by Barbara Lohr
The bell continued to jingle. Although she couldn't hear the conversations, she thought she heard the word thimbles. When she peeked over the swinging door, her mother was talking to a young couple. “You tasted these in the library? Yes, the cookies came from us.”
“The thimbles are my husband’s favorite,” the woman said. “His mother used to make them.”
Maybe that trip to the library was worthwhile after all. Returning to her cinnamon roll dough, Sarah finished them off and then began on pecan buns. To her surprise, the front bell kept ringing. After a customer left, she went out front. “I guess your trip to the library paid off.”
Her mother gave her a mysterious smile. “Oh, I think so. The library’s been busy. Everyone wants to take out a book before the snow starts again.”
By the end of the afternoon, the thimbles were gone. Her mother swung through the door with the empty tray. “Will you just look at this?”
“That's amazing.” Sarah set the tray in the sink. “I should write a thank you note to the woman taking Mildred's place. What's her name?” Picking up a pen, Sarah grabbed a pad of paper.
Her mother had started wiping down the pan in the sink. “Stuart.”
“Must be one of the college interns.”
Grabbing up a towel, her mother dried the tray with brisk strokes. “Oh, I don't think so.” Then she waltzed back to the front of the store, leaving the empty tray and a lot of questions.
Nat King Cole was singing about chestnuts roasting on an open fire. Well, right now Sarah’s brain felt roasted. The rumble of Ryan's truck snapped her out of it. The back door opened, bringing a draft of winter air. And there he was with wind-ruffled hair and red cheeks. She smiled.
“Hey, Sarah.” Ryan shrugged out of his sheepskin jacket.
“How are the roads? Any trouble coming down Red Arrow?”
“You know Michigan. The crews have been salting the roads since the first snowflake fell.” Going straight to the cupboard, he got out the flour and yeast for the bread dough. They were settling into a rhythm. “How did the new cookies go over today?”
“We sold out.” Surprise lifted her voice.
Ryan’s square jaw dropped. “In this snow? I thought you’d have a quiet day.”
He was thinking about her today? Unexpected warmth swirled through her stomach. “Trust me, it’s been a day of surprises.”
Just then her mother bustled in from the front counter “The door’s locked. I cleaned all the glass counters and table tops. Oh hi, Ryan.”
“Wow,” Ryan said with a chuckle.
Her mother shot him a coy smile––a look Sarah had never seen before. “You like it?”
“You look beautiful. The hair’s great.” Ryan looked to Sarah for agreement. “Right, Sarah?”
“Amazing.” That was all she could manage.
“Sarah tells me you sold all the cookies we cranked out this morning.”
“We did.” Her mother gave him the secretive look Justin and Nathan wore after they’d had a pillow fight and left the room a mess.
“Why don't you tell him, Mom?” She wanted to hear her mother’s side of the story.
“About what, dear?” Lila was sidling towards the door that led upstairs to her apartment.
“About the cookies. The library.” Okay, she was sounding more like an interrogator, not a concerned daughter.
With a dip of her new hairdo, Lila said, “I thought it might be nice to take some cookies to the library. You know, a taste trial.”
“Great idea.” His back against the counter, Ryan fold muscled arms across his chest. For heaven’s sake, he looked like he’d worked in the bakery all his life. Sarah tore her eyes away but not before Ryan caught her staring.
“Those samples sure brought people in.” Mom looked to Sarah, who nodded.
“That’s terrific. Guess I should get to work.” Ryan swung into action and her mother went upstairs.
Sarah had trouble concentrating. You would think a man measuring flour wouldn't appear masculine. But to Sarah’s surprise, Ryan did. He handled the bag of flour with authority. Measured the ingredients, narrowing his eyes for accuracy.
“Seems there's a new temporary librarian on staff.” She had to tell someone.
“Really?” He started the giant mixer.
Ryan probably didn’t visit the library very often. “Mildred Wentworth has been a fixture in that library for as long as I can remember. This holiday season she's gone to visit her daughter in California.”
“Good thing they found someone to step in.” He mixed the warm water with the yeast. Yep, Ryan had really caught on to this bakery business.
