by Jennie Marts
“She would.” Mack carried her bag into the last room on the right. Even though she hadn’t lived here in years, she still considered it her room.
“Speaking of memories,” she said, stepping into the room and getting hit with a swell of nostalgia like a wave in the ocean knocking her to her knees. She ran a hand over the soft fabric of the faded pink and white quilt that was still spread across the bed. “Gram made me this quilt for my sixteenth birthday. I wanted to bring it with me when we moved to New York, but my mom made me leave it here.”
Mack nodded and set the suitcase on the end of the bed. “Sorry about the small accommodations.”
“Are you kidding? This is luxuriously spacious compared to what I’m used to in New York.”
He peered around the small dormer room. “How could this be considered spacious? What do you normally live in? A shoebox?”
“Close. I live in a walk-in closet.”
He frowned and studied her as if he couldn’t quite tell if she was joshing him.
“I’m totally serious. My bedroom is literally the walk-in closet of one of my roommates’ bedrooms. She’s a friend I met in college, and she travels a lot for work. So when she’s gone, I get to sleep in her bed. But when she’s home, I sleep on a futon in the closet.”
He stared at her. “What about all your stuff?”
“It’s in there too. It’s amazing what you can do with a double closet rod and a good storage system.”
“And dare I ask how much you pay to live in a closet?”
She told him the ridiculously high amount she shelled out for her tiny piece of real estate and the privilege to live in the city.
He jerked back. “Are you kidding me? You could rent a five bedroom house for that here. With a yard. And maybe even a pool.” He shook his head. “And you were supposed to be the smart one.”
Hopefully her smarts would land her the promotion she needed to finally move out and be able to afford her own room. She shrugged. “It’s the price you pay to live in New York.”
“Seems like a pretty steep price. Is it worth it?”
“Yes. Of course.” Although being back in Colorado on the ranch with its wide open spaces and panoramic views of the mountains cast a slim shadow of doubt in her mind.
He patted her suitcase. “I’ll leave you to get unpacked then. Although from what you’ve just been telling me and from the weight of that bag, I can’t imagine there’s much you didn’t bring with you.”
“Very funny.” She pushed off the bed and pulled her phone from her pocket. “Before you go, will you take a selfie with me? I want to send it to Gram.” She held the phone out at arm’s length and leaned in next to him.
He twisted his mouth into a snarling grimace, and she snapped a pic.
“Oh that’s a good one. I’m posting that to Insta with the caption, ‘Sighted a grizzly bear in Colorado’,” she teased.
“We don’t have grizzlies in Colorado,” he corrected her.
She shook her head, smiling. “Man, you’re tough.”
He grunted, his mouth wrinkling into a frown. “I don’t really do ‘selfies’.”
“Fine, then we’ll just take a picture.” She held the phone up again and tapped it with her thumb. “Of ourselves.” She nudged him in his stone-hard abs.
That earned the smallest of smiles from him, and she grabbed the shot. Although she knew what would really make him smile. “Do you remember that time we tried to ride one of the cows and I fell off, right into that huge mud puddle?”
His lips curved into a grin, then he let out a laugh. She tapped the screen several times and caught it all. And it was worth the humiliating reminder of that day just to get a shot of him laughing.
Except he was still cracking up.
“Okay, okay. It wasn’t that funny.”
“Oh, yes. It was. I can still see your face. You were so mad.” He pressed a hand to his stomach. “Man, I haven’t thought about that night in years.”
“Glad I could remind you.” She put the phone back in her pocket. “We did have some good times, didn’t we?”
His smile disappeared. “Yeah, we did. A lot of them.” His eyes cut to the antique dresser he stood next to, and he ran his finger over a scratch in the wood. “That’s why it made it awful hard to understand why you never came back.”
She jerked her head back. It was hard for him to understand why she never came back? How hard did he think it was on her to hear he’d gotten married? “I couldn’t come back,” she stated, louder than she’d intended. “My mom and Gram had another falling out, and I wasn’t allowed to come. Plus, I was only seventeen. It’s not like I could jump on a bus and come out on my own.” Although she’d wanted to and had been ready to try.
“It was a long time ago.” He tapped the side of the door jamb as he took another step back through the door and into the hallway. “It doesn’t matter now,” he said, then turned and walked away.
“Savage. Here boy,” Mack hollered into the front yard the next morning. Where did that mutt get to? He’d put him outside twenty minutes ago, and the dog was usually waiting on the front stoop when he came back and opened the door.
He walked a few steps into the yard, whistled, then called the dog’s name again. Nothing. A tiny edge of panic churned in his stomach. This wasn’t like the basset. He was nothing if not predictable.
“Hey, Mack,” a voice called from the direction of Molly’s front porch. Jocelyn’s head poked around the corner of the porch. “Do you happen to be missing a canine with a hangdog face and a penchant for pancakes?”
“Ayup,” he said, blowing out a sigh of relief as he hurried toward the Victorian.
“Well you better come and get him before all the pancakes are gone.”
