by Liz Flaherty
“Everybody’s musical.” His smile crinkled the skin around his eyes, and she found herself unable to look away. They’d stopped walking at some point and were standing close enough that she could feel his body heat as they faced each other in the crisp intimacy offered by twilight.
She shook her head, looking down. “Not everybody.”
“Oh yes, everybody. You just haven’t heard the right song yet.” His hand shaped her face, lifting it to his, and he kissed her. She was reminded of when they’d danced right here to the imaginary tune of the apple orchard waltz. He’d told her the music was in her heart. She’d laughed, enjoying being in his arms.
She enjoyed it again now, the warm, leisurely sharing of kisses taking her breath away. “Maybe someone was right a week or so back,” she whispered, her mouth close to his, “when he told me to dance from my heart. I think that’s where I need to listen from, too.”
“Oh, yes, Sister Dances-in-the-Orchard,” he whispered. “You’re absolutely right.”
And so she danced. And she listened.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CASS HADN’T INTENDED to spend so much of the festival walking around in a Keep Cold Orchard baseball cap and a Ground in the Round hooded sweatshirt with a clipboard on her arm taking notes. She’d tried to give the clipboard to Zoey, who’d played her senior citizen card and said she needed to run the cash register in the orchard store during the festival.
“Aunt Zoey, this was all your idea. The least you can do is check its progress.”
“But it’s your business. You’ll want to know what to do and what not to do next year.” Zoey beamed at her. “And the year after.” She counted change back to a customer with thanks. “Besides, walking around the whole area is a little more than my sciatic nerve will allow.”
“Your sciatic nerve is pretty selective about when it shows up, isn’t it?” Cass raised a skeptical eyebrow, but spoiled the effect by grinning at her aunt. “Have fun. I’ll catch up later.” She snagged a cup of hot cider and moved on.
The crowd was surprisingly large given the last-minute organization of the event. What was also surprising was how many people she knew. By the time she’d perused all the tent area, making notes all the way, she’d talked to half the survivors of the accident, promised Gianna to come for dinner one night the following week and agreed reluctantly to speak to the Write Now group at the high school.
Royce was going to just love that.
Kari Ross, walking with Arlie, reminded her that her appointment would be Tuesday at the Indianapolis office. She’d have all the results of the testing ready to talk about. Had she gotten her blood work yet? Was she worried about anything?
Cass hadn’t been—at least, not much—but after seeing the gynecologist, she had to switch the clipboard to the other arm for a while.
All of the vendors in the tents seemed to be happy with both attendance and sales. Luke’s sisters presented her with a necklace and matching earrings. When she dug into her pocket for money, they shook their heads.
“It’s a sympathy offering.” Rachel looked woeful. “He may seem like a nice guy, but the minute your back is turned, he’ll rat you out to our parents.”
Leah elbowed her. “He only did that to you because you wrecked the car and blamed him.” She turned a very familiar smile on Cass. “He really is a nice guy, and we’re seeing a look on his face we haven’t seen in far too long. We love him and we’re grateful.”
Cass walked on with a little extra bounce in her step, the pain in her arm forgotten for the time being.
She supplied a couple of extension cords, made change for a woman selling Christmas ornaments whose first customer had paid with a hundred-dollar bill and handed out coupons for free cups of coffee from Ground in the Round. When she was unable to talk Mary Detwiler’s little brother down from a Golden Delicious tree, she climbed up after him, bowing red-facedly to the applause when she descended with the little boy and the clipboard both intact.
She was still blushing and brushing leaves from her sweatshirt when she reached the coffee shop. It was packed, with Royce, Mary and Libby Worth all serving customers. Cass stopped short—Libby didn’t even work there.
“Royce said I could have all the pumpkin spice latte I could drink if I helped through lunchtime.” Libby handed Cass a cup of coffee. “I was having so much fun, I just stayed.”
The sound of guitars tuning up behind her made Cass turn to find its source. A stool beside her emptied and she slid onto it, fanning herself against the warmth generated by the number of people in the room.
Luke and Seth sat side by side on barstools with microphones in front of them. They both wore faded jeans and boots. Seth’s shirt was denim, Luke’s flannel.
Cass thought they would look spectacular on the cover of a magazine. Any magazine. It had been a long time since she’d seen that much gorgeous in one spot. A look at her sister, standing spellbound with a tray of empty cups in her hands, indicated the fascination with the Rossiter brothers seemed to be a family affliction.
They played and sang for two hours, their play list both eclectic and flexible; when a seven-year-old asked them to sing her favorite song from a Disney movie, Luke and Seth pulled up another stool so she could sing with them. When the audience cheered and clapped enthusiastically, they performed for another fifteen minutes before getting to their feet and stepping away from the corner that had become a stage for a magical space in time.
Cass, who should have made another round of the premises with her trusty clipboard but had not, smiled when Luke approached. “Well, Brother Six String, keeping secrets, were you?”
He grinned at her, taking her cup from her hand and finishing her coffee, a gesture so intimate it took her breath away. Of course, he in his flannel shirt with his mellow voice and nimble fingers on guitar strings had already done that pretty well. “You knew I played.”