“The temporary librarian’s name is Stuart.” Sarah wished she’d been more observant. “Now that I think of it, her trips to the library have become more frequent. I mean, who can read four books in two days?”
“Man, I could never do it.” Lips twitching, he held up a hand. “Hang on a minute, will you? I have to focus or I’ll mess this up.”
“I’ll just check the shop.” Pushing through the door, she did a thorough sweep of the shop out front. Everything was in its place. Mom had always been tidy. Sarah turned off the coffee pot and took a deep breath. Was she making a big deal out of nothing? Probably.
Holding that thought, Sarah returned to the work room where Ryan was shaping mounds of bread dough. “I might stay a bit later tonight.”
“Why? You can finish the bread in the morning.”
“But don’t we have cookies to finish?” Ryan came closer. He smelled of yeast and flour, and they’d never smelled better. “What’s up next?”
“Next?” she echoed mindlessly.
He glanced toward the blue binder. “Will we make thimbles again?”
Almost tripping over her feet, she snapped up the recipe. “For starters, tomorrow we’ll bake the Mexican hot chocolate cookies.”
“What are they?” He looked perplexed.
“The best chocolate cookies you’ll ever taste. They’re made with cocoa and just a pinch of chili powder.” She licked her lips.
His eyes followed. “Sounds great.”
“They are.” Her grip tightening, she crunched the recipe in her hand. “I’m sorry, but this day had been upsetting.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Something’s going on with my mother.” Her voice ended on a squeak.
“Don’t do this to yourself.” For a second she thought Ryan might take her in his arms. She could almost feel their warm comfort around her. But instead of reaching for her –––and holy moly, hadn’t they done that once already today?––he locked his hands together. Muscles twitched in his arms. “So your mom likes the librarian. Can’t you just let things roll?”
Her lips trembled. “But what do we know about him?”
Ryan heaved out a breath. “Well, for one thing, he’s probably not Jack the Ripper. The guy’s a librarian for Pete’s sake.”
He had a point. Was that her, cackling? “Oh, Ryan, what would I do without you? You put together the boys’ bikes, fixed the leak in the roof, brought me groceries when I had the flu.” Sarah dug a tissue from an apron pocket.
“Look, I’m glad to help. I’m, well...” Glancing down at his boots, Ryan seemed to be out of words. He’d never been a big talker. Wisecracks? Sure. Conversation? Not really. Then he tossed his head back. “Why don’t you let this thing with your mother slide for awhile? See what happens.”
He made good sense. After jabbing at her nose, she tucked her tissue away. “You’re right. It’s not a big deal.”
His brown eyes softened to velvet. “Sarah, you’re a good daughter and a great mother.”
She never thought she’d hear that from him. “If you keep that up, I might cry.” Then she noticed the clock. “I have to pick up the boys. I'll leave this recipe here so you can take butter out. You may want to double the batch. Mom might be going to the library again.”
She ran for the door and reached for her coat. “See you
in the morning?”
“You bet.” He was studying the recipe and glanced up. “One more thing. Would it be okay if I take some cookies to Stanley Branson?”
“Well sure.” She pulled on her coat. “Let’s get these cookies out of here. Otherwise they go straight to my hips.”
“I like your hips.” The words came fast and so did Ryan’s furious blush.
“Why, thank you, Ryan.” She could hardly get her gloves on .
They were standing at the back door. The cold air outside battered the old wooden panels. Taking her red scarf that probably matched her face right now, she twirled it around her neck.
“Don’t worry so much.” Reaching over, Ryan tucked some of her hair under the scarf.
“Okay. Thanks.” This guy had never been anything but a thorn in her side. But he just made her feel like she could take on the world. “See you tomorrow.”
“Yeah. See ya.” He stepped back but he didn’t turn away.
Stumbling outside, Sarah hurried to the car, her sturdy shoes crunching in the snow. Then she skidded to a halt, grabbing a door handle to keep from falling. Ryan must have cleaned the snow from her car. The guy was full of surprises.
