by Jo Jones
Freedom. ’Twas such a small word for so powerful a treasure and misguided as Blake was, he was fighting his own battle to win that very thing, but Angus couldna explain that to Lucy without telling her how he knew.
However, regardless of Blake’s reason, ’twas no’ an excuse to hurt those who cared about him. To be loved so unconditionally was beyond any realm of possibility for Angus and that left an excruciating emptiness inside him. To witness such love, almost touch it, and now watch it be rejected, was too much. ’Twas no’ Angus’ family, nor his place to be pointin’ out the obvious, but he could no’ sit here and see Lucy destroyed.
He saw the torment in her eyes, Grif’s struggle to hold his temper, and Blake, whose only wish was to turn his back on the very thing Angus would trade his eternity for.
“Och, laddie! Ye wail like the spoiled lay-about that ye are. It takes a man tae stand on his own. Ye cry for yer freedom like a bairn for his milk, but what steps have ye taken tae achieve it? Ye’ll no’ lift even yer one good hand tae help yerself. Ye’re content tae live off the labors of yer sister and Grif. A man grown would no’ consider such an unworthy position. If ye’re ready tae be a man, ready for the freedom ye bellow for, ’tis time tae act like it. Be accountable for yerself! And the first thing an honorable man does, is cherish his family. Ye’ve no idea what ’tis like tae no’ have one. Dinna throw it away!”
Blake’s face reddened and shifted through a myriad of expressions as his gaze bounced around the table. “You… You don’t have…” He tucked his curled hand protectively beneath his right arm and backed up several steps. “I hate you all!” he howled and ran from the room.
No one moved or said anything. Finally, after the sounds of Blake’s escape faded, Lucy stood and quietly slid her chair beneath the table.
“Thanks for making dinner, Grif. But I’m not as hungry as I thought, and I’ve got a lot of pies to bake before morning.” She took a huge breath, tapped the back of the chair a few times, as if undecided about saying more, then turned and left the house.
As soon as the door closed behind Lucy, Angus was out of his chair, pacing the length of the table. “ ’Twas a daft thing to do! I dinna ken what possessed me tae interfere. I meant tae keep Lucy from being hurt any further, and now ’tis I who’ve hurt her.”
“You’re wrong,” Grif leaned back in his chair. “That was a darn good speech and high time Blake heard it. Even as angry as Lucy was with him tonight, I doubt she could, or would, have delivered it. She and I have both worn out our effectiveness with Blake. I just pray, for his sake, that he heard some of what you said. Really heard it.”
Angus glanced out the window toward the café, before gesturing awkwardly at the food cooling on the table. “I canna ken how hard ye’ve worked tae—”
Grif waved him off. “I’ve got this.” When Angus hesitated, Grif jerked a thumb toward the door. “Go! She’ll need a shoulder. And don’t let her tell you otherwise.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
When Angus slipped inside the back door of the café’s big kitchen, Lucy was removing a large bowl of dough from the cooler. Scents of cinnamon and simmering apples filled the room, triggering shadowy memories, too distant to recall clearly. The feelings of home and belonging, seemed more a dream than a memory.
At the far counter, she rolled out pie dough, her shoulders moving in a smooth rhythm despite the tenseness he knew was there. She hadn’t heard him enter and he was content to just watch her for a moment.
Finally, loathe to startle her, he moved closer and whispered, “Lucy?”
Her head came up and she stilled. “Please don’t, Angus. If you say anything, I’m afraid I’ll… Just…please. I have so much to do and so little energy left. Don’t make me waste it talking, or worse; crying. Go. Please. Get some rest. Use the sofa at the house. Grif can find you some blankets.”
He couldna leave her. “Mayhap, I could help ye?”
She reached for a pie tin. “You bake?”
“Nae. But I can peel an apple, or dunk yer dirty bowls in that soapy water.” When he moved closer, she still didn’t turn, just grabbed another circle of dough and began to roll again.
He set his hands at her waist and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Let me help ye, lass.”
