Miracle Pie

by Edie Ramer

  His non-primal self didn’t want to populate anything. It wanted to enjoy himself. To laugh. To eat good food—including pies. Lots of pies. And make his films. Show people as they were, with all their faults and all their greatness. Make them laugh and cry. Most of all, make them feel.

  But right now he was the one feeling. An overload of emotions, all telling him to do the wrong thing that somehow felt so right.

  The back door opened and cool air puffed into the kitchen. He needed colder air than that, but it would have to do. She said something to the dog who probably didn’t hear her though her husky voice floated into the kitchen.

  The need lessened slightly, the blood flowing upward, more brain cells firing, telling him it was a good thing the dog had interrupted them. That it wasn’t a good idea to make love with her.

  Yeah. Like he believed that.

  Unplugging the USB cord, he heard a man’s voice. Gabe stopped. Not even breathing. As if listening for a rival.

  He shook his head at the thought. He wasn’t a man staking his claim, watching out for rivals. Viking ancestors or not, he was just a man who wanted to make his videos. And maybe have a little fun. What man didn’t want that?

  But that kiss... He hadn’t expected anything that intense. It was like starting a fire in a grill and having it flare up in his face.

  As he shut down his laptop, he heard hard-soled boots hit the hall floor, and they didn’t come from Katie. His muscles clenched, but he turned his head toward the back door and set his easy smile on charm, the way he did for the brides and grooms and their families who didn’t seem to notice the emptiness in his eyes.

  A tall, lean man with long, white-streaked black hair entered the kitchen, Katie and Happy behind him. His thin face had seen a lot of life and his eyes bored into Gabe. Though he wore a flannel shirt and jeans, Gabe easily pictured him as an outlaw in an old western. The kind of cowboy that drank hard, played hard and shot hard.

  “Gabe, this is my father, Sam Guthrie. Daddy, this is Gabe Robbins.” Katie’s voice was breathy and her face was flushed. Softened. Like someone who’d just been kissed very thoroughly.

  Gabe suspected he had the signs of arousal on his face, too, as desire still thrummed through his veins, like the last note on a guitar singing in the air. Hard to look a man in the face when two minutes ago you’d thought about taking his daughter on the table, the floor, against the wall. A man in such a primitive arousal that any surface would do.

  It wasn’t the first time Gabe had to talk himself out of an awkward situation. Taking a deep breath, he strode toward Katie’s father, his hand out. Gabe made the instant decision to call him by his first name. Man to man, instead of one man to another man whose daughter he wanted to bang.

  Sam looked at Gabe’s hand then into his eyes for a long moment. Gabe was about to put his hand down when Sam took it. Not a handshake, just grabbing it and taking it.

  Something happened to Gabe. For one second, two seconds, he froze while Sam’s eyes pierced his as if trying to see inside his soul.

  Then Sam released his hand, and Gabe’s mind whirled. He started to wobble, and a slender hand gripped his arm.

  “Daddy, you didn’t!” Katie grabbed him and held him upright.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, baby girl.”

  “You’re impossible. Come on, help me get him into a chair.”

  Sam gripped Gabe’s left arm. The father-daughter team half dragged, half pulled him to the kitchen table, then dumped him onto the chair he’d been sitting in when this all started. Gabe slumped back and looked up at the two faces staring down at him. One with a worried frown, the other with a curled lip.

  “Did you just give me a Vulcan mind meld?”

  “Daddy.” Katie shook her head at her father, her lips flattened into a thin line.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sam Guthrie’s voice reminded Sam of a car driving over gravel, his dark eyes sharp like a vulture’s. “I don’t have pointy ears, and this isn’t a Star Trek episode. You really think any of that is real?”

  “Of course not,” he said, though a smile played on Sam’s mouth, and Gabe suspected there was more to the story. Something had happened. Something weird. It wasn’t his imagination.

  “Maybe you’re not feeling well.” Katie’s gaze didn’t quite meet his.

  “Maybe it’s a guilty conscience,” Sam said.

  “Daddy!” She glowered at her father. “What did you come here for, anyway?”

