How to Knit a Love Song

by Rachael Herron

  “Y-yes. You’re right.” Abigail twisted out of his arms, away from the piling, which, now that she thought about it, had most likely left tar on the back of her clothing. Great. Focus on anything. The tar, the beautiful scenery. Anything but why he was stopping them.

  “I’m sorry,” Cade said.

  “I know. Me, too. I let myself get a little carried away.” She shook her head. “No, a lot carried away. I apologize.”

  “No, don’t, there’s nothing for you to apologize about.”

  She walked back toward the stairs they’d come down. “You started it.”

  “The kiss?”

  “The apology. But the kiss, too.”

  “Right.”

  Abigail turned to face him. His green eyes in the moonlight were a brilliant surprise. “Why did you take me down here, then? Without talking? And now you want to go?”

  He spread his hands out in front of him. “Did I make a mistake? I don’t actually enjoy sand in my underwear or other sensitive places, but I’ll do it for you.”

  “Was that the whole plan?”

  He walked past her, striding quickly.

  “I know you must have a reason.”

  Without turning around, he called over his shoulder, “I’ve always wanted to do that.”

  “Make a girl crazy?” She caught up to him and pulled on his elbow. “It worked.”

  “No, I’ve always wanted to take someone here. In the moonlight.”

  “Nice line, buddy. You can’t tell me you never have.”

  “I never have. I don’t take women to the beach.”

  “So this is like taking me home to Mom?”

  “Yep, only you don’t have to pretend to like stroganoff.”

  “It was a test?”

  “Don’t worry. You passed.” He held out his hand. She slipped her hand in his.

  This was all right, then. She hadn’t made a mistake.

  “Now what?” she asked.

  “Let’s go home.”

  She had no idea where this was going, holding his hand like this, letting her heart get entangled. She was caught up in his eyes and his hands and the moonlight. But she trusted him.

  And she wanted more.

  “Drive fast,” Abigail said.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Hold bamboo needles firmly, so the yarn doesn’t slip. Move stitches neatly and joyfully, from one needle to the next. But don’t clutch the work too tightly or the needles will snap and your work will unravel.

  —E.C.

  He drove fast, speeding through town. He took curves ten miles an hour faster than she would have ever attempted, even in daylight. But Abigail felt safe. She felt cocooned inside the cab of the truck, steady and happy in the knowledge of what was going to happen when they got home.

  Home. Where they lived.

  Under completely unnatural conditions.

  But for now it worked for her.

  When they got home, she’d be seductive. She’d take her time wooing him, leading him through the house, perhaps taking one piece of clothing off at a time, trailing him, panting, behind her.

  Or maybe she’d be really classy, excusing herself and going to change into her little black lace negligee and then coming out, leaning against a doorway. This would be a good time to stand there in the dim light, one hip popped out, holding a smoking cigarette, beckoning….

  But she didn’t smoke and didn’t want to start. And she didn’t think she had the patience.

  He took another curve, and then shot down a straightaway. Abigail wanted to be nowhere else in the world, except home.

  Faster.

  Bright blue and red lights lit up the interior of the cab. A siren whooped, twice, three times.

  Cade swore. He braked and pulled the truck to the right, skidding on the gravel. “I’m gonna kill whoever that is.”

  “Killing a cop is generally not a great idea,” said Abigail.

  “Dammit.”

  “You were going pretty fast.”

  “I’m going to die if I don’t get you home soon,” Cade said.

  The cop approached the driver’s-side door.

  Cade rolled down the window, displaying both his hands. The cop leaned in to look at Abigail. She gave him what she hoped was a disarming smile, although it could have been a set of bared teeth for all she knew.

  “Cade,” said the cop. He looked about forty, and tired, with prematurely gray hair and dull skin. The uniform fit him too tightly.

  “Officer Moss,” said Cade.

  “I guess you know why I pulled you over.”

  “That pesky taillight out again, John?”

  “I wish I could say that’s all it was. But you were speeding, my friend.”

  “I was? Really? Huh. I was watching the speedometer.”

  “Then you know you were going seventy in a forty-five.”

  “Speedometer must be broke.”

  “As usual.”

  “Come on, John, I can’t afford another speeding ticket.”

  “Then don’t speed.”

  “I can’t believe you’d give me a ticket like this. You’re gonna make me look bad in front of my date.”

  “It’s not the first time.”

  Abigail giggled. The cop smiled at her.

  Cade frowned. “Really, please. Don’t cite me.”

  “You got a good reason for speeding like that? The little lady doesn’t look pregnant to me, not in any kind of rush to the hospital? You’re driving away from it, actually, so that can’t be it. Anything better?”

  Cade jerked his thumb at Abigail. “Kind of the opposite. She’s ovulating.”

  The cop’s eyebrows shot up into his unfortunate bangs. “Excuse me?”

  “I said, she’s ovulating. We’ve got things we have to do. And soon.”

  The cop’s jaw dropped. Abigail felt her own mouth open, and her eyes went wide, but she turned her head and looked out the passenger-side window. She bit her lip.

