Mulberry Moon

by Catherine Anderson

  “You won’t find anything,” she told him.

  Ben looked down at her. A tawny eyebrow arched over one eye. “Of course I will. Finn says something’s up here.”

  She didn’t want to sound like a complete flake, but if she let him continue to mess up her shelves, she’d be working for hours to reorganize them. “Finn is telling you there’s something there, but not something we can see.”

  Ben turned toward her and rested his lean hips against the counter’s edge.

  “Are you talking about your ghost? You said all the weird stuff stopped happening.”

  Sissy mentally squirmed. “Okay, so what if I did? Do you know how crazy I sound when I talk about my ghost?”

  With a concerned look on his face, Ben resumed his search of her shelving. Sissy knew he would find nothing, and in the end, after she was proven to be correct, her supplies would be all out of order. Ben sighed, looked at his dog, who’d settled down and gone back to sleep, and said, “Hell, I don’t know. Maybe you do have a ghost.” He winked at her. “On the other hand, maybe I nailed it on the head from the get-go, and you’ve got mice.”

  Sissy wasn’t amused. “Pest control says I haven’t.”

  Together, they resumed polishing the counters, and all too soon, the job was finished. This was it, the very last time they would work together. She tried to think how to tell Ben good-bye.

  As she tossed her towel into the hamper, she said, “My chicken coop and run are fabulous. I could never have built anything that wonderful. I don’t know how to thank you. Especially after all that you did when my hens got sick, digging graves and dusting chickens for hours. You’ve—”

  Ben touched a fingertip to her lips. His mouth slanted into a crooked grin, and his eyes delved so deeply into hers that she felt as naked as she’d been the day she stripped off her clothes in the laundry room.

  “A thank-you isn’t necessary,” he said. And then, before she suspected what he meant to do, he planted a quick kiss on her forehead. “It’s been fun. We’ve had a lot of good times together.”

  As if to second that vote, Finn emitted a happy bark. Ben stepped away from Sissy, gifted her with a dazzling grin, and then left the kitchen. Beyond the pass-through window, she saw him collect his Stetson from where he’d left it on a stool, settle it just so on his head, and then pat his thigh to call his dog.

  She flinched when she heard the back door of the building slam closed. Forcing her feet to move, she walked through the storage area to lock up. Then, cloaked in the semidarkness, she touched the spot above her brows where Ben’s lips grazed her skin. It still tingled.

  He’s gone, she told herself. Your debt to him is paid in full. She wanted to feel happy about that. No, she wanted to feel relieved. Only, instead she felt sad, so very sad, as if she’d lost her best friend.

  * * *

  Four days passed, and Ben never once visited the café. Sissy missed him in a way she’d never expected. There was an ache in the center of her chest that wouldn’t go away. Silly things, like loading a dishwasher, made her think of him and feel lost. She wished—oh, she didn’t know what she wished. She just had the awful feeling that she’d been so determined not to get entangled in a relationship that she might have blown her only chance to have something special with someone.

  Late on the fourth night, right after she’d finished breakfast prep and gone upstairs to her apartment, her cell phone rang, startling her when it vibrated in her jeans pocket. She got heaps of calls during the day from suppliers, but her phone rarely rang this late. She had no close friends. She’d moved too often before coming to Mystic Creek to develop relationships with other women, and since inheriting the café, she’d had little time to socialize. She occasionally lunched with Marilyn and Ma Thomas, who’d gifted her with countless stories about Aunt Mabel, and she’d grown fond of a few customers, but none of those people would dial her number just to say hello.

  She pulled the phone from her pocket and stared at the number on the screen. The caller ID didn’t show a name. She swiped her finger over the ANSWER button and said, “Hello?”

  “Hey.”

  She knew that deep voice. It flowed over her like syrup on a hot flapjack. “Ben.” It was so good to feel connected to him again that her heart did a happy jig. “Hi. How are you?” She barely stopped herself from asking where he’d been. “Burned out on restaurant food, are you?”

  He laughed, and the sound sent warmth flowing through her. “Hell, no. I’ve been out of town. I had some rodeo stock that finally sold, and I made a haul to Montana. I just got back this afternoon. Long drive. But I saw some beautiful country.”

