Blackberry Cove

by Roxanne Snopek

  Then he chided himself. Roman had become a de facto family member, so naturally, information would be shared around.

  He should be grateful. He was grateful.

  Still, guilt etched the inside of his stomach. He was Roman’s family.

  “He’s got some new soft tissue damage,” he told them. “Not much they can do for him except physio and rest.”

  He heard Abby’s voice, speaking with someone in the other room.

  Daphne leaped to her feet. “There she is. I’ll fix a couple of plates. After the night you’ve had, you both need a true Daffy special.”

  Abby entered the kitchen, pulled up the stool next to him, and accepted the mug Olivia passed her.

  “Sounds perfect.” Abby took her first sip, closed her eyes, and moaned. “Oh my, this is ambrosia from heaven.”

  The gravelly sound she made in the back of her throat traveled through the countertop, up into Jon’s elbows, and then down to the base of his body, resonating like a tuning fork in his groin. He almost groaned, himself, in response.

  The woman sounded like sex, personified. How could someone who looked so innocent have such a smokey, enticing voice?

  She gripped the mug with both hands, her fingers long and graceful, her skin smooth. Her nails were unpainted, clipped short and square. A small tattoo graced the inside of her left wrist, a symbol, a stylized semicolon set inside a heart.

  His pulse jumped. He knew what that meant.

  The writer in him loved her use of the symbol, the simple elegant pause indicating that there was more to come in a sentence, a story.

  A life.

  Yes, there was definitely more to Abigail Warren than met the eye. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

  She wasn’t wearing a lick of makeup, she’d dressed in a plain white T-shirt and clean denims that hugged her thighs nicely when she sat but were meant more for work than as a fashion statement. She smelled of soap and fresh water, no artificial scents or perfume.

  There was nothing about her that indicated awareness of how attractive she was and certainly nothing to make him think she had any inklings of the sexual sizzle he’d felt arcing between them last night.

  But it was there. And it was real.

  Wasn’t it?

  Lost in worry and fatigue as he’d been, he might have misinterpreted her kindness as something more. She’d been there for him at a moment of emotional vulnerability and that had spawned a sense of intimacy.

  Now, in the light of day, he reminded himself that she was doing a good deed for Roman, her friend and neighbor. It wasn’t personal, it certainly wasn’t directed at Jon. If there was a sizzle, he was the only one feeling it.

  “Spinach and goat cheese omelet, bacon, buckwheat pancakes with maple syrup, and fruit salad,” Daphne announced. “But you can get started with these.”

  She set a plate of steaming muffins in front of them. They smelled amazing, rich with spices and fruit and toasted nuts.

  Jon’s stomach made an audible growl.

  Abby looked at him and laughed. “Someone’s hungry.”

  The nerves in his belly rippled at the sound, as if she’d run her finger along the notches of his spine, the way a child would drag a stick along a picket fence. That throaty chuckle made the most innocent comments sound like foreplay. Surely she knew that. Surely someone had told her the effect it had on a man. Maybe it was time someone reminded her.

  Jon angled his head toward Abby and lowered his voice. “You have no idea.”

  Chapter Six

  It had been a long time since anyone had flirted with Abby, especially someone like Jon. Stellar good looks were one thing. She’d seen a lot of good-looking men. But honorable, hardworking, and kind, too?

  Those were not thick on the ground, in her experience.

  The ripped body she’d glimpsed beneath the sweaty T-shirt while they were mopping up the bathroom didn’t hurt either.

  To cover her confusion, she broke open a muffin and took a bite. “These are great, Daphne.”

  She tasted banana, apples, carrots, and nuts. She tried not to smile. This was her recipe, the one Daphne said she’d never try.

  Don’t gloat.

  She focused on the flavors but triumph—and Jon beside her—kept tugging her lips upward.

  Delicious food.

  Delicious man.

  “I see your face.” Daphne trained her eagle eye on the two of them, searching.

  Abby felt the hair on her arm quiver, as if the space between her and Jon was electrified. It took all her energy not to look at him and she was unable to squelch that smile.

  Fortunately, Daphne was preoccupied with something else.

