After all, they’d be spending enough time together pulling off the Fire Department Anniversary Boat Parade. Might as well enjoy it.
Chapter Eight
Violet clasped her hands together as Karla held up the square of dense cotton yarn now knit and draping from her needles. “Look at you!” Violet said. “You’re a natural, I tell you. My first dishcloths were loads worse.”
Karla’s visits to the Gordon Falls Community Church Knitting Circle were a much-needed break. In many ways this group was as nurturing and vivacious as the nuns she had served yesterday morning. “It was easy once I remembered.” Her mother had taught her as a girl, but the yarn and needles had given way to flour and cookie cutters as soon as Karla was old enough to work the oven on her own. “This pot holder pattern is super easy anyway. I’m not so sure I could stick with it long enough to do those big prayer shawls like you do.”
The group met once a week to knit soft, fluffy wraps that were prayed over and given to anyone in the community who needed healing or comfort. Grandpa had one especially made for him by Violet, who was currently waving Karla’s comment away. “A square, a rectangle, same difference. You may knit a bit tight for a prayer shawl, but it’s perfect for pot holders and place mats.” Violet winked. “Just dense enough, eh?”
Karla found herself laughing. It was a common occurrence in Violet Sharpton’s company. “You say that like it’s a compliment.”
“It is, sweetheart. Besides, prayer shawls are more a work of the heart than of the needles. Takes a lot of patience and caring, and you’re using up all you got of those right now on your grandfather.” She leaned in. “To tell you the truth, we both are. Your grandpa can be an old goat when he wants to be.”
Karla snipped off the thick cotton yarn—a sunny yellow in this case—and began to work it through the final knot. While Grandpa was at his checkups, she’d made a half dozen new pot holders for the shop, all in cheery ice-cream colors. “Tell me about it.”
Violet’s gaze softened. “He had another argument with your father last night, didn’t he?”
Sighing, Karla put the finished pot holder in her bag alongside its rainbow of companions. The vibrant colors had been Violet’s idea, a way to brighten up the long hours of waiting and coping. For the most part, it had worked—Karla was surprised that knitting could give her almost the same solace as baking and brewing, and the work was much more portable. “Dad’s stressed out over the shuffle back and forth to his office. It’s been...”
Violet held up her hands. “’Nuff said. Fathers and sons, sons and fathers. Come to think of it, I think they can both be old goats some days. How’s your mama holding up?”
Karla cast on the two dozen stitches to start another pot holder—this one a bright lime green. Talking to Violet was like breathing clean air away from the tension of Grandpa’s house or the emptiness of her place above the coffee shop. As such, she wasn’t in any hurry to leave the church meeting room where everyone was knitting. They were all making prayer shawls, but Vi had organized a “special pass” for Karla to come and “decompress over the needles” anytime she felt she needed company. She’d shown up every week since.
Today she ought to have her nose in a textbook or online notes, but this morning had been a rough one at the coffee shop and she wasn’t eager to head on over to Grandpa’s. “Mom can slough it off a bit better than Dad can, so she’s holding up okay. Only I’m pretty sure she’s ready to go back home tomorrow now that Grandpa can manage with just Dad.”
“Two weeks more, isn’t that what doctor said?” an older woman named Tina asked.
“If he behaves himself,” Karla answered.
“Which isn’t likely,” Violet added.
“I heard all about The Fish,” Melba Bradens added, and Karla sent her a smile of thanks for changing the subject. “You’ve shown up all the guys by catching such a whopper. The women of Gordon Falls owe you a debt of gratitude.”
“It made a fabulous meal,” Karla replied, still unable to stop smiling when she recalled Grandpa’s eyes as he peered into the cooler at the enormous fish when Dylan had deposited it in the house kitchen. He hadn’t stopped talking about it yet.
“I still think you could have had it mounted and displayed at Karl’s.” Melba winked. “A permanent reminder that fisherwomen exist. You and JJ serve as good reminders in this town.”