“Angus…” Her voice was full of misery and…regret?
Had he gone too far? With Blake? With his feelings for her? Did she truly wish him gone? “Are ye angry wi’ me, then?” He let his hands relax, so she could move away if she wished to.
She set the rolling pin down and turned to him, leaving traces of flour when she laid her hands on his chest. “No, Angus. I’m angry with myself for coddling Blake. For not giving him the tough love he needed a long time ago. I’ve failed him in so many ways.” Her sigh was full of resignation. “It took a while, but I finally get that he needs more than I can give him.”
“Ye’ve done all ye could, lass. The rest of his journey is up tae him.”
“I know.” She brushed at the bits of flour, unaware of what her touch did to him. “Blake was only fourteen when my dad died. But they’d been butting heads ever since he could verbalize how much he disliked the orchard. And then my father would follow with his ‘a-man-should-work-by-the-sweat-of-his-brow-the-way-God-intended’, speech. He couldn’t see the value in anything art related, so he couldn’t see the value in Blake’s dream. And Blake interpreted that to mean dad saw no value in him.”
She turned and resumed working. “So, my mom made me promise to look out for him. Protect him. Instead I’ve—,” she paused when her voice broke. “I’ve damaged him more than my father ever did. Instead of holding Blake accountable for his actions, I’ve tried to run interference for him, just like my mother did. I thought if I was patient enough, he’d eventually come around.” She shrugged in resignation. “The boy we saw tonight is the real Blake, not who I’ve been pretending he was.”
She moved to the stove and set the apples aside to cool. “What you said tonight? Painful as that was for him, is exactly what he’s needed all along.”
“The lad will hate me for it, sure enough.”
“Probably,” she agreed, pulling out a strange looking contrivance with twisted wire circles attached. “But I hope that eventually, he’ll respect your honesty. That’s far more than he’ll ever grant me, I’m sure.”
Angus took a breath, debating how far to push her when she seemed so vulnerable already. “Can I be honest wi’ ye, lass?”
Her eyes turned wary. “I expect nothing less.”
Nor could he give her less, though he feared the outcome. What if she dinna want him around, after? “ ’Tis agreed that Blake needs tae stand on his own two feet. Ye said such tae him tonight. ’Tis a good start, but, ’tis no’ enough.” He moved closer to her. “He knows ye want him tae take responsibility for himself, that ye expect more of him, but he also knows ye, and everyone else, dinna really trust that he can, or will. That makes it very difficult for the lad tae learn tae trust himself tae do the right thing.”
When she didn’t say anything, just stared at him with dark, unreadable eyes, he continued. “What I’m trying tae say—”
“I heard what you said.” She grabbed the empty dough bowls and started for the sink. Angus blocked her path and tried to take them from her. “Let me. I’ve no’ a lot of experience, but I ken I can swish them about in that steamy water, ’til they’re passable.”
“That’s okay. I’ll do them.”
“Lucy,” he warned. “Ye can be stubborn and stay here the whole of the night tae finish everything, or ye can let me help ye.” He shrugged, determined no’ to let her push him away. “Even if ye’re angry wi’ me, I’m no’ goin’ anywhere.”
She stared at him for several seconds. “Fine,” she finally gave in, let him have the bowls and went back to what she was doing. “Pile them on that rack when you’re done, and I’ll finish them while the last batch of pies are baking.”
He let her work in silence a few minutes
as he tackled the bowls.
“And I’m not angry.” She eventually said. “Just frustrated that you’ve been here a day and can see what I’ve been blind to for years.” She brought a couple of small bowls to add to his pile. “And since you’re so set on helping me, you can start peeling more apples when you’re done with those bowls.”
“Aye.” He grinned at her. “I like a bossy lass. I’m yer’s tae command.”
“Be careful what you ask for. There’s still a whole orchard waiting to be harvested.”
The reminder that half his time was already gone and he’d no’ be here to help her was a painful weight in Angus’ chest. And still no heroic deed identified, despite his efforts to locate something at the park. No one he talked to seemed to have more than a passing need for an extra pair of hands.
