by Anna Sugden
It irritated him that after four years of recovery, his body still didn’t do what he wanted it to when he wanted it to. Maybe if it was just one thing. The hand or the hip. But it had to be both.
Lucky to be alive, remember?
He’d never been very good at counting his blessings or his luck. Receiving dream-crushing injuries, no matter how non-life-threatening, hadn’t exactly given him an optimistic outlook.
Cara glanced back at him, and he looked down at his money box, not quite sure why. So he was looking at her. So what?
He reorganized his buckets, focusing on this—on order and control. Like life in the army had, running his own business allowed him a sense of order and rules. Dealing with people, outside of selling them dog treats, had never been his strong suit, but even when he didn’t love his job, he knew what he needed to do. How he needed to do it.
A customer came up, smiling and chatty about how cute his dogs were. Direct sales were his least favorite part, but they were a necessity, so he forced himself to smile and talk about his product.
Since he cared about his product, that wasn’t hard to do. Just like the army. Tell people what they want to hear, and they bought his stuff and walked away. Long as no one knew who he was and asked how he was doing.
It was his first year at a market so close to home. He’d thought Millertown was far enough away, but Cara’s appearance reminded him it wasn’t. Maybe he should’ve stuck to the markets around downtown St. Louis, but that would be silly. If he really wanted to go without people, he could focus on the internet side of sales.
But there was something about coming to markets he liked. It wasn’t human interaction, because he hated that, but it was a reminder he existed. He’d survived.
He shook his head in a lame attempt to clear it. Why dwell on this? He should be paying attention to what kinds of treats were selling, so he could make more of those next week. Compare today’s popular sellers to his best sellers elsewhere. Be a businessman. Because, aside from his animals, that was all he had.
All he wanted.
The day went on without more New Bentonian run-ins. And no more yappy dogs with incompetent owners attacking people, either. Wes considered that a success.
At noon he started packing up, trying to ignore the pins-and-needles feeling in his arm. His hip ached. His head pounded, although he couldn’t blame that one on his injuries. He’d had migraines since he could remember. A lovely result of the anxiety he’d pretty much been born with.
Phantom nudged his knee, his black-and-brown snout demanding attention. Wes sighed. Phantom was his trained therapy dog, retired military, too, with his own minor injuries. A limp and a missing chunk of tail.
He was the one being in the world who knew what Wes needed. Wes took the break Phantom demanded and scratched the German shepherd’s nose and ears. Then, because his dogs were the jealous sort, he repeated the process with the other three.
When he went back to packing up, some of the headache had eased, and the tingling in his arm had stopped. It was the whole point of a therapy dog. He’d had Phantom for three years, and the fact the dog could do so much with so little still amazed him every time.
“All right, guys. In you go.”
At the command and the open truck door, his crew hopped into the back. Phantom took his usual spot in the passenger seat. Wes climbed into the driver’s seat and began to pull out of his space when he noticed a bright splotch of green standing behind a truck, waving.
The truck with a sticker that read Pruitt Morning Sun Farms on the side pulled away, and Cara stood there watching it go. She looked sad.
Not his problem, but seemingly of its own accord, his foot tapped the brake as he drove next to her. “You okay?” What the hell was wrong with him? He was not the check-on-near-strangers type.
Okay, checking on strangers was exactly the type of thing he’d do. Which was why he isolated himself on a few wooded acres. So he didn’t feel the need to help and come up short. So he didn’t feel the need to engage, then get laughed at.
She shaded her eyes with her hands, looking up at him. “Yeah, I’m okay. I don’t think I’ve got rabies now or anything.”
He almost, almost, smiled at that, which was kind of weird.
She hopped up onto the step of his truck, sticking her face way too close to his for comfort. He backed away and felt like a coward. But a safe coward.
Some stranger sticking her head into the window of his truck was not normal. Most people were too uncomfortable around him to do that.
“Hey, can I ask you a question?” she asked.
