still lingered there, making her want more. “Let’s…let’s just forget it.” As if she could.

  “It won’t happen again.” His emphatic voice left no doubt of his sincerity. “You can put your mind at ease. You don’t have to worry about me taking further advantage.”

  She stared at him, not knowing what to think. Surely, he wasn’t oblivious to how much she’d wanted his kiss? Welcomed it. Hated for it to end. Hated herself for feeling that way.

  “You…you didn’t take advantage,” she said, her voice wavering. Why had Brett’s single kiss seemed so much deeper, fuller, and more memorable than all the kisses exchanged with Frank?

  “Thank you for saying that, but after everything that’s happened…” He shook his head. “I’m afraid none of us are quite ourselves.”

  She swallowed hard. While in his arms, she’d felt more like herself than she had in a very long time.

  His jaw grew taut, and the lines deepened around his eyes. “If you can give me that list, I’ll be out of your hair.”

  Her mind went blank for a moment until her brain clicked in. “Oh! The list.” Flustered, she tossed the sponge in the sink. Reaching for her notebook, she tore out a sheet of paper. He took it from her. Their fingers touched briefly before she snatched her hand away.

  Following another physical jolt, she backed away and reached for her knife. While he studied the list of names, she chopped up the rest of the taffy. The banging of her knife echoed her frenzied heartbeats.

  After the candy had been cut into one-inch pieces, she asked, “Anything wrong? With the list, I mean.”

  “No, it’s just that something you said earlier got me thinking. About your aunt at choir practice. It reminded me of a conversation I had with Reverend Johnson.”

  He sounded so businesslike, so distant, so impersonal, it was hard to believe she had been in his arms moments earlier. The tenderness of his voice was now but a memory, but the feel of his lips lingered on.

  “Oh?”

  He folded the list and tucked it into his vest pocket. “It’s been my experience that criminals work in patterns. Maybe not at first, but after a few holdups, they know what works. What feels comfortable. It doesn’t take long before their methods become habit.”

  She set her knife down. “You’re not suggesting that the Ghost Riders are choir members, are you?”

  He shrugged. “You never can tell, but it occurred to me that the church might be more involved than I’d originally thought.”

  She frowned. “You don’t think that Reverend—”

  “No, no, nothing like that,” he hastened to assure her. “But that’s all I can tell you.” He reached for his hat and stood looking down at it, the air between them rife with unspoken words and barely contained emotions.

  “I’ll walk you to the door,” she said, breaking the awkward silence.

  He lifted his gaze to hers and rocked back on his heels. His eyes were dark, making it hard to read his thoughts. His demeanor, however, was apologetic.

  Fearing he might once again express regret for having kissed her, she quickly added, “Thank you for your help. I’ll make a candy maker of you yet.”

  They walked side by side through the dimly lit shop, maintaining a safe distance.

  Hesitating at the door, he studied her face as if trying to memorize it. “Kate, I…” He cleared his voice, and her stomach clenched. “I enjoyed tonight. It was fun.”

  She moistened her lips—a mistake, for it drew his gaze to her mouth. “You can now officially call yourself a taffy puller,” she said, the calmness of her voice belying the confusing mess inside.

  He chuckled. “A skill like that might come in handy someday.” They stared at each other for a heartbeat before he turned and yanked the door open. “Good night,” he said brusquely, and just like that, he was gone.

  She closed the door after him and turned the lock. Forehead pressed against the cool, smooth glass, she forced herself to breathe. Despite the confusion in her head, one thing was abundantly clear—things had just gotten a whole lot more complicated.

  21

  The following morning, Kate walked out of the house and into the backyard, carrying the birdcage with both hands. It was time.

  The raven’s wing was healed, and there was no reason to keep the bird caged up any longer. She set the cage on the ground next to the large sycamore where she’d found the injured bird.

  From behind the fence, Taffy, Blondie, and Mutt watched her with wagging tails, no doubt hoping for a treat.

  Dropping to her knees, she unlatched the steel door. Perched on the wooden bar, the raven cocked its head but made no effort to escape.

  “You aren’t making it any easier on me.” Once she had taken someone or something under her wing, it was hard to let go. This wasn’t only true of animals and people. She also held on to past hurts and losses. Now, she had something else to hold on to—the memory of Brett’s kiss.

  It wasn’t just that he’d kissed her. Nor that she had willingly kissed him back. No, it was far more worrisome than that. She felt that something had shifted inside her. The protective shell around her heart—so carefully cultivated in early childhood—had cracked open and wa
s in terrible danger of falling away altogether.

  Frank wasn’t one to dig beneath the surface. He took everything at face value. Never once had he pressed her to bare her soul or reveal the secret depths of her heart.

  She’d sensed that wouldn’t be true of Brett. At times, she felt like his probing eyes could see right through her, and that’s what worried her. Having lost both parents at a tender age, she lived in fear of losing those closest to her. That’s why she always kept a part of herself in reserve—locked away. A part she hoped to protect from pain or loss. A part that no one had been allowed to touch.

  Until now.

  Until Brett.

  And that scared her. Scared her more than words could say.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a distant squawk, and she shaded her eyes and looked up. A black bird circled overhead. Wings spread wide, its shadow flitted over the ground.

  Blackie responded with caws of his own and hopped down from the perch.

  She tapped the side of the cage. “That a friend of yours?” Blackie fluttered his wings. It took several more taps before the raven flew out of the cage and landed on the grass a short distance away.

  The bird in the sky kept circling, its cries growing more insistent. At long last, Blackie lifted his wings and flew to the top of the tree. He then rose into the sky to join the other raven, and the two flew off together.

  Hating to see the raven go, Kate watched until the winged duo was out of sight. Sighing, she stood and reached for the empty cage. If only the memory of Brett’s kiss could be so easily released.

  * * *

  Following a restless night, Brett mounted his horse and headed in the direction of the church. He hardly noticed the brightly shining sun, the vivid blue sky, the splash of bright colors spilling out of resident flower boxes.

  He felt like a cad. A despicable, two-timing cad. What had he been thinking? It was bad enough that he had crazy, mixed-up feelings for Kate Denver, but to act on them was inexcusable.

  If only she’d not looked so beguiling last night, so absolutely enticing. So utterly fetching. So completely desirable. He’d watched her pull the taffy into long strings and imagined how those same fingers would feel in his hair. On his skin.