He rounded the porch and took the steps two at a time. Jocelyn had already gone back inside, but had left the front door ajar, and he stepped inside to the delicious scent of vanilla and maple syrup. A platter full of fluffy pancakes sat on the counter, and his traitorous dog lay sprawled across the kitchen floor.
Savage lifted his head and groaned by way of greeting. Mack knelt down and scrubbed his hand over the dog’s wrinkly neck. “You scared the heck out of me, you silly mutt.” He peered up at Jocelyn. “He doesn’t usually take off like that. He’s always waiting by the door when I open it.”
“I’m sorry,” Jocelyn said. “I should’ve called you. I was in the kitchen making breakfast when I heard him scratching at the door. He came right in and made himself at home when I opened the door, so I figured he must come over and visit Gram often.” She was dressed in cropped jeans and a pastel pink T-shirt that read, “A Bookworm is my Patronus.” Her feet were bare, and her toes gleamed with glossy hot pink polish. She looked cute—younger, and more the way he remembered her—without her designer clothes and with her hair pulled into a messy ponytail on top of her head.
“No, he’s much more of a homebody. And he doesn’t often leave my side for very long.” He scratched his chin, feeling a little bewildered at his dog’s unusual actions. “He must really like you.”
He isn’t the only one.
Mack had tossed and turned the night before, thinking about Jocelyn and replaying their last conversation in his head from the night before. They’d been getting along so well, they were laughing and joking around, and then he’d gone and opened his big fat mouth. He shouldn’t have brought up the fact that she hadn’t come back. Even though it had been all he’d been thinking about. It was great having Joss back in her old room, but it also brought up all the old feelings of hurt and betrayal. And all the questions about why she hadn’t returned.
Although her reaction to his statement brought up even more questions. Why did she act surprised by his comment? And how did she think she had the right to get defensive?
More to the point, why did hanging out in her grandmother�
�s kitchen with her again feel so dang right? And why was he feeling jealous of all the affection she was doling out to his four-footed friend?
“Aww, sweet puppy,” she murmured as she rubbed the dog’s belly with her foot. He groaned again and rolled over to give her more space to rub. “That’s the best compliment I’ve had all week. I’ll take it. And I really like him. He’s good company.”
“Do you have a dog back home? In your spacious closet apartment?”
She shook her head. “No. For obvious reasons. But it stinks, because I love dogs and would love to have one. But with my job, and living in an apartment, it’s just too hard.” She held up a plate. “You up for a short stack?”
His stomach growled in response, and he nodded as he washed his hands then took a seat at the counter. “Sure. They smell delicious.”
She filled a plate with several pancakes then pushed the butter and syrup toward him. “Coffee?”
“Yes, thanks,” he said, the butter he slathered on already melting into the still-warm pancakes. “Just black is good.” He drizzled syrup over the stack and then moaned as he took a bite. “Dang. These are good. You didn’t used to be able to cook.”
“You didn’t used to drink coffee.” She handed him the cup, then picked up her own and took a sip.
He shrugged and nodded to the cup in her hands. “You didn’t either.”
“I still don’t much. I like the flavored creamer much more than I like the coffee. But I do enjoy a cup in the morning.”
“I thought everyone in New York was addicted to their caffeine and spent half their paychecks on expensive coffee drinks.”
She shrugged. “Some do. I prefer fruit smoothies. And my company is really forward-thinking so they have their own coffee shop and cafeteria.”
“Sounds fancy.”
“It probably is. A little. But no fancy cup of coffee compares to the way this one tasted as I sat out on the porch this morning and enjoyed the view of the mountains.”
She had a point. And it made him feel a little better about her that she recognized the fact. She wasn’t totally lost. The girl he once knew was in there somewhere. She just wasn’t “his girl” anymore. “You been up long?”
“Oh yeah. For hours. Time change and all. I called Gram first thing, and she’s in good spirits, but the doctor said they may keep her one more night, just because of the concussion. She wasn’t pleased, but at least there won’t be staff and visitors to oversee today. You’re still just open on the weekends, right?”
He nodded. “Friday through Sunday through the spring, then we’ll go to Thursday through Monday once summer hits. We talked about adding another day this year, but the farm and museum are still such a small operation that the revenue just didn’t support adding the extra volunteers and employees. Although I do have some staff coming in today to help set up for the festival, so you might see some people around.”
“Oh good. That was on my list. I spent the last few hours working on festival stuff, and I went through Gram’s binder again and divided the remaining tasks into four groups. I figured I’d tackle the booths and the publicity and marketing stuff, and you could work on setting up the grounds and the food vendors. How does that sound?”
“Sure.”
“Good. I already created a Facebook event page this morning, sent out some invites, and set up some small ads for it. I created a few graphics and several tweets to use with the hashtag HarmonyHoopla. I tested a few tweets this morning, but I’ve scheduled several more, plus some extra Facebook posts to go out over the next few days. Did you know Gram didn’t even have an Instagram for this place? I had to create one. But it’s going to take weeks to grow a following, so I just posted on my account for now.”
