How to Knit a Love Song

by Rachael Herron

“Yes or no?”

  It all came flooding back to her. The dinner she’d cooked. How he hadn’t come or even called. It would probably hurt again later, like it had before all the wine, but right now Abigail felt cocooned.

  “I have one, yes.”

  He sounded impatient. “Can I borrow it?”

  “Oh, all right.” She let the window bang down.

  She threw a jacket over her pajamas and teetered downstairs to the bathroom. Outside, she handed him her dryer.

  “What’s it for?”

  “Nothing.” He walked away from her.

  Abigail followed. “No thank you? Tell me. Emergency blow job?” She giggled. It was even funnier when she said it out loud, and it had sounded funny enough when she thought it in her head. Yep, that was the wine.

  “Something like that.”

  Abigail tagged along behind him. The cold air felt good against her flushed cheeks. She gazed up at the stars, which shone clear and bright, but it put her off balance, and she stumbled in the dark.

  “I’m okay! I’m okay,” she said.

  Cade didn’t look back.

  “Are you really not going to tell me? I demand to know.”

  “I’m not going to tell you,” he said over his shoulder.

  “You have to.”

  “If I do, you’ll want to come in.”

  “What’s so wrong with that?”

  “I’m not in the mood,” he said.

  “Whatever. Tell me.”

  “I’m drying a lamb that I brought back from the dead.”

  Abigail stopped in her tracks. “That is so awesome.” As Cade opened the door, she pushed past him. “This I have to see.”

  She heard Cade sigh as he gave up. “Parlor.”

  Sure enough, a tiny white lamb lay on a pile of blue towels.

  “Oh, my God! How much does he weigh?”

  “Well, I didn’t have my scale out there in the dark, but I’d guess about eight pounds. Not much more.”

  “She’s the size of a small cat! Look at her!”

  “Him.”

  “Him! He’s so cute! Can I dry him?”

  “I guess so.”

  Cade plugged the dryer in and handed it to Abigail. “Careful not to get it too close to the wool. You don’t want to burn him.”

  “This is the coolest thing ever.” She turned the device on and tested it with the back of her hand. Not too hot.

  The lamb wriggled when she pointed the warm air, as if he wanted more of it. He squeaked and stretched his legs.

  For a long time, she just moved the hair dryer over the lamb. Abigail and Cade didn’t speak. The fire crackled, and the low hum of the dryer was soothing. The room smelled of smoke and wet wool. Abigail could taste the wine still on her tongue. Cade stood by the window and looked into the darkness.

  Abigail broke the silence.

  “Can he walk yet?”

  “He could, but it doesn’t look like he wants to.” Cade’s voice was as cold as the air outside.

  “Why is he all wet, anyway?”

  “I put him in warm water. I found his mother dead. She bled out. He was stiff, not breathing, cold.”

  “Will another mother take him? Nurse him?”

  “Usually one will. I’ll put this one in with another that was born tonight. He’ll probably suck, if that ewe lets him. If he doesn’t, I’ll have yet another chore on my hands.”

  “How did you do it? Bring him back, I mean.”

  “Warm water in the sink.”

  “How did you know to do that?”

  “Uncle Joshua always had good luck with it. Eliza would stand behind him and say, “You’re not going to save that one, buddy.’ He’d do it anyway, running the water, taking his time. When the lamb came back to life, Eliza would say he’d performed another miracle.”

  Abigail looked up at him. “You performed another miracle!”

  Cade looked down at the lamb and shrugged.

  As Abigail blew the lamb dry, she watched its curls go soft and curly. It was the newest fiber she’d ever seen in her whole life.

  She smiled at Cade. “I wish I’d seen Eliza drying them.”

  He didn’t smile back.

  Abigail wished she weren’t half tipsy, half hungover, but it was enough that she was sitting here in front of the fire. She pulled the towel and the lamb along with it into her lap.

  “Did you get my note?” she asked, not looking at him. She was glad she was past the stage where she might have slurred her words.

  “Yeah.”

  She waited, moving the warm air under the lamb’s soft pink belly.

  But Cade didn’t say anything else; he just stood by the window and watched her.

  “I was disappointed when you didn’t come to dinner.”

  “I was disappointed when my shack burned down.”

  Abigail was surprised. It almost sounded like he was mad at her about it. “Did you find out what caused it?”

  “Flammable liquid. Poured and set.” He paused. “There may be a ten-thousand-dollar bill coming my way from the state. Is there anything you…want to tell me?”

  “What?” Abigail’s stomach knotted.

  “It was arson. They can’t prove it, but it obviously was.”

  “Seriously? Who would have done that? To you?”

  Cade just folded his arms and looked at her.

  It settled on top of her like a weight, the realization that he doubted her. That he thought she might have had something to do with the fire.