  “Yes, Abby,” she said with a huff. “It’s your recipe and yes, they are delicious, despite the reduced sugar. I wouldn’t have guessed it but it’s not too late to teach this old dog a few new tricks.”

  A few weeks ago, someone in her book group had contributed a plate of muffins that had offended Daphne’s foodie sensibilities. She couldn’t get over it.

  “‘No sugar!’” Daphne said, mimicking the excited voice of an acquaintance. “‘No shit,’ said I. Who brings flavorless bran bricks to a book club meeting? The discussion was supposed to be about celebrating our woman power under the magical Mediterranean sun, not how we can improve our—”

  “Daphne.” Olivia glanced meaningfully toward the great room, where a few guests lingered over their coffee before the trail ride planned for the morning. “I hope you didn’t say it out loud.”

  Abby tucked her chin and sipped her coffee, hoping to hide the amusement that the cook’s outrage often evoked.

  “Me, I’m the soul of discretion.” She gave a little sniff. “And I’m happy to report that my individual salted caramel cheesecakes were a huge hit. Good thing I made a double batch.”

  “I love those,” Abby said. “They are definitely decadent and worthy of a social event.”

  Daphne gave an emphatic nod. “Right? I’ve taught you well, my child. And now I can show them that good flavor and good nutrition are not mutually exclusive. You’ve also taught me, young grasshopper.”

  Abby tossed a wadded-up paper towel at her, aware that Jon was watching their interaction.

  “Will you be okay today, Abby?” Olivia’s lined face was full of concern. “You’ve been burning the candle at both ends. Perhaps you should take a nap.”

  Olivia’s concern warmed Abby’s heart but she shook her head. “Weeds wait for no woman. The sun is finally shining and the tulips are about to open. I want to make sure everything is perfect for the festival.”

  “Festival?” Jon asked. He’d finished his pancakes and was working on the omelet now.

  “Every year Sunset Bay runs a festival to raise funds for the community center,” Olivia explained. “The festival includes a garden hop, and this year, thanks to Abby and Quinn, Sanctuary Ranch is participating. It’s basically an open house that starts when the tulips open and ends when they’re done flowering. Usually about three weeks, maybe more if the weather cooperates. Gayle, my partner, is on the town council now and suggested we join in.”

  “Suggesting is the easy part, isn’t it?” Daphne said, arching one eyebrow severely. “But will Gayle be here when people are trampling all over hell’s half acre, littering and scaring the horses?”

  “The garden hop will be great, Daphne,” Olivia replied evenly. “Gayle will help if she can. She’s got a lot on her mind right now. I’m glad that she thought of us.”

  There was a strange undertone to her voice. Abby hadn’t seen Gayle’s car outside Olivia’s cabin for some time, nor had Gayle been around for meals lately. If she and Olivia were going through something, Abby hoped it wasn’t serious. Their relationship had weathered many storms. They’d even been talking about marriage at one point.

  “How does the garden hop work?” Jon asked.

  “I think Daphne explained it quite well,” Jamie said. “It’s basically an invasion.”
She pushed the bowl of carrots aside and began shredding glossy green kale leaves. Another win for the covered winter garden, Abby thought. Still, she looked forward to the fresh, baby veggies they’d be enjoying in a month or two.

  “Come on, you guys. Where’s your team spirit?” Olivia pursed her lips, then addressed Jon again. “People buy tickets, which allow them admission to participating gardens. All proceeds go to funding the new library, so it’s an excellent cause. Abby has such a green thumb that our property has never looked better. Now I’m afraid it’s asking too much.”

  “Not at all, Liv.” She glanced at Jon. She didn’t want him feeling bad that she’d spent the previous day with Roman. “I’ve had tons of help. Plus, I enjoy it.”

  She’d done the bulk of the garden design and planting the previous fall. Huck and Ezra had helped place the flagstones for the lookouts, and Tyler and Duke had dumped wheelbarrows full of soil, manure, and mulch where she directed. Everyone had pitched in, hauling bags and boxes of bulbs and tubers and roots and dormant perennials.

  She was excited, if a little nervous, that it was almost showtime.