Chapter 4
A light was glowing in the back office when Ryan reached Branson Motors later that evening. Did Stanley ever go home? Cutting the engine, he hurried through the cold to the back door, the white box tight under one arm. The smell of chocolate had driven him crazy all the way up Red Arrow. Seeing Stanley through the glass, Ryan hesitated. Was the old man talking to himself? Glasses low on his nose, he sat staring at his computer screen.
Ryan poked his head into the office that smelled of burned coffee. “You working late again?”
“This dang thing.” Ripping off the glasses, Stanley rubbed his eyes. “Just getting ready for the end of the year. You know, accounting stuff. Take a load off.” He nodded to a chair piled with old newspapers.
The small office was packed with samples, vintage Harley parts, old invoices and yellowing magazines. The pinup calendar might date back to the 80s, along with the worn furniture. A man cave, for sure.
“You’ll never win an award for housekeeping.” Setting the box on the desk, Ryan transferred the newspapers to the floor and sat down.
“Don’t want one.” Stanley’s eyes zeroed in on the cookies. His nose twitched.
Ryan stretched his legs out. “Man, this feels good.” Standing for hours in the bakery left him with a serious back ache. “Don’t you leave the books to your accountants?”
“The man who doesn’t run the numbers for his own business is a fool. I liked the old ledgers, not these fancy spreadsheets.” Stanley’s eyes were still riveted to the box of cookies. In the small enclosed space, the chocolate scent became overpowering. “What have you got there?”
“Just some cookies I baked tonight.” Man, this felt girly and weird.
Stanley had that box open in a flash. “You baked these yourself?” Scooping one out, he studied the cookie like it was the new Harley catalogue before biting down. The sounds he made were almost indecent. By the time Stanley finished munching, crumbs were everywhere. Taking one finger, Stanley pressed down on them, one at a time. “Boy, you missed your calling.”
Ryan felt pleased. “It’s Sarah’s recipe. Mexican hot chocolate cookies.”
“Kinda got a kick, don’t they?” Running a tongue over his teeth, Stanley reached for another.
Getting up, Ryan moved to the desk and leaned over the spreadsheet. “That’s what makes them special. You mind if I look at this?”
“Have at it.” Stanley pushed his chair away.
“These spreadsheets have some basic formulas.”
“Son, you’re speaking a foreign language.” Getting to his feet, Stanley stepped back. “Can you show me?”
Ryan sat down in Stanley’s chair. For the next ten minutes he gave Stanley a quick course in Excel, or what he could remember since high school. By the time he surrendered the chair, the old man looked impressed. “You are a wizard.”
“Trust me, I’m not.” After jotting down some of the basic formulas, Ryan eased himself back into the chair. “Let me know if you need more help.”
Stanley’s chair squeaked when he swiveled to face Ryan. He closed the box carefully. “Want to save some of these for later.” Then he sat back and studied Ryan, hands folded on his stomach.
Uncomfortable, Ryan squirmed in the chair. The old guy had x-ray eyes. “So you start your day early in the morning, work here and then head back to town.”
“Ryder said that was okay. I put in at least eight hours here,” Ryan reminded him. He didn’t want Stanley to think he was goofing off.
“Sounds like you’re burning the candle at both ends.”
The concern in Stanley’s eyes caught Ryan right in the gut. Taking off his belt had been his dad’s answer for everything, not that Ryan didn’t deserve it. “It’s only for three weeks or so. I’m helping Sarah through the holidays.”
“So you said.” Stanley’s lips slowly twisted into a cocky grin. “Well, I hope your efforts are appreciated.”
“I think they are.” The hug that morning had felt way too good. For a second there, Ryan almost forgot this was Sarah, the sweetest woman on the planet. “I’m just filling in.”
“Uh huh. Why do I think there’s more to it than that?”
“What?” Keeping up with his own son had honed Stanley’s radar.
“Do you have feelings for Sarah?”
Avoiding Stanley’s eyes, Ryan focused on the pricing list posted on the wall. “She’s a good woman.”
“I know that, son. I’ve met Sarah. She’s fun. Cheerful. The kind of woman who keeps a good house and probably can make a pot roast last for six days. But that’s not what I’m asking.”