He braced himself for the inevitable. How do you manage? You are so brave! His good hand clenched into a fist.
“What are their names?”
“Huh?”
“Their names?” She pointed at Phantom, then to the back where the other three dogs had arranged themselves.
“You want to know my dogs’ names?”
“Yeah, what did you think I was going to ask you?”
He wasn’t going to answer that. Partially because it made him look like a tool, and partially because he didn’t want to talk about it. “Phantom, Flash, Toby and Sweetness—which was the name she came with, not the one I gave her, by the way.”
Cara chuckled at that. “You must be good with training them. I’ve been thinking about getting a dog since Mia moved out. Where do you get yours?”
“Wherever. Strays mostly. Except Phantom.”
“Where’d you get Phantom?”
He tapped a finger to his watch. “Sorry, busy day. Gotta get going.”
Her eyebrows scrunched together, but he looked away, focusing on the road in front of him.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw her hop back down onto the ground. With a little wave, she stepped away from his truck. He tapped the accelerator.
But he couldn’t stop himself from glancing in the rearview mirror, and he wasn’t sure what that meant.
Best not to let it mean anything, but he had a feeling a pretty woman in a bright green shirt was going to be on his mind a lot more than he wanted her to be.
CHAPTER TWO
CARA STARED OPENMOUTHED at Mia, trying to formulate some response beyond are you crazy. “Are you crazy?”
“It’s not crazy! It’s an amazing idea and opportunity.”
“No.” That was a gut reaction. In reality, Cara should be jumping up and down saying yes, yes, yes, but everything about this made her stomach sink.
She wasn’t a professional baker. Making pies for one of Mia’s clients’ restaurants was way, way, way beyond her skill level, or at least her experience level.
“Cara. You make amazing pies, and Sam wants to add more desserts to his menu.” Mia stood on the porch of their parents’ house, hands at her hips, a determined look on her face. “It’s a match made in heaven. You always make filling with local ingredients in your fruit pies, and that’s exactly what he’s looking for.”
If it was a match made in heaven, why did she feel nauseated? “He doesn’t want to hire some chick with no experience.”
“You have experience.”
“Not restaurant experience. I have baked pies for fun or the random family member’s wedding or event and occasionally for my sister’s farmers’ market stand. Not the same.”
“Just talk to Sam. He’s experimenting. Nothing is permanent or guaranteed. Think of it as a trial. He doesn’t have to hire you, but him considering you is not as crazy as you’re making it out to be.”
Trying to impress him to get the job seemed even worse than just trying to get the job, because she’d have to deal with everyone’s disappointment if she screwed it up. No, thank you. She’d learned a long time ago not to take risks like that. “Look, thanks for thinking of me and all, but I love my job at the salon.” Love was maybe a bit of an exaggeration, but she liked it well enough.
She didn’t need her sister’s pity, and she didn’t need to be fixed. When it came to dreams like going to
culinary school or opening her own business, Cara choked. Botched her application, failed accounting at community college.
She was not cut out for “more.”
“Sam’s only entertaining the possibility because you supply, like, half his food.” Cara did her best to pretend this whole thing didn’t matter.
“It’s not like that.”
Ugh. Why did Mia have to be so stubborn? So determined to help her find a passion. Cara was happy the way she was. She didn’t have to bring her work home with her, had set hours and got to have fun. She was in her mid-twenties. She was supposed to be having fun, not finding a fulfilling career or a husband like everyone around her seemed to be.
Since that thought caused the same pinching feeling as watching Dell swoop in to comfort Mia at the market Saturday had, she pushed it away. “Making pies is a hobby.”
“It’s your religion, Cara Pruitt. Saying any different would be like spitting on Grandma’s grave.” Mia wagged a finger at her.
Her stomach rolled. Mia had a point there. A mean point, but true nonetheless. If Grandma were alive to hear Cara call pie making a hobby, she’d get smacked on the butt with a wooden spoon.
She rubbed a finger over the tiny bluebird behind her ear. The tattoo was her own little safety net, like Grandma perched right there, ready to say something encouraging.
