by Karen Rock
“Can we try the corn maze yet?” Emma pointed at the mowed, patterned field he’d completed for the country store’s grand opening on Saturday. A gust lifted her braid and the air grew damp and heavy.
“We haven’t picked our bushel.” He tugged another apple from its branch and tucked it into his bag.
“Please, Pa,” Noah wheedled. “We want to try the treasure hunt.”
“Yeah.” Emma pulled out the punch card meant to track the designated stopping points and provide directions to the next spot. “What if it’s a dud?”
He mock-gasped, clasped his heart and staggered as he pulled the pretend arrow Emma had just fired at him. “You got me,” he choked out.
“No, Clumsy the Clown!” Emma and Noah groaned, giggling, and Cassidy knocked the wind out of him when her beautiful mouth curved into an amused smile.
He did his best Butch Cassidy imitation, turning in a slow circle before collapsing into the yellowing grass with a groan.
“Pa!” Emma and Noah hollered, racing to his side.
At the last minute, he reared up and they scrambled backward, squealing. He chased them in circles, darting through the apple trees, hollering, “You ungrateful kids! I’ll teach you!”
Even Beuford hauled himself to his feet and woofed. After a few minutes, he sniffed the air and lumbered into the maze.
“Beuford!” Noah broke away and sprinted after the dog, Emma hot on his heels.
Daryl leaned against one of the trees, slightly winded. The scent of Cassidy’s exotic, floral perfume reached his nose before he sensed her presence.
“Should we go after them?” Her green eyes shimmered up at him, clear and deep, the color of a hidden lagoon in a forest glade.
“Let’s give them a minute.” Emma and Noah had had few moments to cut loose and just be kids since Leanne’s passing. He hated to take it from them, despite the approaching storm.
“Ten should be enough for us to finish picking the apples.” Cassidy cocked her head at the children’s exuberant shouts rising from the maze. An occasional bark signaled they’d located Beuford. “We’ll go after them if they don’t come out by then.”
“They might not want to leave.” Unable to resist, he tucked a soft wave that had escaped her clip around her ear, then stuffed his hand in his pocket. “You did an excellent job with the clues and treasure spots.”
“You designed the pattern,” she said, a slight catch in her voice.
He caught her eye and held it. “We make a good team.”
An attractive pink bloomed in her cheeks. With her honey-brown hair pulled from her makeup-free face, her lithe frame clothed in a white down jacket, laced-up work boots and jeans showcasing her shapely legs, she looked exactly the way she had the day they’d met. Petite, brunette, flashing green eyes, a small heart-shaped mouth...a very beautiful young woman who could just about bring a man to his knees in simple boots and jeans. In fact, the way she looked in a pair of slacks should be downright illegal...he’d thought...still thought.
They’d reached for the same book at the college store, realized they both came from the Carbondale area, discovered they had a course together and grabbed some coffee before heading to the lecture hall. He couldn’t remember the class, but he’d never forgotten their first conversation—a debate about whether postproduction photography editing was cheating. Both were purists. Both were dreamers. Both had ambitions to document the world someday.
He’d been fascinated by the way her magnetic eyes went from introspective to feisty, her quick, lopsided smile, her exuberantly gesturing hands, and the way her belly laugh shook her shoulders, too. His heart had tumbled, tripping, falling over itself, hard, and he’d thought, I’m going to marry you.
Cassidy squeezed his arm, dragging him back to the present. “Daryl? You okay? You have a funny look on your face.”
His muscle tensed beneath her grip, and he forced himself to back away. “Fine.”
A partly true answer. Cassidy eased Daryl’s heavy heart and confounded it, too. She’d regained her strength and recovered her assertive nature these past few weeks. She was as willing to speak her mind as ever and argue with him directly rather than seethe in silence like Leanne. It was wrong to compare the two women, yet Cassidy drew him, along with unwanted feelings he struggled to keep under wraps. He was a grieving widower, not a single guy hoping to win Cassidy’s hand.
Besides, even if he could pursue her, their lives were complete opposites. Soon she’d grow tired of this small town, stop taking pity on him and his children and grab the next flight to parts unknown. His heart was already broken having lost Leanne, and he wouldn’t risk opening himself up to mourning the loss of another Fulton sister.
“You don’t look fine.” Cassidy closed the distance between them again. This close he noticed the familiar smattering of freckles crossing the bridge of her nose.
“Are you happy?” The question left him too fast to stop.
Her brows flew up. “Why do you ask?”
He studied the grass as he flattened it with his boot tip. “You said you’d planned to stay in Carbondale with me ten years ago... Would you have been happy here?”
When he chanced a glance at her, he saw her pained eyes filled with the same confusion he felt. “I don’t know. I’d like to think so. Look, maybe we should go find the kids.”
“Not yet.” Against his better judgment, he couldn’t let her, or this moment, go.
She stopped and turned slowly. “Daryl, what do you want?”
“To know if you’re happy now.”
Happy enough to stay? he added silently, knowing he had no right to ask it. Or think it, even.
Her teeth worried her bottom lip. “Most times. Especially with the kids.” She cleared her throat. “And you.”