What if he dinna win his boon? What eternity awaited those who failed their quest? Would he be the first to do so?
He watched Lucy move about her kitchen in a steady, easy rhythm and knew, even if he could win his boon, no eternal reward would match being here, with her. Even so, he’d be forever grateful to Soni for this time with Lucy, no matter what happened or where he was sent. But the very idea of no’ seeing her again stole the breath from his lungs. Leaving her would take far more courage than any heroic deed he could imagine.
Glimpses of Lucy’s face as she worked, revealed her deception. She’d only pretended to no’ be upset. Lines creased her brow and tightened the outer edges of her eyes and mouth. Lost in thought, she seemed to move more from habit than purposeful intent as she transferred the cooked apple mixture into her pie shells and added a top crust. Once she’d slipped them into her big oven, she was immediately back at her counter, mixing and rolling out more dough.
He went to her, but dinna touch her. “Ye’ve more on yer mind, lass.” He folded his arms and leaned against the counter. “Ye’re unhappy wi’ me, after all. Is that it?”
She shook her head. “No. It’s nothing. I’m just—”
“No’ being honest wi’ me?” he finished for her. “I expect no less of ye, as well, Lucy.”
She gave him an exasperated look. “You’re worse than Grif.”
“Aye,” he grinned. “And prepared to stand here all night, when we could be workin’ together tae get those apples peeled and the rest of the pies made. My labor for the truth.”
“Fine.” She sighed, showing him how to work the peeler. “I agree with everything you’ve said about Blake. And accept accountability for my part in it. But there’s more than just learning to stand on his own two feet. He didn’t just lose the use of his hand in that accident.”
Angus worked on the apples, waiting for her to continue.
“Blake and Matt Brinley, that’s his best friend, drove up the ridge to Jefferson to talk to some guy who’d been drafted out of college to a pro football team. He was in town for a family thing and since Matt’s had some interest from college scouts, he wanted to see if the guy had any advice for him.”
She counted out a dozen pie tins and lined them with dough. “As soon as that poor boy could stand, his father started riding him. He never considered any option but football for Matt.” Lucy shook her head, almost in wonder. “Matt’s good. Really good. That was the problem. He was good enough to go pro, and George Brinley knew it. Matt was his ticket to the big time and Brinley didn’t have any qualms about telling everyone how he was going to be rich and skate out of this one-horse town.”
“He must have been very proud o’ the lad,” Angus interjected.
“Demanding, was more like it,” she replied, gathering several jars marked ‘applesauce’. “But, the accident took all that away. Blake was driving. Maybe he took those switchbacks too fast? Nobody knows. Even now, neither of them remember. Blake’s hand was caught in the mangled door-frame, damaging the tendons, and Matt, who wasn’t wearing a seat-belt, was thrown clear. He landed on some rocks, broke his back and all his father’s dreams. George Brinley’s been out for blood ever since. He won’t even let Blake talk to Matt, so on top of everything else, they’ve both lost their best friend. I think Blake is struggling as much with that loss, as anything else.
“Aye.” Angus replied. “Sometimes, a man can only find his worth in the eyes of a trusted friend.”
His words brought Alistair to mind, and he could almost hear his friend’s bold laugh. Closer than brothers, they’d fought together, suffered the barrage of canister-shot at Culloden together, fallen together and bled their life force, along with their hopes and dreams, onto the muddy moor together. Allistair led in death, just as he had in life, and given Angus the courage he’d needed to follow wi’out fear. He’d been there to greet Angus when he rose on that ghostly ground to become number 43, of the 79, and he’d been there to send Angus ahead, when Soni came for him. So, Angus knew well, what ’twas like to no longer be able to lean on that friend whether in an earthly existence, ghostly, or in-between.
Angus was just learning a man dinna need to forget a lost friend to open his heart to new ones, so he clearly kenned the difficulty Blake was having. He went to Lucy, touching her back at the hollow above her waist. Strange how his hand seemed to belong there. “The lad is more resilient than ye think. Ye have to trust that he’ll find his way, even in this. ’Tis part of becoming a man.”