  “And who is she exactly? I’m sorry, ma’am, but I don’t recognize you, and I know a lot of people around here.”

  Abigail turned back to look at him, trying to arrange her face into a neutral position. “Abigail Durant. I live with Cade.”

  “You what?”

  “She does.” Cade nodded.

  The officer took a step away from the truck and pushed back his cap.

  “Wow. Cade. I heard you shacked up with someone, but I thought it was just talk. Wow, that’s all I can say. And now, I guess, you’re trying to…”

  “We’re trying to make a baby,” said Cade. “But we don’t have much time tonight. Her window, if you know what I mean, is closing as we speak. Got to get her home and do my duty.”

  “I gotta tell you, buddy, that’s one of the best lines I’ve ever heard.”

  “It’s true, I swear. I want a little Cade from this little lady, and hopefully, he’ll have her gorgeous eyes.”

  “You’re still getting a ticket.”

  “Seriously?”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Cade accepted his ticket, signing for it with one swipe of the pen.

  “Good luck to you both. Especially to you, ma’am. You need it.”

  Abigail laughed the entire way home.

  Cade pretended to ignore her, but she could see the corner of his lip twitching, and once he gave a snort that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

  He opened her door for her when they pulled up. She was still laughing but she tried to hide it.

  “You’re lucky you’re sexy when you laugh.”

  That made her giggle again, just as she was pulling herself together, but with his help, she pulled herself out of the truck.

  That slight touch, that resting of his wrist on her hand, sobered her instantly, the giggle dying on her lips. He guided her toward the house, up the shallow steps.

  There weren’t any cars left in the driveway. “They gave up on me, I guess.”

  “Thank God,” said Cade. “If
there had been even one knitter left in my house, I would have shown them my crochet hook collection.”

  “You do know how to offend a knitter, don’t you?”

  “My aunt taught me well.”

  Inside. Get inside. Every part of Abigail’s body was screaming to be indoors with him, inside the house. She could think of other things that incorporated the word inside, things that made her flush and made her even more crazy to get in the doors. She was shaking. She hoped he couldn’t feel it.

  He just had to turn the doorknob. Come on.

  Why wasn’t he turning the doorknob? He seemed to be trying, but it wasn’t working.

  Cade frowned. “The door’s locked.” He sounded incredulous.

  “Janet’s a city girl. I’m sure she would have locked it behind her.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “Use the key, then.”

  “I never use it. I have no freaking idea where it would be. Do you have the copy I gave you?”

  “It’s in my room, I saw it on my dresser this afternoon. I knew you didn’t lock the house, so I haven’t been carrying it.”

  “Fantastic.”

  “Is there a window open?”

  Cade looked at Abigail and touched her cheek. “Baby, I don’t have the time to pry a window. But I’ll have time to fix a window later.” He backed up against the small side window next to the front door and with a small motion, brought his elbow sharply back and into the glass. It shattered with a quiet tinkle.

  “Whoa,” Abigail said.

  He stuck his hand through the opening, moving carefully, and unlocked the door.

  “Now,” he said.

  “Now,” she agreed.

  It was as if he were a fever that she had, and she couldn’t get her temperature down. Instead of doing any of the sexy things she had considered while he’d been driving home, she tripped in the kitchen and almost went down.

  His arms were around her, he was lifting her, almost even before she tripped. “Are you all right? What about your ankle?”

  Her ankle. It hurt like hell again and she hadn’t even noticed it. “It’s fine,” she lied, knowing she was red in the face. Instead of being the siren, she felt as if she were a twelve-year-old girl with a crush. Instead of having the moves of a seductress, she had the clumsiness of an adolescent. Great.

  But her body didn’t think she was twelve. The grown-up part of her turned herself around and walked toward the stairs.

  He stuttered behind her. “Do you—do you want a drink, maybe?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “I make a mean gin martini.”

  “Tempting,” she said over her shoulder as he trailed behind her, “but I’m not thirsty.”

  She went up the stairs, feeling the heat of him behind her.

  He said, “This wasn’t the plan, if you think that’s why I asked you out.”

  “It’s okay if it was,” she said, as she entered his room and turned to face him.

  “But it wasn’t.”

  “I didn’t think you had much plan at all, to be honest. We got caught making out in the pantry. Kind of spontaneous.”

  “But great,” he said.

  “Are we going to talk all night?” She pulled her sweater up over her head and slipped out of her shoes and jeans. She stood in her bra and panties in front of him, feeling brave and terrified.

  “You are so beautiful.” His voice shook. He came to her, and he touched her. His hands and fingers moved the scraps of silk aside.

  “Why didn’t you touch me more, this morning?”

  His hands stilled. “What?”

  “When you came in my room?”

  “I didn’t.”

  Abigail frowned. It had been such a vivid dream. But it didn’t matter, as long as he touched her now.

  They were on the bed, no words now. His clothes had joined hers in a pile on the floor. She knew she’d helped with that part, but couldn’t quite remember how, even now, moments later.