Their gazes tangled. Clung. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. They swayed close enough for their fingers to brush, and the sweet peppermint of her breath reached his nose.
“I don’t hear the kids anymore,” Cassidy whispered.
He gave himself a shake, tore his eyes from her beautiful face and listened. “I don’t either.” Could they be lost?
With the light fading, they might wander from the maze into the greater cornfield and lose their bearings. The predicted storm was rain to freezing rain tonight. If Emma and Noah got caught in it overnight, they’d be exposed to the elements, suffer hypothermia... Without thinking, he laced his fingers in Cassidy’s and sprinted for the entrance.
Just as they plunged into the dense foliage, she yanked him to a stop. “How about we split up? You start at the other end and I’ll begin here. We’ll meet in the middle.”
He nodded. In the distance, thunder boomed, signaling the storm’s arrival. The wind picked up and bent the swaying corn. “We’d better hurry!” He released her hand. “Be careful!” he shouted over his shoulder before racing to the exit.
His heart hammered as he called, “Emma! Noah!”
A faint drizzle fell from the darkening clouds. He turned left, then right, then right again, following the pattern to each stopping point. The last two hadn’t been touched, suggesting Emma and Noah hadn’t gotten this far at least.
His breath rasped harshly in his throat as he sprinted down one row, then across the next. He backtracked at times, in case they’d gone the wrong way. Lightning split the purpling air and thunder crashed hard on its heels.
“Emma!” called Cassidy’s voice in the distance. “Noah!”
They were both getting closer to the middle; where were the children? The rain pelted from the sky now in hard, driving sheets. His body shook beneath his soaked clothes.
“Pa!”
His heart quit beating when he heard his little girl. “Emma!”
“Noah!” Cassidy cried just around the corner.
He rounded the bend and his knees went weak with rel
ief at the sight of the three people he loved most in the world, along with one smelly but endearing dog.
Love.
The thought karate chopped his solar plexus and knocked the wind from him. He didn’t still love Cassidy. Impossible. But he was in danger of falling for her again if he wasn’t more careful.
“We were trying to find Beuford because he went in the cornfield,” Emma babbled, nearly strangling him as she clung to his neck. “Then we got lost.”
“But I heard Aunt Cassidy calling us,” Noah said, crawling onto Cassidy’s lap where she knelt in the mud, oblivious to the torrent flattening her hair to her skull. “And Emma heard Pa, so we knew how to get back.”
“I love you,” he whispered in Emma’s ear, fierce, then set her back on her feet. Then—“Let’s go!”
Cassidy skidded in a wet patch on their race back and smacked the ground, hard. His pulse jetted faster still as he helped her to her feet, running shaking hands over her to check for injuries.
“I’m okay.” She stepped back, and her ankle gave way. “Maybe not... Ouch!”
“You hurt your ankle.” Daryl slid his arm around her waist.
“Is the bone sticking out?” Noah leaned close, eyes wide.
“Call 911!” Emma pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket.
“We won’t get reception out here.” The pummeling rain transitioned into a driving hail. It tapped on the ground and slid like pebbles beneath their feet. “Hold on, Cassidy,” he warned, then scooped her up and cradled her gently against his chest. Lightning split the air and a thunderous boom broke overhead. “Hold on to me!” he hollered to the kids, who slid their fingers through his belt loops. “Run!”
Together, they slipped and skidded their way back to the truck. One family, working together. He wrenched open the passenger door just as the hail transitioned into freezing rain. Relieved, he watched his kids and dog scramble inside to safety. Yet he hesitated to release Cassidy, reluctant to let her go when she fit perfectly in his arms, her heart beating against his, her head tucked beneath his jaw like it belonged there.
They made a good team, all right...only he didn’t expect to win this rematch with her. In fact, he suspected he might lose his heart again in the process.
* * *
CASSIDY BLEW A strand of hair from her flushed faced and ignored the ache in her shoulders as she rolled out another piecrust. Behind her, the country store’s industrial ovens radiated enough heat to beat back the chill seeping around the doorjambs as night descended on Loveland Hills. She sprinkled a dusting of flour over the sticky dough and ran the rolling pin over it, spreading it thinner and thinner. The sweet, fruity scent of the fifty pies she, Sierra and Joy had baked earlier teased her nose. Along with the crumb pies, the apple fritters and cider doughnuts, would they have enough baked goods for tomorrow’s grand opening?
Concerned, she’d stayed on after Joy departed to make supper at Loveland Hills’ main house. She’d offered to feed the kids and Daryl so Cassidy could continue baking.
Daryl...
All day, she’d relived the security of his strong arms as he’d carried her to the truck, the scent of his soapy-clean skin, the thud of his heart against hers. When he’d set her down on the passenger seat, her arms had remained clasped around his neck and she’d had to practically drag them off before she’d given in to temptation to bury her fingers in his thick hair and nestle into his warm, hard body again.
All while his children—Leanne’s children—watched from the back seat.
