by Darci Hannah
Jack gave a noncommittal shrug. “Artsy. Very artsy and very Gold Coast Chicago. You two should get along just fine.”
I wrinkled my nose at him. “Just because I worked in advertising when I lived in Chicago doesn’t make me artsy or Gold Coast. I’m a baker.”
This made him laugh. “And a darn good baker at that. Okay, Bloom,” he finally said, leading me toward his police station. “Let’s get those knees of yours cleaned up. And I need a shower. Do you think you could manage a pot of coffee while I do? Oh, and if you wouldn’t mind, the kids are out back. I know how you love my kids. I promised them they could play on the roof this morning. Do you think you can handle that as well?”
I wasn’t exactly gloating, but I was happy. Jack was talking to me again. He was at ease in my company, and that was a huge victory. “Of course,” I said, regarding the coffee. Coffee brewing was second nature to me. Jack’s kids, however, were another matter altogether. Getting those two hellions on the roof? I wasn’t entirely certain the roof was the best place for them, but, for the sake of our friendship, I would give it my best try.
Three
Jack’s kids weren’t really kids at all, well, not in the human sense of the word at any rate. They were two little billy goats, brothers he’d inherited when taking up residence in the odd little police station. The picturesque building had been a Scandinavian boutique and gift shop, and somewhat of a tourist attraction before the village purchased it. That was shortly after Jack’s father had fallen ill. Jack, an up-and-coming police detective in Milwaukee, had resigned from his job to be with his parents during what was undoubtedly a hard time for the MacLaren family. Shortly thereafter, at the urging of the village, Cherry Cove hired its very own police officer and presented him with the iconic building, where he now both lived and worked. Everyone knew Jack was overqualified for the job, but from all accounts he didn’t seem to mind the change of pace, or being back in Cherry Cove where he could better look after his widowed mother. The goats, however, were a little more than he had bargained for.
If Jack’s goats had real names I didn’t know what they were. He simply referred to them, albeit ironically, as Thing One and Thing Two—a nod to the whirlwind duo in The Cat in the Hat. Jack swore that he didn’t know which goat was which but claimed MacDuff did. Naturally, after setting up the coffee pot to brew, I called MacDuff. The dog ran to the back door and nosed a couple of leashes hanging there. I got the hint and grabbed them, following MacDuff into the garden. He ran to the little goat shed that was a miniature version of the police station.
Two little be-horned brown-and-white heads poked out of the framed window. They looked innocent enough with their long floppy ears and inquisitive eyes. Their chins were tufted with a hint of a beard—one white and the other brown. The fact that Jack couldn’t tell them apart was just laziness. As MacDuff and I approached the velvety ears began twitching, preceded just slightly by excited head bobs. Soft bleating came next, and then, as if a switch had been flipped, they both began to scream.
I had forgotten about the screaming.
Jack didn’t know why they did that, but suspected they were narcissists and loved the attention. Screaming goats on a police station roof were hard to ignore, and, as if Mac Duff’s barking wasn’t enough, the goats always managed to alert Jack that someone was approaching.
After a short bout of wrestling with each kid, the leashes were finally secured. However, like two demons possessed, the moment we left the shed the goats bolted for the garden gate, dragging me along with them. MacDuff, barking excitedly, ran after us.
It occurred to me the moment Thing One and Thing Two decided to split up and head in opposite directions—One for the lake and Two for the town—that goats might not be leash-ready pets. In fact, shortly before both my shoulders were torn from their sockets, I was positive. I had no choice but to let go of one of the leashes, and I was sorry to think that my decision was driven solely by the arm that was about to go first. The lucky goat was Thing Two of the brown beard. He wasted no time dashing down the street, aiming for the large, shiny object bounding down the front steps of Cheery Pickers, the eclectic antique boutique owned by one of my best friends, Taylor Robinson. Thing One of the white beard was pulling me toward the lake where MacDuff, having shot across the street the moment he realized my hands were, literally, tied, was now racing up and down the beachfront spooking seagulls into the air. The goat began to scream at the dog while bouncing at the end of the leash like a caffeinated child on a pogo stick.