Man, it was hot in here. He opened his jacket. “I don’t think of her, you know, romantically.” The words felt strange on his tongue.
“Maybe you should.”
Ryan’s mind drifted back. The soft brown hair that framed Sarah’s rosy cheeks. The hands that fluttered when she talked. This was crazy. Just thinking about her made his heart race.
“So you’re taken by the widow woman.” Stanley was cackling. And there was no other word for it.
Feelings surged through him and Ryan had to clamp them down tight. “Wouldn’t do much good, Stanley. Sure I can help in her bakery. Take my nephews go-karting. But...”
“But what?” Stanley looked mystified.
Couldn’t the man see? Lurching to his feet, Ryan limped to the door. “Maybe you missed something but I’m a gimp-legged fool. Sarah was married to Jamie––honor roll student, football star and war hero. What would she ever want with me?”
Outside a storm was brewing, rattling the doors on the service bays. After today, he might lie in bed tonight and think of Sarah, all warm curves and sparkling eyes set off by that darn red scarf.
“Ryan, there’s a lot more to a man than the way he walks.”
“Easy for you to say. I feel like a reject, and I did this to myself.” The words cast a familiar gloom over him. “And I’ll probably pull something just as stupid in the future.”
“Not if you think first. Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Stanley laced his hands behind his head, staring up at the fluorescent light like it had some answers. “Every man makes mistakes. My wife was a patient woman. Sarah seems like that kind of girl, someone who’s interested in more than looks.”
“Easy for you to say. Your son can walk into the Rusty Nail and have the attention of every woman in the place without even trying.”
Stanley snorted. “Yeah and look where that landed him. He’s lucky he got Phoebe back after that one indiscretion. You can be a sour puss but you’re not hard on the eyes.”
“Thanks, Stanley,” Ryan gritted out. “That’s real comforting.”
“Look, that accident could have been worse. You weren’t wearing a helmet and you might have left your face scraped right
off on the asphalt.”
“I really need to be reminded of that.”
Stanley was pleased with himself, like a father who’s delivered a speech he’d had stored away. “So it’s the limp, is that it?”
He wished the old man would give it a rest. “Yeah. I’m the gimp with a limp.”
“No, you’re the man who has to learn how to woo a widow.” With one leg resting on his other knee, Stanley patted a black boot. “Seems to me you’ve been punishing yourself instead of looking for solutions. Listen, I know this shoemaker up in St. Joe.” And Stanley laid out a plan.
“Is it all right if I take some time off tomorrow?” Ryan asked, slowly digesting Stanley’s idea.
“I’ll have to ask the boss.” Stanley stood up and yawned. “Yep, fine with him. Now I have to drive home to bed and you need a good night’s sleep. Courting a widow woman requires energy.”
Ryan chuckled all the way up the stairs.
~.~
Sarah barely had time to feed the boys and get them ready for bed. Her book group was coming. Although they’d talked about skipping this month, in the end they decided to bring their favorite cookies and talk about classic Christmas stories. Then no one would have to read a new book. At least that was the plan.
But this group hardly ever stuck to the plan.
“Why do we have to go to bed so early?” Nathan complained as she tucked him in.
“Because Mommy’s friends are coming over. And you have school tomorrow.”
“You sound just like my teacher.” He sounded way older than kindergarten and it broke her heart. “But we’re going to see Santa this Saturday, right?”
“You promised,” Justin threw in from the other twin bed.
“Yes, Grandma will mind the shop during the Holiday Walk. And we’ll see Santa.”
“Good. I’ve got my list. And so does Justin.” Nathan hunched down under his covers.
Sarah’s heart sank. How long were their lists? This Christmas she was on such a tight budget. But she wouldn’t think about that now.
Tucking the comforter under Nathan’s chin, she smoothed the strawberry blonde curls from his eyes. In time the hair would turn chestnut, just like his daddy. Just like Ryan. “Sleep tight, sweetheart. But remember, Santa has a lot of boys and girls to give presents to at Christmas. He can’t give children everything on their list.”