“I did,” she admitted, “but you never talked about it. I assumed you were a living room musician.”
“I am,” he said. “I’m what I call a banger, and bangers come in different degrees. I’m better than some, worse than a lot of others. Seth has a better ear, I think, although I’m not going to tell him that anytime soon.”
“And your singing?”
He shrugged, color creeping up his cheeks. “I like to sing.”
She thought for a moment about her writing, about the fact that she did it every single day whether the words were flowing or not. On the days she missed—which she’d had more of since coming back to the lake than she’d had in years—there was an unfilled place inside. But if anyone asked her, she knew she’d answer just as he had. She’d just say she liked to write.
She hadn’t thought liking and passion were intended to be synonymous, but sometimes they were. She wondered, as he sat beside her and laid a casual arm over her shoulders, where love came into the equation. Or if it did.
*
LUKE SQUINTED AT the bottom line on the handwritten ledger sheet Zoey handed him. “I think I’m going to give up any pretense at management and just be the cider-press-and-tractor fixer in the future of the orchard. I have been so completely wrong about everything this season.” It was there again, the doubt that had come to Miniagua and Keep Cold Orchard along with Cass Gentry. While he had to admit that going from a one-man show to a man-and-woman management team was working, the near certainty that it wouldn’t continue to do so was a daily concern. If their business relationship became a problem, what would happen to their personal one?
“It was great, wasn’t it?” Zoey beamed. “The people who had pieces in the art show were ecstatic. Jesse sold two paintings and he wasn’t the only one. A gallery owner from Indianapolis who attended the festival offered solo shows to a couple of artists, Jesse included.”
“The vendors were all happy, too.” Cass held up her clipboard. “Even the ones who didn’t sell as much as they’d hoped wanted to put their names in for next year.”
“And, fina
lly, if you decide the cider press needs to be replaced instead of repaired, we can do it without breaking the bank.” Triumph rang through her voice, but then Zoey’s cheeks grew pink. “I’m sorry. You two are way too good at including me in things. I forget I’m no longer an owner.”
Luke and Cass exchanged glances. “You know,” he said, “it will always be your orchard whether your name is on the deed or not.” He grinned. “If for no other reason than I won’t have my half paid off any time within the next decade or two.”
Luke was happy for Zoey and Cass. Happy for the orchard and its employees. The festival had padded the operations account enough that investing in new equipment wouldn’t signal a financial disaster.
He wasn’t so sure he was happy for himself, but he hadn’t figured out why. This was what he’d wanted for Keep Cold, wasn’t it? He’d wanted the orchard to prosper and grow. He and Chris Granger were well on their way in the development of the Keep Cold label for Sycamore Hill Winery. Luke had talked with a grower from Southern Indiana who was itching to sell his fifty acres of apple trees and retire to Arizona. Those were the kinds of progress his engineer’s mind embraced. Not coffee shops and festivals or the weekly competitions that had started with the naming of the coffee shop. The last contest had been to see who made the best apple dumpling, where Cass’s had come in not only last but very last. The one before that had been jack-o’-lantern decorating.
Was he jealous that the things the women had seemingly thrown together were working so well while his ideas seemed to take years? He’d been fighting the cider press ever since he’d taken over the orchard, yet the festival had been instantly successful. The coffee shop, even with all of the requisite new-business hiccups and a few expenses that had been both unexpected and shocking, was holding its own nicely.
He thought of the phone call he’d gotten that morning, from the structural engineer who’d mentored him through his first job and been there for advice through the two that followed it when Luke had moved on to larger firms. Usually Dan Graham just called to talk—this morning he’d called with a job offer.
Was it time to go back to the profession he’d once loved? It wasn’t like it was a new idea. As much as he enjoyed the orchard, he’d never planned to make it a career. The fact that it had become even an interim one still surprised him.
“Your sisters said to put them down for a booth next year,” said Cass. “Rachel said for you to hurry and get your bathroom done so they could stay at your house.”
He frowned, trying to bring his attention back to the conversation. “I’ve lived with Rachel. We had to share a bathroom when we were kids. I’m not doing it again.”
“I don’t think she intends for you to be there. She mentioned the campgrounds across the lake.”
“I’ll bet she did.”
And Rachel had a point. If he finished the bathroom and a few other things during the coming winter, the lake house could become the rental he’d once intended it to be. The new job, if he took it, would be a financial boon. The price of his health insurance would go down when its premium costs were subsidized by a company, and he could once again support his retirement account on a consistent basis.
For a moment, even with the pleasant sounds of Cass and laughter in his ears, he heard another voice.
Really, Luke? Your retirement account? A rental house? You haven’t even been to Europe or skydived yet and you’re thinking about retirement? I’m the one who died here, not you.
He wondered why it was that when he tried to recall the sound of Jill’s voice, he couldn’t do it. It would remain frustratingly out of reach. Just when he’d think he had it, the sound would float away. But now, when he wasn’t looking for it in the least, when he was in fact thinking about another woman, his wife’s impatient rebuke rang loud and clear.