Sadly, Grandma’s voice had been gone for six years now, and some of the initial reassurances the bluebird brought had faded. Sad and scared were two of Cara’s least favorite feelings, and she avoided them at all costs. Which meant avoiding taking risks like this.
“Just stop big-sistering me, okay? I can take care of my own life.”
“I’m not trying to take care of your life. I’m offering you an opportunity. Do not say no to help. I already have one of those in my life.”
Mia glanced to the bottom of the hill where Dell was talking to some guy who wanted to buy vegetables or something. This whole melding of farms, added to Mia now living with Dell on Wainwright property, meant she almost never saw her sister alone.
“I was in your life first,” Cara muttered, feeling petulant. Because petulant sounded better than lonely.
“Cara.”
“Look, whatever. I’ll go meet with Sam if that’s what you want, but I don’t think I’m right for the job.”
Mia crossed her arms over her chest and mustered her best big-sister glare, which was pretty pathetic. “Give me one reason why not.”
“Other than not being qualified?”
“Yes, other than that.”
“That’s freaking enough!”
Mia’s glare morphed into something worse. Pity. Hurt. Geez, it was ridiculous. She was the one used to helping Mia out. Getting her to ditch the outdated hairdo and clunky glasses, supporting her at the market while Mia worked on overcoming her social awkwardness.
Now Mia had done all that and was getting married, and Cara had been officially relegated to one-and-only Pruitt screwup status. Mia was the favorite, Anna a close second, and Cara was the daughter who hadn’t gone to college aside from a few failed classes, had slept around, had a tattoo.
Mom probably prayed for Cara’s eternal soul morning, noon and night.
This day was blowing hard. “Whatever. I’ll go. Can we stop talking about it?”
“I’m only trying to help. Don’t you want to—”
She walked away. If she had to hear someone in her family say “do something more” one more time, she might be inclined to throw a punch. Unlike Anna, Mia wouldn’t fight back. She’d look hurt and make Cara feel like a jerk.
Because that’s what you are.
Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. She stomped down the hill, leaving Mia behind on the porch. Where was she even going? She couldn’t leave; she’d already promised Mom she’d eat dinner with the family.
She’d have to pass Dell and the guy he was talking to in order to get to her quiet spot by the creek, but so be it. If they were talking business or farming, Dell wouldn’t give her a second glance. He and Mia had that insanity in common.
She tried to cut behind them, but a bark distracted her. She glanced at the truck parked next to Mia’s vegetable barn. She recognized that truck and the four dogs in the back.
Wes. In all his flannelly, bearded glory. What the heck was he doing here? Well, it wouldn’t be hard to find out. “Wes?”
He turned, eyes wide. “Cara.”
“Wait, you know my name?” She didn’t recall giving it to him, and he definitely hadn’t asked.
“You two know each other?”
Cara gave Dell a brief glance before continuing her examination of Wes’s face. She wondered what he’d look like with a haircut and a shave. She had a sneaking suspicion he might be kind of hot. Luckily, Mountain Man was not her type. “Wes helped me out Saturday when that stupid hair ball attacked me.”
“Oh. Huh. Well, Wes, unless you have any more questions, you can email us the quantities, and we can bring it to the market when they’re ready.”
“Yeah, sure.”
Dell gave her a quizzical look, but she ignored him. “You bring your menagerie everywhere?” she asked Wes.
“Pretty much.” He had his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans. He didn’t look at her. His eyes were locked on his dogs.
“Well, I guess I’ll leave you two to chat.” Dell gave her another what the hell? look.
She shrugged. She wasn’t sure what the hell, either. But Dell left them alone, walking back up the hill to Mia.
“You make dog treats. What are you doing buying stuff here?”
“Sweet potatoes,” he said, as if that explained everything.
“Sweet potatoes?”
“Organic sweet potatoes. And peas. And carrots. Ingredients. For the dog treats.”