A groan ripped from her throat. She should have taken the Sudan assignment. Instead of being embroiled in foreign violence and political unrest, living with Daryl posed an ever-increasing threat. With her old resentment for him lessened, her admiration grew more each day. The spontaneous boyfriend of her college years had been replaced by a responsible family man who drew her more. She admired his devotion to his children, his acceptance of them, imperfections and all, and his ability to give unconditional love.
Her father had loved her, too, but he’d expected great things from her and nothing less. Growing up the eldest child, she’d sometimes felt it was her responsibility to make it big and take care of the family. This wasn’t expected of Leanne, not that Cassidy wanted her younger sister to feel the same pressure in that regard. Whether her father intended it or not, she’d always felt as though she had to earn his love, to be worthy of his sacrifices...something she couldn’t do if she spun her wheels in Carbondale and didn’t return to the job of her dreams.
Only she wasn’t certain it was her dream anymore given how frequently she woke with Daryl’s name on her lips.
Was it okay to stay in one place and work less? She’d always believed the marker of a successful life was reaching the highest professional standards. Yet the simple, homey satisfaction of watching Leanne’s country store come to fruition shook her view of life.
She carefully picked up the piecrust, draped it inside a baking tin and scooped seasoned sliced apples into it. The scent of cinnamon stung her nose, and her face contorted as she held in a sneeze.
“Feeling okay?”
Her head jerked up and her breath caught at the sight of Daryl leaning in the doorway holding a sack of flour. She took in his strong jaw, straight nose, heavy brows. Under the weight of the flour, his biceps strained against his blue denim shirt, the width of his shoulders accentuating a narrow waist. A little light brown chest hair peeked out of his opened collar and he lifted his chin in greeting as he sauntered inside. Then his lips curved in a smile and a fluttery sensation filled her belly.
“Cat got your tongue?” he teased, coming up behind her. “How’s the ankle?”
She inhaled a deep breath of the crisp, cotton smell of his freshly laundered shirt and the clean masculine scent of his skin. “Better. Why are you here?”
“Came to lend a hand. Joy mentioned you were still baking and I didn’t want you putting too much pressure on your ankle by standing and making pies till all hours.” When he stooped to place the flour sack on a shelf beneath the counter, she noticed a broad, muscular back and tree-trunk-sized thighs. Men around here must get a pretty good workout just getting through the rugged days of ranch living.
She forced her attention back to her task, measured ingredients into her mixer and attached a dough hook. “You can bake?”
He rolled up his sleeves, revealing muscular forearms. “Why not? I’m an enlightened kind of guy.”
True. Which was exactly the problem. She liked that about him.
Too much.
“Really?” She arched a brow. “Reliable sources say your baked macaroni and cheese stinks.”
He rubbed his jaw as if she’d socked him. “We should have a bake-off... We’ll see who’s the better mac-n-cheeser.”
“I’ll call my manager,” she said, trying and failing to keep herself from smiling. “In the meantime, get some rest. I’ll need you all day for the opening tomorrow and you must be exhausted getting in the last of the hay. I’ve only got a few more pies to go.”
“And you’re not tired from working all day? How about we make an assembly line?” He ambled around the counter to face her. “One of us makes the dough and rolls it out while the other chops the apples and seasons them.”
“That’ll work.” She gave in with a sigh, happier than she ought to be with him near. “I’ll take the apples.”
“Good.” He tied on a green chef’s apron. “I feel like beating up on some dough.”
“Why?” She slipped an apple on the peeler and corer and cranked the handle. “What’s going on?”
“The judge ruled against Pa’s motion to dismiss Neil’s complaint. He agreed Neil had satisfactory cause and is allowing Neil’s case to proceed.” Daryl dumped ingredients into the industrial-sized mixer and flicked on the switch. He raised his voice as it whirred, the hook cutting through the shor
tening and flour. “We go to trial next month.”
“I’m so sorry,” she called over the noise.
Daryl stopped the mixer and scraped the shortening clinging to its sides. “He won’t win.”
“I hope not. The ranch has already faced enough struggles.” Her voice grew husky as she recalled Daryl’s reasoning for why he’d chosen to return to Loveland Hills rather than join her as a photojournalist.
“We’ll manage. We always do.”
They lapsed into silence, both immersed in their work. Yet she couldn’t help but be hyperaware of the brawny man working a hand’s length across from her. There was something about a guy—at least six feet two inches, and two hundred pounds of rock-hard muscle—working in a kitchen with deftness and skill. It melted her resistance faster than butter on a roasted cob of corn.
When he caught her stare, he smiled and reached across the counter, lifting a lock of her hair off her shoulder. “You have flour in your hair. And...butter?”
“Probably. I forgot to put the shield on the mixer the first go-round, right after I’d dropped two dozen eggs on the floor and burned the grease for the fritters.”
“Oh, man,” he said, surprising her with a rich, deep chuckle. “Could you have had a worse day?”
“I’ve had a few,” she said out of the corner of her mouth, thinking of her recent accident and the danger-filled job awaiting her, its appeal waning exponentially by the amount of time spent around one ruggedly handsome cowboy... “Occupational hazard.”
“How’d you get the gunshot wound in your left arm?” He sprinkled flour on the countertop before transferring the dough. “I saw the bandage when you were in the hospital.”