My newly bandaged knees had just stopped bleeding and the palms of my hands had a bad case of road rash, and all I could think to do was pray that Jack was still in the shower. It had taken weeks to get the man talking to me again. If I lost his goats and his dog on the same morning, he’d never forgive me.
MacDuff, thankfully, responded to his name on the third try. By then every seagull had been thoroughly terrorized and was nervously circling the beach. With that job done—because it was obvious he thought it his duty—he next set upon the goat with the same enthusiasm. The goat, with horns lowered, made a run for the dog but MacDuff was quicker. He got a hold of Thing One’s tail, gave it a good yank, and then ran for the police station garden. Thing One took the bait and ran after the dog. Because I was still holding the leash, I ran after him too. Once the garden gate was firmly shut with both animals secured, I set out for Thing Two, now in the possession of the large shiny man in front of Tay’s shop.
My jaw dangled in disbelief as I approached.
“My Lady! Would this noble creature belong to you?”
The man, a large fella, was encased in a full suit of medieval armor. I was utterly dumbfounded. For the flash of a second, I thought I’d crossed some invisible time barrier, falling back five hundred years and onto a different continent. I had read my share of time-travel romances and was, unfortunately, open to the possibility. But I was clearly still in Cherry Cove. The man was holding Thing Two by the horns. To be totally honest, I was a little disappointed that time travel hadn’t taken place. It was just an eccentric dude in shiny armor parading outside Tay’s store.
Wrangling the wayward goat, however, was the feat of a real hero. And the knight, for that’s what he was, was in character. Maybe he was the time traveler, I mused, a little breathless at the thought. Of the man himself, I could see nothing. His armor, on the other hand, was magnificent. The polish of the metal was near mirror quality, and there were intricate flourishes of cobalt blue on the breastplate and visor. It must have cost a small fortune, in any century. Then I noticed the two little dents on his left thigh. It didn’t take a huge leap of the imagination to guess what had made those. I cast Thing Two a look of disapproval.
“My Lady? The goat?”
“Ah, yes. No.” I fought to regain my composure. “No. It’s not mine. I’m just goat-sitting for a friend.” As I took the leash, I wondered why armor had fallen out of fashion. It was such a good look on a man. “Sorry about those dents,” I said, and gestured to his thigh.
“Dents?” The helmeted head bent while at the same time the thigh in question rose. A moment later came the muffled cry, “Holy shit!”
So much for the chivalric code. It hadn’t occurred to me that he didn’t know the little horns had left marks. I looked at Thing Two with newfound respect.
“What I meant to say,” the knight continued, slipping back into character, “was never worry, fair maiden. Your little beast has the heart of a lion and the aim of a dangerous child. Is he meant for the grill? If so, I claim the head.”
The knight, only partially joking, took off his helmet. The moment he did, a fall of lustrous, caramel-colored hair emblazoned with summer highlights tumbled to his shoulders. It suddenly dawned on me who this man was.
“You’re Lance Van Guilder, Tay’s boyfriend!” I’d nearly forgotten. Lance was Tay’s current man. I’d been living in Chicago when they’d met but
had heard all about him. Tay said that he was a jouster on the Renaissance fair circuit. I guess I’d thought she was just being metaphorical about his abilities. I now realized she’d been serious. I had to hand it to her—Lance fit her type to a tee. Tay liked her men long-haired, muscly, and shirtless. I assume she made an exception for the armor. I know I would have. “I’m Whitney,” I told him, extending a hand. “I’m one of Tay’s friends.”
“Whitney Bloom!” he cried, his eyes creasing with delight. “Of course. I’ve heard all about you.” He lowered his voice and added, “and all about that terrible incident this spring. Sorry I missed it.” He gave the air a violent swipe with his imaginary sword, as if slaying a foe. I appreciated the gesture. “Tay said you’ve moved back to Cherry Cove. Said you’re helping your parents run their inn. Sweet. Great to finally meet you. Want some help with that goat?”
We arrived at the police station in time to see Jack, dressed in his police blues, leaning against the doorway with a cup of coffee in hand. He was clearly enjoying the spectacle of the long-haired man in full battle armor carrying his wayward goat, and me beside him holding the leash. Jack raised a ruddy eyebrow, then came out to retrieve his naughty pet.