Karla hadn’t thought of herself as having a kinship with the fire department’s first and so far only female firefighter, but at the idea of their connection a warm spot bloomed under her ribs. “None of my Chicago friends can believe it, even though I sent everyone a photo.”
“Dylan put one up on the firehouse bulletin board,” said Jeannie Owens, who Karla remembered was married to the fire inspector. “He told Clark he’s thinking about using it as the cover for his business brochures. It’s certainly a ringing endorsement for his charter business.”
“It’s certainly a ringing endorsement for Dylan,” Abby Reed mused, weighting her words with a few assumptions Karla would just as soon do without.
She was trying to convince herself the warm thoughts she held for that morning were mostly about the trophy fish, but it wasn’t working. Her mind kept recalling the way the slanted morning sunshine brought out colors in his cobalt-blue eyes. Karla also remembered the shadows of pain that lingered there as he talked about what that woman Yvonne had done to him. She’d broken his heart. The knowledge of that wound deepened how she saw the man, accentuated her awareness of his character and loyalty. Karla sighed. She spent too much time thinking about him. Unfortunately, that wasn’t about to change anytime soon. Dylan was due in tomorrow morning with the third Coffee Catch, and then they had to get ready for another anniversary committee meeting. From a purely logical standpoint, Karla regretted how he was growing on her.
She was leaving. The internship at Perk began a little over three weeks from now, and she’d still not been able to tell anyone but Mom and Dad, whom she’d sworn to secrecy. She couldn’t speak of it to Dylan, or the friendly ladies who were her present company, because it would be too easy for word to get back to Grandpa. She knew her departure would hurt him, and he was already so down over his slow progress healing.
“Well, I’ll tell you, not everyone is thrilled about your big fish,” Marge countered. “Oscar Halverson was going on and on at the market yesterday how the ‘tourists were getting all the good fish.’” She leaned in toward Karla. “I think he’s jealous. He’s probably told stories about that big one eluding him all these years.” She smiled victoriously at Karla as she turned her work and began knitting a new row. “But I couldn’t be happier for you. Cocaptain of the boat parade and now this. It’s the biggest splash of an entry into Gordon Falls in years.”
“Oh, Marge, you always did have a way with words.” Tina hid behind a hand as she chuckled. “But you’re right—Oscar’s green with envy. Probably best you didn’t mount the fish, Karla. Karl would probably insist it hang in his shop, and then Oscar would only stare at it every day with his discount coffee and grumble.” She imitated Oscar’s thick mustache with her fingers and mimicked his frown so accurately that she got a laugh from the whole group. Even Karla could clearly picture the old man glaring at a glassy-eyed fish from behind his coffee mug. Grandpa surely would never miss an opportunity to rub it in that his flesh and blood had landed The Fish. He was already boasting to everyone who would listen.
“Maybe we should make Oscar a prayer shawl,” Melba said, holding in a chuckle. “Violet could put a great big fish on it.”
“Someone ought to do something to soften Oscar’s rough edges,” Jeannie said, “but I don’t think that’s an appropriate use of a prayer shawl.” When everyone reluctantly agreed, she added softly, “But it is funny to think about.”
“Grandpa loves his,” Karla told Violet for what had to be the tenth time. She wasn’t too young to see the spark
s flying between these two seniors. Mom and Dad refused to talk about it, but Karla couldn’t help thinking Violet might be just what Grandpa Karl needed to kick him back into life.
“I prayed so much patience into that thing,” Violet said, closing her eyes as if to mimic the process, “but I’m not seeing much of a result. He’s as antsy as ever, if you ask me.”
“You should have seen him last night, Vi,” Karla replied. “He fell asleep with it draped around his shoulders. He kept fingering the fringe.” As if he was holding your hand, Karla added silently. She couldn’t be the only person to catch on to what was blooming between Grandpa and Violet, could she?
The more important question might be: Was anyone catching on to what was simmering between her and Dylan? These women were shameless matchmakers, and the last thing they needed was any encouragement in that department.