  “Pie, sweetie.” The muscles of his face relaxed and he looked slightly less intimidating. “And to say hi to my favorite girl.”

  “You don’t need to sweet talk me for a piece of pie.” She hurried to the counter. “I made banana cream.”

  Gabe watched her load a piece of pie on a plate. It seemed surreal. He felt like Alice in Wonderland with a sex change. But there were no magic mushrooms in sight. Just pie. The best damn pie he’d eaten.

  Just thinking about it, energy whispered back into his body. He sat straighter. Not fully at speed but faking it. Sometimes he thought he was almost as good at faking small moments like these as a woman faking an orgasm.

  Not that fakery ever happened in his bed.

  “Thinking of something funny?” Sam set his pie plate on the table then took a chair. “Want to share that thought?”

  “I’m not thinking of anything,” Gabe said.

  Sam narrowed his eyes at him. “I know what you’re thinking when you say you aren’t thinking.”

  Gabe’s face warmed, and he knew his cheeks were turning red. The curse of being a blond. Lucky for him, women liked his blush and his wavy hair. Unlucky for him that their fathers never appreciated him as much. Sometimes the mothers didn’t either. Other times they appreciated it a little too well.

  “You should know my daughter tells me everything,” Sam said.

  “Dad! You liar.”

  Sam’s shoulders heaved but he gazed at Katie with a straight face. “You mean you lie to me?”

  “I mean I’m twenty-eight years old and some things are none of your business.” She pointed her index finger at him. “Just like some of the things that go on in your house are none of my business.”

  His right eyebrow lifted. “You wound me, baby girl. It’s a good thing you’re a great baker.” He dug his fork into his piece of pie. “Just like I taught you.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You’re such a bullshitter.” She turned to Gabe. “Would you like another piece?”

  He sat straighter, his mind spinning, working again. “Yes,” he said. The pie really didn’t have any sex magic in it. That kind of thinking was crazy. Besides, it was always good to mirror what the person in power did. Katie seemed to be independent, though she lived in a cottage on her father’s farm, but even with whipped cream coating his upper lip, Sam Guthrie gave off an air of being a man born with a natural power. One so sure and true he didn’t have to do anything to impress people.

  “So you’re a farmer,” Gabe said as Katie slid a piece of pie onto a plate. “Do you have cows or chickens?”

  He looked at Katie and saw her wince.

  “We had chickens,” Sam said, “but they were killed.”

  Katie shuddered. “A coyote, we think. Or a fox. My father just raises crops now.”

  “What kind of crops?” Gabe asked.

  A look passed between father and daughter, the kind of look that meant secrets. Gabe wondered—

  “Corn, wheat, that kind of stuff,” Katie said as she put the plate with the piece of pie in front of him.

  He picked up his fork. Later he could wonder. Right now was all about the pie.

  Chapter Eleven

  Gabe left, and Katie felt glad and sad at the same time. If Sam weren’t here, she’d run into the living room and watch him drive away, like a lovesick teenager.

  “So that’s the guy,” Sam said.

  “The director, yes.” She put the remaining pie in the fridge.

&n
bsp; “There’s something going on between the two of you.”

  “He wants to put the video he took of me on YouTube.” She turned to him, the door slowly swinging shut. “He thinks people will like it, and it might even help Rosa sell her show.”

  Sam leaned back in his chair. “You’re dressed?”

  “Dad! I even have an apron on.”

  “You say anything embarrassing?”

  She shook her head, though she found the whole process embarrassing. She was used to the attention being on her pies, not on her.

  “Then do it.”

  “I told him already if it’s okay with Rosa, it’s okay with me.”

  “That’s not the only thing going on with you.”

  “I’m twenty-eight.” She gave him a warning look and wished she’d learned how to copy Rosa’s stare. If Rosa could patent and sell it, she’d be an instant millionaire. “Anything going on is my business.”

  “Doesn’t matter how old you are. You’re still my baby girl.”

  She laughed, a fullness in her throat because she was lucky to be so loved and to love back. It had been a long time ago, but she remembered the feeling of not being loved. She remembered days and nights of bleakness and emptiness. She remembered enough that now she treasured her father and her friends.

