At first, Iris had felt in the way, stepping gingerly around equipment that terrified her; nail guns, circular saws, and the like. More important, she wondered if Cooper thought she was in the way. Like the morning she grabbed a two-by-four, catching her finger on a jagged edge.
“Shit!”
“Let me see.” Cooper came over to where she stood holding her index finger.
Iris groaned. “I’m an idiot. I shouldn’t be here to begin with.”
“Nonsense.” He took her hand, turning her finger over toward the light.
Iris looked away. “Is it bad?”
“It’s still attached,” he said, chuckling. “It’s a sliver.”
“A sliver?” Iris withdrew her hand and examined it herself. “That’s all?”
“Yup, it’s a good one. Let me get it out for you.”
Without thinking, Iris tucked her hand behind her back.
“Don’t worry,” he teased. “I promise, I’ll be gentle.”
And he was. She cringed as he squeezed her fingertip, but within seconds the sliver was withdrawn. He held it to the light for her to see. “Brave girl,” he said, still holding her hand. “You should probably wash it.”
She looked up at him. “Thanks,” she said, withdrawing her hand slowly.
“The first injury on a site is sort of like a badge,” Cooper told her.
“Of what, stupidity?” Iris lifted the handle of the pump in the corner, letting the cold water rush over both hands.
“Of hard work,” Cooper said. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re learning.”
Iris pushed the pump handle back down and wiped her hands on her jeans. “Be honest. Am I completely in your way out here?”
“Are you kidding? I like the company. Besides, nobody’s brought me breakfast in years.”
Iris laughed. “Well, I guess I’m good for something.” And so she returned to the barn the next morning, and the morning after that. By the third day she’d figured out how to use the table saw and rip a board. She actually felt useful.
Besides, Cooper was so easy to be around. And patient: like the time he drove into town to the hardware store and returned to find her stranded straddling a high beam, white in the face, having attempted to finish some buttressing work in the hope of proving herself. But her embarrassment did not last, and he’d merely shaken his head as he helped her down.
And it wasn’t just the barn roof she was learning to repair. If Cooper Woods was quiet, it also made him a good listener. Suddenly Iris was letting a few of her worries trickle out. Worries about raising well-rounded kids. And mending her relationships. And staying true to herself, whoever that was.
“What about Paul?” Cooper surprised her with the outright question one morning. “Is he a pretty handy guy?”
The hammer in her hand stilled as Iris struggled to put words together. “Not really,” she said carefully. Then, “He’s more of a hands-off kind of guy.”
“Ah.” And that was all.
Cooper asked more about the kids, and what sorts of things they were interested in. Delighted, she’d gushed about them, finally catching herself when she looked up breathlessly and saw him staring back at her, wordless. “Oh, God. I’m doing it again, aren’t I?” She made a mouth with her hand. “Talk, talk, talk.”
But he’d just grinned. “I already told you, I like that about you. Besides, you’re a great mom.” Which had been an instant balm to a bruise within that she’d thus far been unable to soothe.
By the end of their first week working together she was feeling braver. They were working at different ends of the barn, backs to each other, which allowed her to voice the questions she’d been keeping.
“So, how about you? Did you ever marry?” She squeezed the handful of nails she held in her palm the second the words were out.
“Yeah, actually. I was married for about five years.”
Iris braved a quick look over her shoulder. Cooper was measuring another board, his eyes trained on his work. “It ended badly,” he admitted.
So. Iris’s thoughts raced, teetering between the pressing desire for more information and the fear that that very information could alter the careful image she had constructed of him. And something else . . . hope? He’s just like you, she reminded herself firmly. Just a person, with bones and blood, and flaws. And, good God, those blue eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. Then, “I didn’t mean to pry.”
Cooper shrugged. “It was my fault I didn’t see it sooner. Sherry wasn’t happy. Wanted things I couldn’t give her.”
Which made Iris’s thoughts race faster. What sort of things? A beach house? Kids?
Instead she asked, “Is she still in Colorado?”
“Last I heard.” He looked at Iris. “But I’m here.”
Iris was getting to know Cooper Woods. The real, grown-up Cooper Woods, who was not just an older or more experienced version of the boy in the yearbook. Which frightened her.
And in return for his divulgences, she did something spontaneous. She invited Cooper to the house. “My mother had a loaf of homemade bread in the oven this morning,” Iris said, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. “Why don’t you join us for lunch?”
Cooper eyed his cooler in the corner.
“I think she’s making BLTs,” Iris added, pushing any warning thoughts aside. Her parents loved his work, and he seemed genuinely fond of Millie, which Iris found both perplexing and admirable. Besides, what man could say no to a slab of bacon on homemade bread?
Confirming her suspicions, he tossed his hammer in the tool kit. “Done.”
• • •
Millie welcomed Cooper politely, though Iris could feel the weight of her curiosity.
Leah was no better. “Oh, hi, Cooper,” she stammered, looking a little rattled.
Millie broke the silence at the table first. “Leah, Tika called this morning. She wants to know the final head count for the caterer.”