  “The ranch is already such a busy place,” Jon said. “Won’t having strangers touring through disrupt your usual routine?”

  “My question exactly.” Daphne scraped the last morsel of omelet onto a plate and set it in front of Jewel, but the dog only gave it a sniff, before turning her head away. “Everyone’s a critic,” Daphne muttered.

  “We’ll all have to pitch in,” Olivia said. “It will be good for the ranch, and much as I hate to bring this up, we can use the exposure.”

  “Ah. The truth comes out.” Jamie popped a chunk of carrot into her mouth, crunched loudly, then spoke around it. “It’s advertising.”

  Olivia didn’t bat an eye at Jamie’s comment. “This winter was slow. We have a little ground to make up.”

  Abby knew that the ranch was financially secure. Funding for the original land purchase had come from a combination of the buy-out package Olivia had received from her previous job in San Francisco, and the life insurance amount paid to Haylee following the death of her father, Olivia’s brother. The tourist trade kept the day-to-day cash flowing.

  “Most of our guests have discovered us through personal references,” Olivia continued, “and we’ve been fortunate to have an extraordinarily loyal following. With a few exceptions.”

  “Remind me, what’s the metric?” Daphne said, looking up from the skillet she was scouring in the sink. “You need ten good reviews for every bad one?”

  Olivia sighed. “At least.”

  “Ah,” Jon said. “I’m beginning to see. A couple of unhappy campers causing trouble?”

  “We had”—Olivia paused and looked down at her coffee cup—“a bit of a public relations issue last summer.”

  “She means me.” Jamie said the words matter-of-factly. “I wasn’t always the image of sweetness and light that you see before you now.”

  Abby knew that her friend still struggled with guilt over the events that had occurred the previous year, even though she’d been vindicated and had in fact, been hailed a hero.

  “I can’t recall if you were here then or not. The local paper chose to print a biased version of an event Jamie was involved in,” Olivia explained.

  Daphne slammed a cupboard door closed. “They lied.”

  “They printed a retraction, Daphne,” Olivia said.

  Jamie snorted. “You’re a reporter, right, Jon? You know how it goes.”

  “I certainly do. Stories headline front page, above the fold, twenty point Times New Roman. Retractions land on page eight, below the grocery ads, barely big enough to read.” Jon shifted in his seat and Abby saw a dull flush rise above the collar of his shirt. “I remember and I’m sorry that happened. I didn’t realize it had caused ongoing problems.”

  “Oh, it hasn’t and it wasn’t the paper’s fault.” Olivia reached out and touched his arm, as if recognizing his discomfort. “But it made me realize that we don’t have enough brand recognition in town. If more people knew who we are, what we do, what we stand for, that complaint would never have gotten off the ground. So, we’re joining the festival in hopes that it will take away some of the mystery, let the people in the Sunset Bay area know that Sanctuary Ranch is something to be proud of.”

  Abby pushed a forkful of eggs around on her plate, her appetite suddenly gone. She hoped that the bulb garden and surrounding landscaping would live up to Liv’s expectations.

  “Maybe I can help.” Jon leaned back in his chair. “Is the local paper covering the festival?”

  “They’ve listed all the garden hop participants on the local community activities page.”

  His eyes glinted a deep hyacinth blue. “How about I write a short piece about the ranch? Small publications are always looking for material. I’m a decent enough photographer, too, so I could provide them with art. They’d jump at it, I’m sure.”

  “But surely you’ve got more important things to do.” Olivia frowned. “Don’t you usually have magazine assignments to work on while you’re here with Roman?”

  A shadow drifted across his face, so quickly Abby wondered if she’d imagined it.

  “I’m, uh, on something of a sabbatical.” Jon glanced around the room. “You all have done so much for my dad. If this would help you, please let me. As a thank-you. From both of us.”

  “What kind of piece?” Daphne’s voice held deep skepticism. “I don’t want my private life out there for anyone to pick through.”

  Abby tightened her grip on her mug. She felt the same way.

  “The content is entirely up to you.” He stood up and started walking around the kitchen, tapping his index finger against his bottom lip.