  They didn’t speak anymore, only motion and heat and low noises that Abigail knew were coming from her but didn’t recognize. She used her hands to show him, to lead him to what she wanted. He recognized her desire and used his mouth to lift her up, higher and higher. When she reached the top, she cried out and clutched his head with her fingers and fell back down, tumbling through an intensity of sensation that left her spent on top of the covers of his bed. She was openmouthed, panting, stunned.

  He moved up the bed, looked in her eyes. She showed him the yes she couldn’t say, moving her legs against his, gesturing, suggesting, moving him with her hips and hands until he was over her. Then he was inside, hard and hot, where she needed him to be.

  His mouth took hers as his body did. Her hands dug into his back and pulled him tighter to her. She couldn’t get him far enough inside, although he filled her so much that she couldn’t breathe. They moved together until his head went back and she watched him spiral out and beyond. She joined him in the ether. They landed together, twisted against each other, eyes locked, their limbs wet and limp and perfect.

  He was still on top of her, long, long moments later, the perfect weight, the perfect length, and as his breathing got heavier and deeper above her, she closed her eyes and fell asleep.

  Chapter Thirty

  Never forget to admire your own handiwork. Drape the sweater over your lap and look at the long, neat lines of stitches. Then make the person nearest you admire your work, too.

  —E.C.

  He didn’t understand how this had happened again, how he’d woken up again with her in his arms. This time yesterday, he’d had a date planned with Betty, and if he had thought about getting lucky at all, it had been with the pretty mathematician.

  Of course, that had only been because he had to actively not think about Abigail. At all. If and when he did think of her, images of her lying exactly like she was now, heavy with sleep, naked and warm, smelling of perfume and something deeper, took over his mind.

  More than that, he had tried not to think of her in the recent weeks, even clothed.

  But while he’d been avoiding her, he’d been unable to stop wondering about her. How was her foot healing? Did she have trouble with the stairs? What did the old cottage look like inside? How close was she to being able to move into it, to moving out of his house?

  When was she going to pack her few bags, remove all trace of herself from his upstairs spare bedroom and move into the cottage, leaving his home dark again, and empty? That’s what women did—they left. Ever since his mother had left him, when she’d left him and his father for the first time of many, he’d understood that about women. This one lying in his arms even came with a built-in plan for leaving. She wasn’t going to stay in this house. That was good. That’s what Cade always wanted from a woman.

  But this one wasn’t going to go far, just across the yard. His heart lifted in a way he didn’t recognize.

  Her, lying in his arms like this. This was what he wanted.

  Her. He just wanted her.

  And he wanted her to stay.

  She stirred in her sleep and moved against him, cuddling into his shoulder. He felt himself respond viscerally to her motion, involuntarily. Probably not the best way to wake her up, if past experience with women was anything to go by. They didn’t so much like being woken up that way, no matter what the male sex thought. Cade knew that.

  He kissed the side of her face softly. She made no move, no sound. Good. There was something he wanted to get done.

  After his chores, Cade eased his truck down the driveway so he wouldn’t disturb Abigail’s sleep, and then gunned it and fishtailed onto the main road.

  He parked in front of Tillie’s Diner, slamming the gearshift into park.

  Inside, Old Bill leaned against the counter as he always did. He raised his eyebrows when Cade came in.

  “Twice in a month? If the boys recognize you, they’ll die of surprise.”

  “Not if they don’t see me. I’ve
just got a quick order.”

  “I’ll tell Shirley,” said Old Bill, turning.

  “No! I just need…” But Old Bill was already waving his towel in the air, catching Shirley’s eye. The towel also caught the eye of Stephens and Landers, who had a direct line of sight from the side room into the main dining area.

  “Dammit. I don’t have time for this….” But Cade knew it was too late. He made his way to where the men sat, watching.

  As he entered, the words they’d been saying fell to the floor, and they were silent.

  Cade sat next to Stephens.

  “Morning, gentlemen.”

  Usually there was a volley of greetings sent back to him in return. This morning there were silent nods and a grunt or two.

  He helped himself to coffee and looked for Shirley. “I just need a muffin. Or two.”

  Hooper looked Cade up and down. Then he went back to shoveling eggs in his mouth.

  “All right, guys, what’s going on?”

  Pete humphed.

  After long, long minutes, the only noise nervous shuffling of feet under the tables, Landers finally cleared his throat.

  “So how’s it going, Cade?”

  Cade placed his hands on his thighs and turned in his seat to face the old man. “I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?”

  “Huh?”

  “I mean Hooper caught up with me a couple of weeks ago, and he told me that you all have a problem with me.”

  Stephens, the most diplomatic of the bunch, said, “It’s not really so much of a problem as a…concern.”

  Pete, the most curmudgeonly of the men, said, “No, it’s a problem.”

  “With my sheep?”

  “No.”

  “With the way I run my place?”

  Stephens said, “We’ve never had any problem with the way you run your place.”

  “Not till now,” said Pete.

  “I’m pretty sure it’s none of your damn business,” said Cade, struggling to keep his voice even.

  “It’s our business if our valley turns into a strip mall.”

  Cade spluttered. “A strip mall?”

  “You have a yarn store now. That can’t lead to anything good. Marla Upbreth up the road from you already sells eggs.”