* * *
The Coffee Catches just kept getting better and better. Today’s six pharmaceutical salesmen in from Iowa City had such a banner morning, Dylan was sure the Gordon River was running out of fish. By the time he’d cleaned and packaged their haul, they were just on their way out the door. The hearty handshakes and promises of return visits were welcome, but Dylan found himself exhausted as he slid into a counter seat at Karl’s. From the sag in her shoulder and the frizz in her hair, Karla’s morning had been just as demanding.
“Busy morning?” he asked, looking after the trio of dark sedans as they pulled out of the parking places.
Karla blew one of her dark wispy bangs out of her eyes. “They ordered enormous breakfasts, every one of them. Said it was ‘nonstop reeling ’em in’ from the moment you dropped anchor. Evidently good fishing makes you hungry.”
“I’m starved,” Dylan admitted. “Got any eggs left back there?”
“Usually I have a chance to grab some breakfast, but I haven’t even eaten yet myself.” Karla looked across the room while she emptied her apron pockets into the cash register. “The corner booth is open. Let’s you and I grab it and we can both eat while we plan for tomorrow night.” She left a basic breakfast order with Emily and then headed toward the booth.
The corner booth at Karl’s. She did realize there wasn’t a more public place for two people to be eating in all of Gordon Falls, didn’t she? Part of him wanted to warn her off the idea—tongues would be wagging within the hour, especially since he’d run into Abby Reed, one of the town’s more “talkative” residents, on his way in. He was supposed to be fending off the town’s urge to pair him with Karla; sharing the corner booth with her would only send Abby into matchmaking mode.
Then again, Dylan couldn’t think of anything he’d rather do more than sit down and eat a huge, relaxing breakfast with Karla. Groups of friends used the corner booth all the time. It was just a table in a coffee shop, for crying out loud. It wasn’t as if everyone was watching.
Of course it was as if everyone was watching. Abby Reed practically gave herself a sprained shoulder trying to peer around the corner as he and Karla slid into the booth beneath Karl’s big river-view front window.
“I thought you’d like to know I got a call from Jim Shoemacher yesterday.” Dylan made sure he spoke about business loud enough for Abby to hear. “He booked two more fishing trips for him and his friends. And he asked if I had brochures or a website. I told him about your fish, and that I’d like to use your photo on the brochures. He thought it was a great idea”
“You’ve got a website up and running, don’t you?” Knowing Karla, she had plans all drawn up for hers. He’d seen what she called her “dream file”—it was thick and labeled and even color coded—in that great big bag she lugged around.
“Not really. I’ve been meaning to, but so far I’ve only bought a listing in a couple of tourism books and took an ad out in a few local sporting magazines.”
Karla looked as though he’d broken twelve laws. “Well, no wonder you’re still looking for business. That stuff’s essential these days.” Her eyes narrowed as Emily set down silverware and two coffee mugs. “Wow, you really hate marketing, don’t you?”
“I didn’t come to Gordon Falls to check my email. So we’re having good old-fashioned coffee this morning?”
“I’m too wiped to make anything fancier than ice water,” Karla said, tucking her hair behind her ears. Her dark hair had this intriguing way of curling against her cheek when she didn’t push it behind her ears. It made him want to reach out and free the locks back up again, which was a stupid impulse if ever there was one.
Emily returned and filled the cups. Dylan was fine with that; Karl had always made good coffee. Karla, however, looked as if she were “making do.” It made him laugh a bit as he spooned sugar into his cup. “You’re more tired than you were the day of The Fish.”
“I was up late turning in a project for one of my online courses.” She yawned. “Cash flow projection and inventory analysis. Thrilling stuff, I tell you. I want to bake and brew, not add and subtract.”
He mimicked her earlier comment. “Wow, you really hate administration, don’t you?”
“Point taken.” She took a sip of coffee. “Hey, Jim Shoemacher must have Gordon Falls on the brain. He sent me an email yesterday to ask how things were going with the shop. I told him about another thing I’m working on, something to do with a Chicago place I thought he might know. He made an offer again to help me find a location when I was ready.”