  Sissy wanted to say something witty—a reply that wouldn’t reveal how much she’d missed him. Only she couldn’t think of anything.

  “You there?”

  “Yes! I’m here. And so I don’t forget, I’ve gotten the accounting mess fixed for you.”

  “That’s awesome! I really appreciate it, Sissy. I’m no good at it, period.”

  That wasn’t a news flash for her. “You missed out on beef bourguignon tonight.” She said it the way he once had and felt proud of herself for pulling it off even though she’d gotten to practice all evening. “It got rave reviews.”

  “Damn! If you have any left over, save it for me. I’ll eat it tomorrow. You do know what tomorrow is, don’t you?”

  Sissy frowned. What was special about tomorrow? “Um, no, not really. Saturday.”

  “It’s the tenth day, chicken-dusting day. Did you think I’d let you do it all alone?”

  Sissy had put a reminder on her phone calendar, but it wouldn’t show on her screen until morning. “Oh, that’s right.”

  “How are they doing, by the way? The chickens.”

  “Good! Nobody else has died. I think their combs are getting pinker. Maybe it’s only wishful thinking, though.”

  “Nah. If they’re still alive, they’ve survived the anemia. You got lucky, after all.” He muttered something she couldn’t catch. Then he said, “That’s great. At least one of us did.”

  “One of us did what?”

  He sighed, the rush of his breath whooshing against her eardrum. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  Sissy’s face went hot. She guessed what he might have said. Again, she wanted to say something witty, but the only thing she could think of was “Um.” What was this? For most of her life, her mouth had been her strongest weapon. “It’s okay.” She winced, thinking how lame that was. “You really don’t need to help me dust hens, you know. I can handle it.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’ll get to see you with white hair a second time. Besides, the powder will kill all the newly hatched lice on contact. We won’t even have to get naked together again.”

  She giggled. “We didn’t get naked together. You kept your clothes on until I left.”

  “True. But it’s something I can tease you about until your hair actually goes white from old age.” He cleared his throat. “Um, Sissy, I have to tell you something. Five of your hens are going to start making weird noises soon. When that happens, don’t be worried. It’s absolutely normal, because they’re roosters.”

  Sissy remembered hearing odd sounds coming from some of her hens. “Roosters? Margie is—oh, man, how dumb of me. I thought maybe she had food caught in her throat.”

  Ben chortled. “Margie should be named Marvin.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me I had roosters? The hatchery sent me five? They’re supposed to be ninety-nine percent accurate in determining the gender of chicks.”

  “Yeah, well. Someone must not have known what he was doing, because you’ve definitely got five roosters. That’s not a bad thing. One school of thought is that fertilized eggs are healthier for us to eat.” He paused. “I’m excited about seeing you tomorrow.”

  Sissy smiled. “I’m excited, too.�
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  “What time will work for you?”

  Sissy thought about her schedule for the next day. “Can you be here at two thirty? I can get up early and do both my preps so I’ll be free as soon as the noon rush is over. I’ll close the café so I can work all afternoon.”

  “How about if I show up around six in the morning to help so you don’t have to get up so early?”

  “I don’t want you to do that.”

  “Why? You just got my books all straightened out. It’s a fair exchange. We have fun working together. Finn loves it. I don’t see a downside.”

  “What about your farm animals?”

  “I’ll have my hired hand do all the feeding. See you at six?”

  Sissy sighed. “Okay, but this is the last time I can let you help me in the kitchen without paying you. It just isn’t right.”

  “You can always pay me with free meals. You’ll never hear me complain about that. Or you could be my bookkeeper.”

  After they ended the conversation, Sissy stared down at her cell phone, unable to force the smile from her lips. Ben was coming in the morning. It was almost like having a date. She wanted to bounce around with excitement.

  Instead she rushed into her bedroom to decide what she was going to wear. She wanted to look extra nice when he first saw her. That made no sense, because after lunch, she’d be covered in white powder. An alarm bell tried to jangle in her mind, but she switched if off. There was nothing wrong with wanting to be at her best when he came.