“I see you didn’t get my kids onto the roof, Bloom, abandoning the task for a knight in shining armor instead. Typical.”
Ignoring his sarcasm, and both sets of grins, I introduced the man in question. “This is Lance Van Guilder. He’s Tay’s boyfriend. He’s a professional jouster.”
“Ah!” Jack said and shook the man’s hand. “Now it makes sense. Nice to finally meet you, Lance. Hope this little guy didn’t cause you too much trouble. He’s not exactly working with a full set of horns, if you get my meaning. I once saw him head-butt a rock. Oh, damn.” Jack’s eyes had settled on the two glaring dents in Lance’s armor. “Did he …?”
“Came straight at me. At speed, no less. Didn’t even know what hit me until it was too late. On a brighter note, I think I stunned him.”
“Serves him right, the little brute.” Jack cast a wary eye over his goat. “Come inside.” He beckoned with a gracious sweep of his hand. “Whitney’s made coffee. I’ll join you in a minute, as soon as I get the kids safely on the roof.”
While Jack was tending to his animals, Tay came over to the station and joined us for coffee. She was positively beaming. From the roots of her chic, deep-red hair down to her gold-painted toenails, she radiated happiness. Like Hannah, Tay was one of my oldest friends. We’d all met in third grade. Hannah, who displayed more volatile emotions, had wildly varying tastes where men were concerned. Not Tay. She had a type. But still, a Renaissance fair jouster? A man perhaps as eccentric as she was. How strange the heart is, I mused, casting a covert glance at Jack.
After introductions and a bout of pleasant conversation, the knight excused himself to go change out of his armor. Although Lance was a metal artist himself, Tay explained, and worked in the off-season creating metal sculptures, he also made his own armor. However, having recently come into a bit of money, he just couldn’t resist purchasing a top quality suit from a renowned armorer. It was the equivalent, according to Tay, of an up-and-coming fashion model splurging on a Versace gown. Lance was in town for the summer, she happily informed us. He was performing at a nearby Renaissance fair just outside of Sturgeon Bay. The armor had arrived at her shop yesterday and Lance had been trying it on for size.
“Isn’t he something,” she remarked, smiling like a cat who’s just won a long battle with a very wily mouse. Knowing my own issues regarding Jack, she was watching us closely. Obviously, the fact that I was there meant that Jack was talking to me again. Emboldened by this phenomenon, Tay added, “I’m excited that Lance is finally getting to meet my friends. Hey, I have a fabulous idea. Why don’t we all go to the Renaissance fair together and watch him joust? This Saturday he’s up against the Green Knight. Lance is the fabled Black Knight. He’s the favorite to win, but one never knows. Jousting’s a fickle sport. It should be exciting to watch. And if jousting’s not your thing, you two can eat turkey legs, drink mead, and get hit on by busty wenches.”
“Busty wenches,” Jack repeated with the ghost of a grin. “Sounds like a dream, but I need to take a rain check. I have to work. It’s the height of the tourist season and I’m the only cop around here.”
“Lame excuse.” She rolled her eyes and turned to me.
“Honestly, I’d love to. But I’m going to have to take a rain check as well. We have an important guest arriving on Saturday and Mom will kill me if I’m not there to greet her. I promise I’ll go see him joust, but not this weekend. Can we reschedule in a week or two?”
“Sure.” Tay leaned over her mug, her brown eyes sparkling with intrigue. “Important guest? Who?”
“Some painter named Silvia Lumiere.”
“No way,” she said, striking a look somewhere between awe and disbelief. “She’s really staying at the inn—even after what happened in the cherry orchard?”
“I think she’s staying at the inn because of what happened,” I confided. “Very sensational, and she’s getting quite a deal. You obviously know her. Jack knows her too, but he’s not one to gossip.”
“Damn right,” he said, and got up to retrieve the coffee pot. Refilling our mugs, he added, “In most cases I think it’s best that people form their own opinions of others, unless, of course, the person is known to be dangerous. In that case it’s a matter of duty. You can rest assured, Whitney, that Silvia Lumiere is not dangerous.”