You’re wrong, Jilly. I know it worked for us, but it won’t work again, and I couldn’t go through that kind of losing again. You know that.
For a moment, he thought he’d spoken aloud, and felt familiar color rise in his cheeks. “It’s going great,” he said, putting down the ledger sheet and smiling at both his partners. “Keep Cold’s best season yet.”
He’d worry about his season later.
*
“JUST LET ME skip school tomorrow. That way, if you’re not feeling well after your appointment I can drive us home, and if you do feel well we can go dress shopping.”
Royce rarely wheedled, although she was doing a creditable job of it now. It was hard to turn her down when she seldom asked for anything other than the daily request for a car of her own, but Cass didn’t want her little sister there if the visit with Kari Ross didn’t go as she hoped. She knew “not feeling well” was a polite euphemism for bad news.
“Sorry, Roycie.” She shook her head. “Luke’s taking me. It may not be the most romantic date ever, but it’s still a date.” Luke sat at the counter, and she cast him a pleading glance. Just go along with me. “We’ll go shopping for your dress over the weekend.”
“In Indy?”
Cass sighed. “Indy or Fort Wayne. Your choice.”
“Can I take a friend with me?”
“Yes. I will, too, and we can stay in town for dinner.”
“How much can I spend?”
“Up to your mother, but remember—if you want another new dress for the Valentine’s dance and one for the prom, too, you might want to keep things reasonable.” You’re welcome, Damaris.
Royce sighed. “Okay.” She gave Cass a hug. “Can I leave now? Seth and I are going for pizza. Mom knows. She and Aunt Zoey went to the movies.”
“Go ahead. Luke will help me close up.”
“Okay. Thanks, Luke!” Royce waved at Luke and left the coffee shop, turning off the open sign on the way out.
Cass finished cleaning while Luke washed the tables. “You don’t have to take me,” she said, avoiding his gaze when they both found themselves in the same space between two tables and ended up face-to-face. “I just wanted to appease Royce.”
“I’ll take you.” He didn’t meet her eyes, either. Instead, he closed his and bent slightly to kiss her gently. Warmly. His hands came to rest on her shoulders. More warmth.
Is this what it was like to feel completely safe? She’d never felt like this with Tony. Or at any other time. Ever.
“No.” She shook her head and moved one foot, then stood still so he could kiss her again. Longer. Warmer. Maybe not quite so gently. “Luke.” She put her hands on his chest and tried not to think about how much she’d just like to leave them there. How much she’d like to be just Cass Gentry and hang on for dear life because, heaven help her, she was so scared. She shuddered, hoping he wouldn’t feel the tremor, and said, “Really. I’m better doing this on my own,” although the words rattled on their way out. “I’m used to it.”
She wasn’t. No one got used to it. They just lived with it. Or died with it.
“No one’s better doing that on their own.”
“Did you used to go with Jill?”
“I did. Every time.”
“Did she want you to?”
“Not always. She used to get mad about it sometimes. She’d say she had few enough choices in life without me taking more of them away.”
“She was right.”
“Probably. I still went with her. Those days were some of the best and some of the worst ones we ever had together and I wouldn’t give up a single one of them. I’m pretty convinced she wouldn’t have, either.”
Relief was weakening both her legs and her resolve. “We shouldn’t both be away from the orchard at once.”
“Haven’t you noticed that the orchard’s employees are the best ones anywhere? They only put up with me hanging around to make me feel good about myself, and I assume Zoey can run the coffee shop.”
“She could, but Libby’s going to do it. She misses her tearoom—not enough to have another one, but enough to spend a few days here and there at Ground in the Round.” Cass took a
deep breath, feeling it flutter inside her chest. “I really don’t mind—”
“I do.” His fingers lay against her lips. “I mind.”
“Okay.” She gave up and sat down. “Thank you.”
“What time is your appointment?”
“Ten.”
“Will you be able to sleep tonight?”
“I hope so.”
“Want to go out for some dinner?”
It would probably be a good idea. Although she wasn’t hungry now, she’d be starving by the time she left the doctor’s office otherwise. At least she could eat some soup. “Can we walk partway around the lake first? It’s getting colder every night and pretty soon I won’t even want to walk to the car. I spent enough time in California to be completely unprepared for a midwestern winter.”
Ten minutes later, when they were walking the lit pathway, Luke asked, “Do you think of going back?”
She nodded. “Only when I think of Royce going back with her mother. Then I’d want to visit them there. I let my apartment go and put everything in storage. I need to decide what to sell and what to keep, but I have to admit the only thing I’ve missed a lot since we came here is my food processor. I like it better than Zoey’s.” A gust of wind made its way inside her coat, and she shivered. “And the weather. I think I’m going to miss it.”
Something in his silence alerted her that there had been more to his question than casual conversation. She frowned. “Why? Do you think of leaving?”
Dry leaves skittered across the paved path, whispering their hurried escape. The water slapped against the shore. Restlessness filled the air. He walked on without answering her question. And then he did.
“Yeah, I do. Sometimes.”