  Happy shuffled, waking up again in her corner. Making the slow, laborious process of pushing her body up until she stood on her short, arthritic legs.

  The fullness in Katie’s throat grew. She bent, scooped up Happy and carried her outside. Happy had just been out a short time ago, but this last year she’d been having accidents and it was better not to take chances.

  She set down the Beagle so she could do what she had to do, knowing Happy wouldn’t stay out long. When Happy was a young dog, she was a runner. Chasing rabbits, squirrels, birds and, on a few unfortunate occasions, skunks. Often staying away for a couple of hours until Katie had to search for her, her pocket full of treats to lure Happy home.

  She used to get so angry at Happy.

  Now she wished those days were back.

  Leaving Happy outside to stare around and try to see through her cataract-covered eyes, Katie returned to the kitchen and hefted a big sigh.

  “Something’s wrong,” Sam said, his eyes hard. “You sure it’s not Gabe?”

  “Forget him. Nothing’s going on there.”

  He raised his eyebrows, and she shrugged. “A kiss, that’s all. Just a kiss.”

  She grabbed the plates and the forks to put them in the dishwasher.

  When she turned around, Sam still watched her with his eyes half lidded, as if he had all day and wasn’t leaving until he found out what was bothering her. When she was young, she thought her father saw all and knew all. There was comfort in it. Not so much when she was a teen. And now...

  Something broke in her. A ball of fear that had been growing and growing and growing...

  She shuffled to the table, feeling like Happy. As if she were full of aches. But her body was okay. It was just her heart that hurt.

  “I haven’t heard from Trish for over two weeks. Her phone isn’t working.” Katie pictured Trish and her husband Gunner. Trish, short, thin and emotional; Gunner, tall, gaunt and cerebral. Yet he loved to hunt, and he loved Trish and his boys. A contradiction like most people. The more Katie knew people, the more contrary they were.

  “What about Gunner?” Sam asked. “Did you call him?”

  “This morning I finally called the Sacramento Times and asked for Gunner. They said he hasn’t worked there for more than four months. The paper’s online now and they laid a lot of people off.” She heard the confusion and hurt in her raised voice. “Four months and Trish never told me.”

  “She’s like you that way, honey. She’s proud. And Gunner...” Sam shook his head. “If pride were the Trump Tower, he’d be living in the penthouse.”

  Katie sank into a chair. Planting her elbows on the table, she dropped her forehead into her palms, her fingers splayed through her hair. When Gunner got his job in Sacramento, he hadn’t hidden his glee. He’d called Miracle a place where people stagnated. As if his journalism degree made him better than his friends.

  “Did you call their parents?”

  “I called Trish’s mom last week.” She made a face. Trish’s mom made rocks look talkative. “She didn’t know anything. I don’t think Trish talks to her or her brothers often.”

  Sam nodded, his mouth tight. Trish’s mom babied her sons and tolerated her daughter. Not having a mother who treasured them had bonded Trish and Katie. Trish hadn’t come home to visit her overly strict mother since her dad died three years ago.

  “What about Gunner’s parents? They’re somewhere in Florida now, right?”

  She nodded. “They’re taking care of Gunner’s grandparents. I called his mom. She said he and Trish and the family are doing well. She didn’t mention his job, so I’m guessing she doesn’t know about it.”

  “He’s an idiot. Did you tell her?”

  “I didn’t want to worry her. I think she’s having a hard time taking care of her parents.” She scrunched her forehead. “I don’t know what to do about Trish. Should I call the Sacramento police?”

  Sam stood in one fast swoop. “I know a guy in Sacramento. Was in ’Nam with him. I still got a Christmas card last December, so he’s probably alive yet. I’ll give him a call and see what he can do.”

  Happy howled outside, her Let me in! call. Katie went on her tiptoes and hugged her father. “Thank you,” she whispered. “You’re the best.”

  On his way out, he let Happy in. She limped to her food bowl. It was empty, but she still sniffed for food and licked the empty bowl. Katie looked at the clock and served Happy her last cup of dog food for the day.