  It meant nothing.

  Chapter Ten

  It seemed to Ben that the chicken dusting went faster when he and Sissy did it a second time. For one thing, the hens didn’t grow quite so panicky, and for another, he and Sissy performed together like a well-oiled machine. He couldn’t resist commenting on that.

  “We do work well together,” she agreed as they exited the coop together and she yanked off her mask. “It’s as if we can anticipate each other’s next move.”

  “With that going for us, we’d be dynamite on a dance floor,” he replied.

  Sissy shot a startled look at him. Then she smiled. “I don’t dance. But we could be dynamite doing other things.”

  “Well . . .” His voice trailed off into silence. “I need to head home to take a shower.”

  “Yeah, me, too.” She plucked at her long-sleeve knit shirt, a pretty blue one that had matched the color of her eyes before it got coated in white. He’d never seen her wear it. But, then, he’d never seen her wearing a touch of makeup, either, and she had been when he arrived. Not much—just a hint of mascara on her lashes, a trace of blush along her cheekbones, and some lip gloss. Now her lashes looked like white spikes. “I sure hope this is the last time they need dusting.”

  “It should be,” he said.

  Ben noticed how tired she looked. It bothered him. His farmhand did his evening chores, so Ben could relax after he got home. Sissy had hours of labor yet to do. He couldn’t help but wonder how one small woman managed to hold up under that workload. He guessed maybe that was why she had such a wispy figure.

  Ben knew the way home by heart, which gave him time to think—about Sissy, the lady who had laid claim to his heart almost the first time he saw her and still held him at arm’s length. Why? He didn’t have the balls to ask her.

  He pulled into his paved driveway and parked beside the kitchen porch. “Okay, Finn, we’re home. Wanna go help round up chickens and put them in the coop for Brett while I grab my shower?” Ben glanced over at the passenger seat. No pup sat there. He peered over his shoulder, thinking Finn might have decided to take a nap in back. “Damn. I can’t believe I’m so wrapped up in that woman that I forgot my dog!”

  Ben decided to look on the bright side. He could grab a quick shower, drive back to the Cauldron, and lend a hand during the dinner hour. If Sissy objected, he’d tell her that she could repay him by comping him his evening meal. If she argued, he had a perfect comeback. He couldn’t get his dog from her apartment when customers were there. Yeah, that would work—unless Sissy had hidden Finn in a storage room.

  Ben went inside, grabbed a quick shower, and had just gotten halfway dressed when someone pounded on his door. He loped through the house to answer the summons and found Brett on the porch, his face red with anger.

  “That horse you brought in last week with behavior problems has gone fuck-shit crazy!”

  Ben buttoned his Wrangler jeans. “What d’ya mean, crazy?” Ben had been working with the mare. She’d been bucking when her owners tried to ride her, and it was his job to tame her back down. “She was fine when I rode her last week.”

  “Well, she ain’t fine now! She went to buckin’ on me, slammed me against the arena wall, and damned near dug a hole to China with her nose to throw me from the saddle!” Brett, hatless, which was uncharacteristic of him, raked a hand through his red hair. “When I hit the ground she came after me. I jumped a stall gate to get away from her. So then she went after my goddamned Stetson. She stomped it. She bit it. And then the bitch pissed on it. I’m tellin’ you, that mare is nuts!”

  Brett wasn’t a trainer, but he was a damned good rider. When he climbed into a saddle, he rode as if he had superglue on his ass. Any mare that managed to throw him had to have gone berserk.

  All Ben could think to say was “I’ll be right out, and I’ll buy you a new Stetson.”

  * * *

  Sissy was racing around her café kitchen, getting ready for an onslaught of dinner customers, when she tripped over Finn, lost her footing, and almost did a face-plant against the refrigerator. Once she regained her balance, she didn’t know what surprised her more: that she’d caught herself from falling or that Finn was snoozing in her kitchen. Or had been. She’d jostled him awake.