“Oh, she did?” Leah glanced quickly over at Cooper, then back at Millie.
“You’d better call her back. We’ve only got a couple of weeks until the wedding.”
“I will,” Leah replied, her voice barely a whisper.
In the beat of silence that followed, Cooper looked from Millie to Leah. “Is someone getting married?”
Millie beamed. “Didn’t you know? Leah’s engaged!”
Iris watched Leah duck her head.
“Congratulations. When’s the big day?”
Leah smiled uncertainly, crossing her brown arms delicately in front of her. “August tenth,” she said in a hushed voice.
“It’ll be the event of the summer,” Millie said, raising her chin proudly. But Iris’s attention was focused on Cooper, trying to read his expression as he learned the news. He seemed surprised. But she couldn’t tell if this mattered to him or not.
“Who’s the lucky guy?” Cooper asked.
Was it her imagination, or did Leah look sheepish? “He’s not from around here,” she said. Then added, “His name’s Stephen.”
“Stephen Willets the third,” Millie said, filling in the gaps. “He was just here, but he had to return to Seattle for business. The city they will call home after the wedding,” she added meaningfully.
What was going on? Iris wondered. The wedding was all Leah talked about to anyone who’d listen. And the fact that Cooper hadn’t known about any of it? All of it left Iris feeling suddenly not so hungry anymore.
But then Bill joined the table, seeming quite pleased to find Cooper sitting across from him. “So, how are you doing up there?” he asked, gesturing up the hill toward the barns.
“It’s coming along faster than I thought,” Cooper said. “Now that I’ve got help.” He nodded toward Iris, and Millie and Leah both glanced her way, as if surprised to se
e her still there. She smiled back at them tightly.
“I had no idea you were so interested in carpentry,” Leah said flatly.
“The beams look marvelous,” Bill continued. “I’m glad you talked me into those salvaged pieces from Vermont. Made all the difference.”
Iris watched the care Cooper took to arrange his sandwich. For a man who worked carpentry, his hands looked soft, his nails spotless. “That barn’s almost two hundred years old. It needs history, to go along with its own.”
“Well said.” Bill chewed thoughtfully. “I think I’ll walk up with you after lunch. I want to start thinking about doing the smokehouse next.”
Iris smiled. So, Bill had more restoration work in mind. Cooper would be staying on longer. Millie looked firmly at Bill. “But I thought we were saving the smokehouse for next year.”
Bill shook his head. “If Cooper can get the materials from that site in Vermont, we need to move forward. Do you think you can get your hands on more chestnut?”
Again, Iris could feel her mother’s gaze. “But we’re so busy at the moment,” Millie interjected. “With the wedding and all . . .” Her voice trailed, and she looked to Leah, who hadn’t even touched her lunch.
“I’m going up there next week,” Cooper told him. “I’ll check the inventory if you’d like.” He turned to Iris. “I’ve got a little cabin in Stowe.”
“Really? Sounds like a nice getaway spot.” How fitting; woodsy Cooper living on the lake in New Hampshire, traveling to Vermont for rustic weekend getaways. The images unfolded in Iris’s mind like a glossy travel brochure.
“Get an estimate and let me know,” Bill said, standing. “I’d love to finish these renovations.”
When Bill and Millie finally excused themselves to clear the table, the three were left alone.
“That’s great news about your wedding,” Cooper said.
“You should come,” Leah said quickly. She ran her hand through her hair and looked at him sideways. “You’ll know a lot of the guests from town. Plus, we’ve got a great band.” And there it was again, her flirtatious ease.
Iris held her tongue. Why was Leah acting as if the wedding were just a casual barbecue? Even a man would know that the invitations must have gone out weeks ago, and that the table settings would be finalized. What was Leah doing?
Cooper must’ve realized it, too. “It’s real nice of you to offer, but you don’t have to. In fact, I may be up at the cabin that weekend.”
But Leah either didn’t notice the look on Iris’s face, or ignored it. “I’m the bride. I insist.”
“Well, in that case, thank you. I’ll dust off one of my suits.” He glanced at his watch. “I’d best get back to work. Can I help clean up here?”
“Go ahead,” Iris urged. “I’ll meet you back at the barn.”
No sooner had he left than Leah cornered Iris in the kitchen. “What are you doing?”
“What do you mean?”
Millie stood behind them at the sink, scraping plates. Iris knew she was listening.
“It’s just weird. You’re spending all this time in the barn with the hired help.”
Iris met her gaze. “Hired help? What, are you an aristocrat now?”
“You know what I mean.”
Iris had never heard Leah make such an unflattering reference. Sure, their family was accustomed to a certain lifestyle. But this was about something else.
Iris glanced at her mother, who was making no attempt to hide the fact that she was hanging on every word.
Leah strode to the mudroom and pulled on her boots, tightening the laces with quick, angry tugs.
Why should Leah care how she spent her time?
Leah stood abruptly. “Mom, I’m heading back to the farm stand. Naomi’s going to need more berry containers. Did you unpack that order yet?”