  As Katie moved around, the tightness still coiled in her stomach. The feeling that something awful was about to happen, something that no pie on earth could fix, was wrong was too strong to go away.

  The phone rang and she whipped it to her ear. But Rose was on the line, not Trish. Gabe had already called Rose about the video, and she told Katie it was all right with her. He was putting something together for Rose and her to sign.

  She didn’t talk long, and Katie could tell by the too happy note in her voice that everything wasn’t happy at all.

  It felt to Katie as if no one she knew was happy. Even Happy wasn’t happy anymore. Well, unless she was eating or sleeping or being petted.

  Katie sighed. There was only one thing she could do to shake this mood. She headed to the cupboards and started grabbing the ingredients for her Everything Will Be All Right Pie.

  When the pie was done, she would bring three pieces to Rosa—for her and her two sons because Katie knew they must be feeling confused and angry.

  But the first piece Katie would eat. She needed to do something to ease the snake-twisting-in-her-gut sense that nothing would be all right again.

  Chapter Twelve

  This wasn’t the first time Gabe knew what a heavy heart meant, but as usual he ignored it. The full moon shone down on him, lighting flat stones that led to Katie’s back door. He left his car in the driveway, glad she and her father had separate driveways. After their meeting this afternoon, Gabe wanted to avoid any awkwardness.

  He rang the doorbell. Here he was again, he thought. Like a dog that remembered where he’d found a bone once and kept coming back in hope of finding another one.

  She opened the door and stared at him, a probing look.

  “Friend,” he said.

  “Friend of what?”

  He laughed softly, lightness creeping back into his mood. “Friend and not foe.”

  She didn’t laugh. Instead she scratched the side of her forehead, as if considering whether to welcome him in. Finally she stepped back, a wordless invitation as she still watched him, her expression unreadable, the air between them thickening. Humming. Crackling with heat.

  “So,” she said. They stood in the kitchen, so close he could see
the dark blue rim of her irises. “You didn’t call. Were you afraid I’d tell you not to come?”

  “I just felt I should come here.”

  Her head tilted. “Sometimes I feel that I should do things. But if I wait, the feeling passes.”

  “Think of all the opportunities you missed.”

  “Think of all the trouble.” The look she gave him was cool. “I thought of having a fling with you.”

  He laughed with surprise and delight. Warmth pooled inside him despite her cool look. “Did that feeling pass?”

  “I’m not sure. Would you care for a drink?”

  “What do you have?” He was in, and she hadn’t answered him, but he wasn’t going to push it. He could wait for the right moment before going after what he really wanted.

  “Wine. Or rum. I use it in several pies. Apple raisin, pumpkin, pecan, walnut.”

  He agreed to the rum. She gestured him into her living room while she prepared the drinks. The light was on, and as soon as he walked in, he heard the soft snores of her Beagle curled next to a navy recliner with the footrest up. An open book lay on the table next to it. Beside that was an e-reader. Leaning over the recliner, he checked out the book, a man and woman on the cover clutching each other, the man shirtless.

  He raised his eyebrows. Interesting choice of reading material.

  Hearing her crossing the kitchen floor toward the living room, he headed to the small, three-cushion sofa that sat in front of the drapery-covered window. The best position to watch her enter the room, and the sofa had plenty of room for her to sit next to him. Room enough to lie on it, though not full out. For that, they’d have to go to the bedroom. Or the floor. Or the kitchen table.

  Thinking about all the choices, he grew semi-hard. He needed to turn his mind to other thoughts, but they all seemed to end up in the same hot and sweaty place.

  She wore a Green Bay Packers sweatshirt and gray sweatpants, the color combination not the best choice, but the way she threw mismatched clothes together made him smile inside. Cherise would’ve hated that look, been horrified by it. But to Gabe it looked comfortable and cute, the way her snoring old dog was comfortable and cute. And it brought up an urge to touch her, hold her, kiss her. Really good urges that he knew were really bad ones. She wasn’t the kiss and leave kind of girl. It was probably a good thing he’d be the one leaving soon. If he stuck around, he might do something really stupid.