  Abby closed her eyes briefly and forced her shoulders to relax. Jon meant this as a favor. Of course he would respect their privacy.

  “A local interest story, featuring a hospitality business with unusual charitable endeavors. Everyone loves dogs. I’d love to include how Jamie helped Dad with Chaos.”

  Jamie’s face lit up. “Really? That would be awesome.”

  “And the therapy horses,” Jon went on, “especially the ones you rescued from slaughter, Olivia.”

  “Nothing about Duke,” Olivia said, nibbling on the corner of her lip. “He’s still in the system. What about you, Sage?”

  “I’ll talk if Haylee talks.” She looked down at the playpen. “Sal and I have nothing to hide anymore.”

  “I suspect your mother would happily participate.” Olivia smiled at Jon. “We’ve got enough stories for a book. I won’t speak for anyone else, or ask anyone to be interviewed unless they’re comfortable with it. But I think it’s a great idea, Jon. Thank you for suggesting it.”

  “No, Olivia, thank you.” His warm smile encompassed them all. Then his gaze settled on Abby and she forgot to breathe. “I know exactly where I’ll start.”

  * * *

  Jon followed his nose into the kitchen where Daphne was just taking a baking tray out of the oven. His brief e-mail pitch to Ambrose Elliott, the managing editor of Sunset Bay Chronicle, had yielded an almost immediate positive response, provided Jon could deliver the piece promptly. The Washington Post, it wasn’t. It wasn’t Rolling Stone, it wasn’t the Tribune, or the Herald or Economist or Vogue or Elle or any other publication that might take pride of place on a curriculum vitae. It was a regional magazine and as such, well . . . it could be worse.

  Jon suspected that it was his offer to write the piece pro bono that had cinched the deal.

  He was starting with the cook because she loved to talk, she loved Abby and she was interesting in her own right. Like most of the ranch staff, she had a rocky past, had even done a stint in prison. But she was cagey. Would she share anything worth writing about?

  “That smells heavenly,” he said. “What is it?”

  She set the metal pan onto a large wooden board. “Blueberry buttermilk coffee cake. Some people say that eating baked
goods will kill you. I say, move your ass and you’ll be fine. It’s sitting in front of a computer all day that’ll kill you.”

  Jon pulled out his tablet. “Speaking of which, can I quote you on that?”

  “For your article? Sure thing. I’m a font of wisdom. More people should listen to me.” She cut a slice of the steaming cake, set it onto a plate, and pushed it toward him. “I’ve got fresh coffee, too. Want some?”

  Jon smiled inwardly. It wasn’t the first time he’d been bribed by someone who wanted to come out looking good in an article. “You bet. I don’t know how much will end up in the finished piece, but any background you’d like to share is welcome. Let’s start with what you do, who you work with. A day in your life.”

  He lifted a forkful to his mouth. Beneath the crumbly topping, the cake was buttery soft and light, bursting with warm juicy berries.

  “Let’s see.” Daphne peeked inside the pot on the stove. “I’m Chief Cook and Bottlewasher here at Sanctuary Ranch. I like my job, I’m good at it and I dare you to find better people anywhere on the planet. I also like old movies, long walks on the beach, and singing in the rain. I use my power for good, not evil, and believe everything goes better with a nice merlot. How’s that?”

  Great, if this was a personal ad but not exactly what he was looking for.

  “It’s a little generic,” he said. “Let’s back up. Tell me about the ranch itself. What made Olivia Hansen, a successful software executive, cash in early and start a ranch with her orphaned niece?”

  He’d already been told bits and pieces about the ranch’s history from Jamie and Haylee, while they worked with Roman and his dog. But different perspectives were always valuable and the quicker Daphne relaxed, the quicker he could bring the conversation around to Abby.

  “First off,” Daphne said, “Olivia and Haylee share ownership equally. Second, are you looking for dirt on my people, Mr. Byers?”

  He pulled back and blinked at her. “No, of course not.”

  “Then don’t use me for a shovel. Ask me anything you want about old Daffy and I’ll tell you. Unless I don’t want to.” She gave a wicked wink. “Boundaries are important. Good fences make good neighbors, as we say.”