His head spun with all the terminology and details she was describing.
Jocelyn picked up a small notebook and leaned against the counter as she scanned her notes. “I can email you some graphics to post on your social media too. Although I tried to follow you on Instagram and Twitter this morning and couldn’t find you. I figured you must use something clever like YeOldeBlacksmith or ForgedInHarmony or TheBeardedBlacksmith or something.”
“Those do sound clever, and I appreciate the nod to my skilled creativeness, but I’m not actually using any of those names, or any like them, because I don’t have any social media accounts.”
“What?” Her eyes widened as she almost dropped her notebook. “How can you not have any social media accounts? Not even Facebook?”
“I know. It’s hard to imagine that someone could continue to breathe and survive and actually live without social media.” He arched an amused eyebrow, and his lips curved with the slightest grin. “But I somehow manage.”
“How do you keep in touch with people? With the world? With the news and latest happenings?”
“First of all, if you’re getting your news from social media, you’ve got bigger concerns than my lack of tweets. And second of all, there aren’t that many people who I really care about staying in touch with. And if I want to talk to them, I call them. Or send them an email. Or stop by their house.”
She shook her head. “I’m glad to hear you at least have email. But seriously, you need to have at least one social media account. Just to stay connected to the world.”
He took her shoulders and turned her to face out the windows overlooking the farm. “That is my world. And I’m connected to it by being present in it every day. You should try it. Put your phone away and just enjoy life without worrying about posting a silly picture of what you ate or where you walked or updating the world on the last semi-clever thing you thought about.”
She sighed as she shook her head. “I don’t have that luxury. Social media is my job. My livelihood depends on those posts and those silly pictures, and I get paid to share those semi-clever things I think.”
He ducked his head. “Sorry. That last one was a bit of a low blow.”
“You might think this is stupid. But it’s real to me. And social media is often the only way that people have to stay connected. It might seem like it’s all about pictures of food or people posting silly duck-faced poses, but it’s also a way for people to share their lives and to feel tied to the world. And to other people.” She pulled her phone from her pocket and held it up. “This is the future.” She pointed out the window. “And as lovely as it is, that is still the past.”
Her words rankled him like a spur stuck under a saddle. “Well, just like you, that is my livelihood. So I’m going to get out there and do some actual work and not post a single picture or status report about it. And the work will still get done.” He whistled for the dog as he headed toward the door.
“Maybe you shouldn’t knock what you haven’t even tried,” she called to his retreating back.
He turned his head, narrowing his eyes in a cool stare and getting off one last quip before he walked out. “I could say the same to you.”
Chapter Five
Jocelyn shifted from one foot to the other as she stood outside the door to the blacksmith shop. She raised her hand. Should she knock? Or just go in? She could hear music coming from inside the shop, a classic country station, so she was sure Mack was in there. Plus, she’d seen him go in thirty minutes before.
Not that she was watching for him. She’d actually been quite miffed when he’d walked out earlier. But she’d distracted herself from thoughts of him by staying busy the rest of the morning. She’d logged several work hours tackling the coffee house campaign and answering emails, then spent some time making calls and creating new signage for the festival. It was only her growling stomach that told her it was time to stop for lunch.
She’d planned to make a sandwich and figured it was the neighborly thing to do to see if Mack wanted one too. Yeah, right, especially since her neighbor was a six-foot-something bearded hunk.
Stop it, she scolded herself. Her hi
story with Mack was just that—history. It was part of their past.
But hadn’t Mack told her he liked things from the past? Maybe. It felt like they lived in such completely different worlds, and he didn’t seem interested in any part of hers. Which might account for why he hadn’t tried to contact her after she’d left.
They’d promised to write to each other, but he hadn’t kept up his end of that promise. She’d sent him scads of letters, but he hadn’t written her once. It felt like he’d forgotten her as soon as she’d left. Which made his comment the night before feel odd—how could he be upset with her for not coming back when he hadn’t given her any indication that he’d wanted her to?
She’d wanted to ask him why ever since she’d been back—why he hadn’t written her, even once. But there never seemed to be the right time to ask. And maybe she didn’t really want to hear the answer. Especially if it was that he really had forgotten about her and moved on.
Hearing that would devastate her, and she wasn’t ready for him to trample on her heart. Again.
Stop stalling and just go in.
She carefully pushed the door open enough to poke her head in, and spotted Mack. He stood in front of the forge, a rod of iron in his hand. Pulling the rod from the coals, he set it on the anvil, hammered the white-hot end to a point, then stuck it back into the fire. He wore a faded T-shirt with the sleeves ripped off, and he’d tied a leather apron around his khaki Carhartt pants. The navy thermal shirt he’d been wearing earlier hung over the side of the workbench across the room.
Jocelyn slipped inside the door and watched him work. His concentration was on the task in front of him as he took the rod back out and shaped one side of it into a curved curl. The air smelled of smoke and coal and iron. She breathed in the slightly acrid scent that was also filled with memories of time spent in this shop with Mack as he was learning the craft from his grandfather, Hank Talbot.