“Dogs like peas and carrots?”
“In my treats they do.”
“Huh.” She cocked her head and studied him at point-blank range. Rumor had it he was not very nice. Considering the way he’d treated Pipsqueak’s owner on Saturday, she’d figured that rumor was true.
But she wasn’t intimidated. His stiff stance, hard jaw and grizzly appearance just made her wonder what had made him that way. Well, besides war. She inwardly rolled her eyes at herself. War was probably enough.
But how exactly did a guy go from soldier to organic dog treat maker? It probably wasn’t any of her business, but curiosity was a hard thing for her to ignore, even if she knew her questions would be really, really, really not welcome.
“I should get going.” He headed toward his truck. Cara followed, and the German shepherd—Phantom, if she remembered right—put his paws on the side of the truck bed and panted at her.
“Aw. Aren’t you cute?” Cara held out her hand, letting the dog sniff her before patting his head. He gingerly licked her fingers, much to her delight. “He likes me.”
“He likes everybody,” Wes said gruffly.
“Aw, cute little baby.” She trailed her palm over his head, then scratched the soft fur behind his ears. “Aren’t you the sweetest?”
He gave her a tentative lick on the chin. When she looked at Wes, he was staring at her. Intently.
* * *
WATCHING PHANTOM LICK Cara was weird. Like thinking-about-being-the-one-doing-the-licking weird.
So not normal.
Which seemed about right. He hadn’t been normal possibly ever. His brief foray into romantic relationships in high school had ended in disaster. So he steered clear of women who made him feel anything. At least then he didn’t have to be a laughingstock.
And, in all honesty, aside from his market days, he steered clear of all people. Not just women. Everyone.
Needing to get out of here and fast, Wes opened the back of the truck to get the dogs into the cab. “Move it, guys.”
Phantom, Flash and Toby obeyed and hopped off the bed, then into the truck cab. Sweetness, the little jerk, jumped on Cara’s legs, pawing and yipping happily until Cara slid into a sit
ting position on the ground. Then Sweetness curled up right on her lap.
Toby and Flash jumped out of the truck and sniffed around Cara suspiciously. Only Phantom continued to obey the order, though he looked on from the passenger side window. If dogs had complex human emotions, Wes was pretty sure Phantom’s would be wistful. Or longing. Or something.
Yeah, his head definitely wasn’t screwed on right. “Get off her, you morons. In the truck.”
“Aw, they’re sweet. Our dog died a few years ago, and Dad hasn’t had the heart to replace her. I miss her.”
He liked the way she smiled at the dogs, the way she let Sweetness on her lap without hesitation even though the dog was getting dusty paw prints all over her skintight jeans. And she was right—the dogs did like her. Of course, they weren’t exactly picky.
“All right, kiddos, do as your daddy says.”
“Um, no. I am not their daddy. They are dogs. I am a man.”
Cara grinned up at him. “Thanks for the animal kingdom lesson. I figured a guy who took his dogs everywhere with him would think of himself as a daddy.”
“No.”
This time Cara laughed, a low, sultry sound that made him think about making her laugh more often.
A joke in itself. He didn’t know how to make anyone laugh, let alone a pretty woman. Just looking at her legs folded across each other made his hip ache.
She stood up, and Sweetness whined after her. “Aw, she loves me.”
“In you go.” Wes gave her collar a gentle tug until Sweetness jumped into the back with the others.
He turned to face Cara. “She likes women better than men. Except for me. Usually.” Looking down at her bright red mouth and blue-green eyes, he felt a stirring in his gut that had not been there in a very long time.
Attraction. Interest. And, weirdly, it didn’t come followed by panic.
Didn’t matter. Not allowed. So he turned and climbed up into his truck, Sweetness yipping in his ear, trying to get close to the open window and Cara.
Cara hopped up on the stair. Again. “You’re trying to convince me I need a puppy, aren’t you, little girl?” She leaned in his window. Again. Second time in a week this strange woman was poking into his personal space.