She leaned into his hand as she added spices to the applesauce. “I know. I’m…it’s just…sometimes it’s hard to know the right thing to do. I guess I’m struggling to change my thinking as much as he is.”
He guided her into his embrace. “Mayhap I can offer ye a distraction.” He pressed a kiss to her brow, her temple, down her cheek to the silky hollow below her jaw, where he felt her pulse jump.
“Angus,” she breathed.
“I’m here,” he whispered, brushing his lips across hers, feather light, before capturing her mouth in a deep, desperate kiss. Her response quickened his pulse, as she pressed closer and slipped her arms around him.
Everything else fell away. Nothing existed but this moment, and Lucy.
CHAPTER EIGHT
A slight chill tinged the air as Lucy loaded boxed pies into the truck. After so little sleep, the crispness of early morning felt good. The sun would burn the chill away soon enough, leaving a nice day for the festival.
At least the pies were ready. Without Angus’ help, she’d have been most of the night, finishing. And without his gentle reasoning, she’d still be agonizing over Blake. She probably always would, she loved Blake, but she finally understood there was more than one interpretation of ‘ties-that-bind’. He was still just seventeen. He’d still need her support, but he also needed space to grow.
And Angus? What ties bound him? She knew so little about him. It seemed the few private moments they’d had together, succumbed to the intense attraction they shared. She’d have argued with anyone who said such a strong connection was possible in so short a time, until she’d experienced it. But it was more than a few stolen kisses. She cared about him. And more than that, she’d begun to open her heart and mind to new possibilities. She hadn’t let herself dream for a very long time. Angus had changed all that.
She wanted to know everything about him. All the little details that made him the man he was. When Angus first told her he wouldn’t be staying, she thought she could indulge in a few innocent kisses, enjoy his attention and let him go. That had completely backfired.
What if she was in over her head?
Somehow, once he left, she’d have to find normal again. But her notion of normal had shifted with Angus’ arrival, and she wasn’t sure she’d find solid ground again when he walked away.
Muted conversation drew her attention to the house, where Angus and Grif were just stepping off the porch. A few strides later, they stopped and Grif turned back as if he’d forgotten something. When Angus spotted her, he continued forward, his slow smile impossibly appealing. There was an edge about him that went beyond rugged good looks. Something raw and captivating she could ne
ither define, or ignore.
“Good morning.” She smiled, as he stopped beside her.
“And tae ye.” He touched her hand, then lightly stroked her arm, triggering a shiver despite the trail of tingling warmth. “Ye slipped out early this morning. Were ye able tae rest in the few hours left to ye?”
“A little,” she replied. “You? My sofa probably wasn’t too comfortable.”
“I slept a wee bit, between thoughts of ye.”
Just as he leaned in for a kiss, she saw Grif exit the house, hurrying toward them. Though he’d probably already guessed her feelings for Angus, it might be too soon for a public demonstration. Grif would never judge, but he might worry she was getting in too deep since Angus had made it clear he’d be leaving.
She smiled her regret to Angus and took a small step back, forcing herself to focus on practical matters. “I just finished loading the pies.”
“I see that. But dinna we agree I’d load them this morning?” Angus admonished.
“Yes, but I wanted to get an early start. I still have to get ready for the contest.” She felt a moment of panic. “You’re still coming with me, right?” Surely, he wasn’t planning to leave yet?
“Aye. And Grif, as well. I’m tae taste the cotton-candy, remember?” He laughed and touched the lacy edge at the bottom of her crop-top.
She held her breath as his eyes drifted down the length of her gold capris.
“Ye look verra fetchin’ this mornin’, Lucy.”
“Thank you.” She hadn’t considered dressing to please him, but the idea certainly warranted exploring. “You’re just used to seeing me in work-jeans. White and gold are the official town colors. You’ll see lots of folks wearing, or carrying, this standard today, along with Franklin’s blue and black.”