  She hunkered down to love on him, thinking, even as she did, that she’d have to change chef coats. Her customers wouldn’t appreciate dog hair in their food. “What are you doing here, boy? Your dad must have forgotten you.” That puzzled her. Ben and his dog seemed to be attached by an invisible string. “I don’t mean to be an ungracious hostess, but you can only be in my kitchen when the café is closed.”

  Finn, who seemed to realize she was rejecting him as her kitchen buddy, looked up at her with sad eyes.

  “But it’s okay!” Sissy stood, opened the fridge, and found leftovers from breakfast. “I can sneak you upstairs and serve you a feast! Let me see. Oh, wow, I’ve got bacon. I’ll bet you like that! And a leftover omelet. Oooh-yum. I cooked too many hamburger patties, too.”

  Piling food on a plate, she realized that she’d long since stopped feeding Finn on a paper one. The health inspector would probably fine her for that. If he ever caught her. “Come on, sweetness. Lucky you! Nobody gets to visit my private living quarters. Well, your dad did once—but only to take a shower. So aren’t you special?”

  Finn leaped to his feet and wagged his whole body. Sissy was a little surprised. She knew how much the pup loved Ben. Surely Finn felt lost without him. Who wouldn’t? She led the young canine upstairs. Once in the apartment, she set his plate on her kitchen floor, filled a large bowl with freshwater, and then found a spare blanket to make him a bed.

  She couldn’t stay to familiarize Finn with her residence. That was fine. Ben would realize he’d forgotten his dog and be back to collect him in no time.

  Only, Ben didn’t return to get his dog. Hours went by. Surely he realized at some point that he’d forgotten Finnegan. She worried about the pup, alone in an unfamiliar apartment. He was still quite young, not even a year old yet. And he was so accustomed to being with Ben. What if he freaked out and tried to chew his way through her door? Sissy yearned to go check on him, but she was far too busy.

  After the dinner rush ebbed away, only Tim and Lynda VeArd occupied a booth. They’d come in late and were barely halfway through their meals. Sissy knew they adored animals becaus
e they had, according to them, the most spoiled cat in history. Sissy crossed the café to stand over them.

  “Can I share a secret with you guys?”

  Tim grinned. “Unless it threatens national security, you can trust me, but my little redhead is a blabbermouth.”

  Lynda threw an unused straw at her husband, nailing him in the chest. “I never break a confidence, and you know it.”

  Tim laughed and threw the straw back at her, missing by a foot.

  Sissy smiled. “Well, I have a guest upstairs, Ben’s pup, Finnegan.”

  “The chicken herder? He’s an amazing little fellow,” Tim observed.

  “Yes, he is,” Sissy agreed. “My chickens got lice. Did you hear about that?” Both the VeArds nodded. “Ben came by to help. With so many chickens, it’s a job. And somehow when Ben left, he forgot Finn. I tripped over him doing dinner prep.” Sissy lowered her voice. “It’s against the law for dogs to be in a restaurant—unless, of course, they’re service animals—so I hid Finnegan in my apartment. He’s been alone for hours. Would you mind if I ran up to check on him?”

  Lynda grinned. “What we’d mind is if you didn’t check on him. Tim and I have everything we require. Go for it, and no need to hurry.”

  When Tim nodded in agreement, Sissy raced for the stairwell. She found Finn napping on his bed. It had been hours since the pup had been outside. As Sissy scratched him right above his docked tail, his favorite spot, she gnawed her lower lip. Then, reaching a decision, she walked over, opened the apartment door that led to the stairwell, and yelled, “He needs to go potty! If I bring him down and take him straight outside through the storage area, do you promise not to narc on me to the health inspector?”

  She heard Tim guffaw. “We promise,” he bellowed back. “And bring him by our table. I can’t eat all my steak, and Twinkie won’t eat beef.”

  Twinkie was their spoiled cat. Sissy grinned, patted her leg to beckon Finn forward, and led him down the stairs. The instant Finn appeared in the café area, Tim snapped his fingers at the dog, and Finnegan raced over to renew their friendship. Tim fed him bites of steak, and Lynda offered him popcorn shrimp, battered pieces of cod, and French fries dipped in ranch dressing. Finn’s snubbed tail did double time.