Millie nodded solemnly from her post at the counter. “I’ll bring some up.”
Iris watched Leah pause at the washroom sink. She pulled a small bottle from her jeans pocket and tipped two yellow pills into her palm. “What are those?” she asked as Leah scooped a handful of water into her mouth.
“Vitamins,” Leah snapped.
Vitamins, my ass, Iris thought. The mudroom door slammed loudly, and Leah was gone.
“What is her problem?” Iris asked, tossing the dish towel she’d been holding onto the counter. There was nothing wrong about helping Cooper with the barn. It was no different from the work Leah herself was doing in the fields. Would they rather she sulked around the house, or lay in bed all day?
Through the kitchen window she could see Cooper getting something out of his truck in the distance. “I’m going back up to the barn.”
Millie kept her eyes trained on the dishes.
Iris was halfway out the door when her mother’s voice stopped her. It was soft, and Iris hesitated a moment before she was sure she’d heard right.
“Be careful, dear.”
Fourteen
There was nothing careful about the way she looked.
It was Friday night, and Iris had called Trish and asked her for a drink. Demanded was more like it. Beforehand, she’d hurried into town, hitting a few of the trendier boutiques on Railroad Street before she found what she was looking for. A black one-shouldered top, simple and sexy at once. While she was there she figured she might as well splurge on a new pair of jeans. Her old ones were baggy in the rear now, and she was finished with the drab, shapeless items she’d hurriedly packed from home, which she now referred to as her mourning clothes. Which meant, of course, that she needed a new pair of shoes—in a style decidedly unsensible. She’d found them, in a pair of strappy black sandals that made her toes throb but her calf muscles flash. And a pair of open-toed cream wedges that added at least three inches to her height. She’d charged all of it, tossing a pink scarf on the counter at the last second. Let Paul worry about the bill.
When she came downstairs that night, Bill looked up from his wing chair and smiled. “Well, look at you.”
Leah, who was curled up on the couch with the TV remote, narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Where are you going?”
“Down to the Dock, with Trish. Want to come?” She was determined not to argue with her sister. But Iris bit her lip the second the words came out. This was her night.
Leah shook her head, sinking back into the cushions. “Stephen’s supposed to call. And I’m tired, anyway.”
Relieved, Iris checked her reflection in the hall mirror. A quick coat of lipstick, and she was ready. As she sailed through the kitchen, she almost ran into her mother.
“Iris?”
Millie blinked several times in the bright light, trying to reconcile the outfit, the styled hair, and the makeup with her eldest daughter. “It’s late. Where are you going?”
But Iris wasn’t about to get bogged down by questions. She was forty years old, for God’s sake. “Out. See you later!” she called as the door slammed matter-of-factly behind her.
• • •
At nine o’clock the Dock was already crowded, a mixed group of post-college kids and middle-aged patrons, the latter of whom, Iris realized with dread, she now belonged to. The lakeside restaurant housed an outdoor patio bar and was a popular seasonal spot. She eyed the younger women warily, their tanned brows unfurrowed by sleepless nights, their slender physiques unmarked by motherhood. Funny how her age never really occurred to her, until she was confronted by twentysomethings with bare midriffs. But the boisterous atmosphere had not changed, and as she and Trish took a deck table by the water, she soon felt young enough again. “You look hot tonight,” Trish said.
“Thanks.” Iris crossed her legs and admired the way her polished toes peeked from her wedge heels. “I took your advice and went shopping.”
Trish lifted her beer. “See what a little retail therapy can do?” She ran a ha
nd through her hair. “Wish I’d had the energy to dress up a bit more. I still have cake batter in my hair.”
Iris laughed. “Rough day at work?”
Trish forced a smile. “One of the ovens broke, so we were behind on the baking. And on a day when we had a large order from a local caterer. I had to talk her into changing the menu.”
Iris winced sympathetically. “You always throw together the best food at the last minute. I don’t know how you do it.”
Trish shrugged. “It worked out.”
Which gave Iris a wild idea, one that she couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of before. “Hey, have you ever thought of doing a cookbook?”
Trish took a swig from her beer. “We put out a holiday book each year, for the chamber of commerce.”
Iris shook her head. “No, I mean a published cookbook that’s all your own.”
“Are you kidding? I own a café; I’m not a chef.”
“But you are, in the most real sense. You’re a working mom and a business owner. Your schedule is crazy, so you have to come up with good food fast. Believe me, I’d kill for some of your ideas on a Wednesday night after soccer practice.”
Trish laughed, shaking her head. “Well, thanks for the vote of confidence. But I can’t imagine anybody buying a book of recipes that ordinary.”
“That’s exactly why they’d buy it! Who has time for handmade ravioli? Bread salad with garden vegetables is exactly what we need. With some of that sesame chicken you do.” The more Iris thought about it, the more excited she got. Here was the culinary talent she needed for her cookbook idea. And in the same package as an old friend!
“I don’t know,” Trish said, rolling the idea around in her head. “I’ve never considered it, to be honest.”
“Well, you should. We both should. Seriously, we could write this thing, together.”
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