“No, she’s not,” Tay agreed. “I’m surprised you don’t know her. She’s been coming to Cherry Cove for years. She’s a big deal in the artist community. A very talented, very well-known painter.”
“So I gather. Mom’s been gushing over the news.”
Tay grinned. “If I was pressed to offer an opinion on the lady, I’d say that her one glaring flaw is that she’s very aware of her talent.”
The fact that Jack was smirking into his steaming mug was a sure sign he agreed.
“Gotcha. Noted. Years of working in advertising has taught me how to ‘manage’ the talent. We’re hoping to rebuild the image of the Cherry Orchard Inn, and I think having Ms. Lumiere as our guest will do wonders for the morale of our staff as well as our guests.”
“I hope so,” Tay agreed. “The Cherry Orchard Inn should have nothing to fear. You’re a top-notch establishment, but I would think she’ll only stay a week or so. You’re pricey, and rumor is that although Ms. Lumiere likes to fly first class, she doesn’t like to pay for it.”
Now Jack was smiling. It was an outright grin of silent revenge. I ignored him. “Actually, she’s staying a bit longer than a week.”
“The rest of the summer,” Jack informed Tay. “Which means that Whitney is going to be very busy.”
“I like being busy,” I told them both. “In fact, I’ve volunteered to do all the baking for the high tea we’re throwing in Ms. Lumiere’s honor. It’s this Sunday. I hope your knight isn’t jousting on Sunday as well? I want you to come.”
“He is,” Tay said, rolling her eyes. “However, as much as I like staring at him, I can’t watch every jousting match Lance is in. It’s not healthy. So count me in. And I’ll let Char know as well, if she hasn’t already heard.”
Char was Tay’s mother. Up until last year we’d always referred to her as Mrs. Robinson, but then we were told not to. The name Mrs. Robinson, of course, is rife with connotations of an older woman seducing a younger man, and since that’s exactly what Tay’s mom had done with Todd—a man four years older than her daughter—she’d insisted that we start calling her by her first name.
“Char will rally the troops,” Tay added. “Which, I’m afraid, also means Todd will be joining her.” She made a face at this last remark.
“Excellent. Jack?”
Jack looked up from his coffee and grinned. “Not my cup of tea, I’m afrai
d. But I’ll tell Ingrid.” Ingrid was his mom, a lovely woman who had come to Cherry Cove from Sweden when she was just sixteen. Jack, in a slightly mocking tone, added, “She’s not one to miss such an important event.”
As soon as Tay left, Jack offered to drive me home. It was a quiet ride until the moment he pulled up to the inn’s entrance. I was about to get out of his police-issue SUV when he spoke.
“Hey. Do you want to run downhill again with me tomorrow?” The question was tentatively spoken, and for a minute I thought he was joking. But he wasn’t. This was his olive branch.
“I would,” I replied, sincerely. “A girl’s got to start somewhere.”
“Yes, she does. But not many get to start at the top of the hill.” He grinned. Jack had a heart-melting grin. “Want me to text you when I’m ten minutes out?”
“Not necessary. Your movements are like clockwork. You should really mix it up a bit if you don’t want people tracking you. See ya tomorrow at 6:15.”
Jack looked amused. I watched as he drove away, then walked inside the inn, realizing that for the first time in weeks I was excited to get to work.
Four
S aturday evening I was in the kitchen with Bob Bonaire, the head chef for the Cherry Orchard Inn’s renowned dining room, when a tall, blond-headed teenager barged through the kitchen door, breathing heavily and holding a pair of binoculars.
“She’s here! She’s here, Ms. Bloom.”
Having just pulled eight cherry pies from the oven, the inn’s signature dessert, I turned and looked at the boy. His body was full of drama while his voice held a hint of scandal. “You said you wanted to know as soon as she was spotted. Well, I have … spotted her, that is. She’s coming up the drive. And I should warn you, she doesn’t travel lightly … or alone.” This last bit he added with a weighted look, clarifying the reason for the scandalous tone.
I set down my knife and looked at the young man.