“You should take him up on it. I get the feeling that’s one influential gym shoe.” Dylan knew a power player when he saw one. His boss had been one—right up until he had helped himself to Dylan’s future fiancée. Or Yvonne had helped herself to his boss—frankly, he couldn’t say which and he didn’t care. Much.
“I could use a guy like him in my corner,” she admitted. “I know how many eateries fold in their first year. They made us study the statistics. If I didn’t believe in a Sovereign God, I might be tempted to just toss in the scones after last night’s textbook chapter. Depressing.”
Dylan had always felt God calling him to Gordon Falls; he’d just gotten very good at “mishearing” the message. “So you’re sure the bakeshop—or breakfast place, or whatever you’re going to call it—is where God wants you to be, huh?”
“Absolutely.” That indescribable kindle of energy returned to her eyes at the mere mention of the shop. The same spark that had drawn him in when she made the first latte for him.
He told himself it was fun to watch a friend on the brink of what they were born to do. Maybe it would energize him in the process. “What are you going to call it? The new place, I mean?”
“Rooster’s.”
That wasn’t what he was expecting. “Rooster’s?”
“You know, like the bird that crows. Roosters are leaders—they’re the ones launching the day, calling everyone else to get up and get going.” The fatigue melted off her body as she spoke with animation and began waving her hands about. “They’re colorful and a bit cocky and absolutely necessary to a farm’s success. I think God had fun when He made roosters. My customers are going to be the world’s roosters, and I’m going to help them launch their day.” She had every detail of her place vividly fixed in her imagination; he could see it all over her face.
“I suppose I don’t need to ask if you have a logo?” She smiled, and Dylan knew somewhere in that massively organized notebook of hers she probably had four. “Will you show me someday?”
“Maybe.”
Emily arrived with two heaping plates of simple scrambled eggs and toast. Dylan was grateful for the hot breakfast and the strong coffee. “Simple pleasures.” He looked up at her. “Or don’t you think so?”
“No, I like a good egg as much as the next person. But nothing I serve will be ordinary. Everything’s going to have a unique flair, something creative.”
“Want me to say grace?”
; “Sure.”
Normally, Dylan was in the habit of taking hands across a table for grace, but that wasn’t a smart idea in this case. Not only would it give the gossips of Karl’s Koffee loads to talk about, but Dylan knew from his time on the boat with her that there was nothing ordinary in touching Karla. That energy of hers zinged into him whenever they had contact. Holding hands felt like a giant leap into a place he absolutely shouldn’t go.
He said a quick, awkward and rather distracted grace, grateful for the smile she gave him when they dug into their eggs. He didn’t know much about himself lately, but he was pretty certain he wasn’t a rooster. Not anymore.
Chapter Nine
The guys sat around the firehouse table a few days later, tossing back root beers and throwing around ideas to decorate Dylan’s boat for the parade down the river. “I can’t stop using the boat, so the decorations will have to be something we can make here and then attach the night before.” Fond as he was of the parade idea, he wasn’t in a position to sacrifice any potential charters just so that his boat could play dress-up.
“You said we’re leading the parade, right? It’s gonna have to be really good.” Jesse Sykes looked around the table. “Guys, this is way out of our league.”
“Charlotte’s got that kind of skill,” suggested Yorky, one of the older members of the department and one with a particularly soft spot for Jesse’s girlfriend. “And she works in the store with all that crafty stuff. Won’t she help us out?”
“I’m sure she will,” Jessie replied, “and I can take care of a lot of the structural part.” When he wasn’t at the firehouse, Jesse had a home construction and renovation business. “But we still need a decent idea.”
“What color is a 150th wedding anniversary? You know, like silver, gold, that sort of thing?” Wally asked.
Chad Owens, the fire inspector who just happened to be in the room, laughed from behind Dylan. “Your average married couple does not get to a 150th anniversary, Wally. You’d have to live to be 170.”
Love Inspired December 2014 - Box Set 2 of 2: Her Holiday FamilySugar Plum SeasonHer Cowboy HeroSmall-Town Fireman Page 67