  “But I was there putting it out! I could have been hurt, you said that yourself.”

  “Jesus, move the dryer back, don’t burn him. Yeah, like that. You were the first one there, that’s true.”

  Didn’t he know her better than that? Abigail’s mind raced, thinking of ways she could defend herself. She had no alibi—she’d been alone on the ranch when it started.

  Or at least she’d thought she’d been alone.

  Samuel.

  A stab of terror jolted through her. If he was really here, in the area, if he was after her…

  She’d fight. She’d fight harder than last time.

  Cade still stared at her. Who did he think he was, anyway? Why the hell did she feel like she had to defend herself to him? She hadn’t done anything wrong.

  She turned off the hair dryer. The lamb was almost perfectly dry now.

  She spoke slowly, concentrating on making her words as clear as possible. “I didn’t burn down your shack, you moron. I can’t believe you’d imply it. I can’t believe you’d even think it.”

  She stood and pulled her jacket around her pajamas. Why did she have to be in her sheep pajamas for this? Wearing pink fleece while her heart broke. “I have no idea who started it. But I’m a little worried that it might be the guy I told you about from down south. In which case, I’m terrified. But you thought it was me? That’s priceless.”

  Cade took two steps toward her, holding out a hand. “I didn’t mean—” he started.

  But Abigail cut him off. “No. That’s not cool, Cade.” She shook her head. She wished she had bigger, better words to tell him what he’d just done to her heart. “That wasn’t cool.”

  She turned in her slippers and fled, leaving the hair dryer, the mostly dry lamb, and the man she loved behind her.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Believe in your skills enough to cast on again, even after failure. The next sweater will look and fit better, I promise.

  —E.C.

  He knew she’d had customers yesterday, but had she had this many?

  Cars were parked haphazardly all over the lower property. There must have been thirty of them down there.

  He could practically hear them, all the way up at the barn. He knew what women sounded like when they got together over yarn and fiber. It was like they flipped into speaking a whole different language. Words like draft, and gauge, and colorways, things that didn’t make sense to him and that he didn’t want to understand.


  And the cars kept coming, all day long.

  Cade tried to work off the need he had to see her. He chose the farthest fence line, the one that he couldn’t get to with the truck, no way, no how. He could have taken the ATV, but instead he rode up on horseback.

  He hopped over rocky outcroppings, using his hands to push and pull the lines, making sure a sheep couldn’t lean her way out. Lazy things that they were, they usually didn’t anyway, but they certainly wouldn’t now.

  He tried to exhaust himself. But exhaustion was a long time coming. Seemed the harder he worked, the more amped up he got.

  Finally, breathing heavily, he stood on a hill. He looked over the oak and eucalyptus below, far down to the gray ocean.

  Should he make an appearance today? Would she forgive him for last night?

  Cade scratched his nose and pushed back his hat. The thin sunlight wasn’t warm but he was working hard and sweating.

  He thought about the flame he saw in Abigail’s eyes when she was in his bed. He’d never seen anything like that. He loved that.

  He loved her.

  Oh, hell.

  Wasn’t love supposed to feel good? Wasn’t that what they said?

  And no matter how he felt, he’d blown it, totally. He saw to that last night, first by ignoring her invitation and then capping the night off by accusing her of arson.

  She hadn’t set the fire. He’d known it when her eyes met his last night, after she realized what he was accusing her of. But he should have known before that. He shouldn’t have doubted her.

  The least he could do was try to apologize. He didn’t hold much hope of her buying it, but he could try. He had to try. His heart hurt in a way he’d never known before.

  He rode down through his land, down toward the house, past her parking lot, ignoring the stares of women getting in and out of cars and station wagons. Why were they staring like that? Like he was a circus freak? It was all he could do not to make rude gestures at them.

  He put up his horse and stood at the barn doors. He stared down at the line of cars snaking up from the main road in the late-afternoon sun.

  “It’s something, isn’t it?”

  Cade jumped. “Tom! Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

  “I’ve been standing here for at least a minute, waiting on you to notice me. Looks like you’re lost in your own land.”

  “Not my land I’m lost in.”

  “Looks like she’s having a good start.”

  “That it does.”

  “You find out anything else about the fire?” asked Tom.

  “Only that she didn’t set it.”

  Tom laughed. Then he looked at Cade. “Oh, hell, are you serious? You actually thought she might have?”

  “Why not?”

  Tom said, “It’s true I haven’t spent as much quality time, let’s call it, with her as you have, but it’s obvious she’s a nice little knitter. Smart. Funny. Too good for the likes of you. Doesn’t strike me as the arsonist type.”

  “Shit.”

  “You actually ask her about it?”

  Cade sighed.

  Tom said, “You’re an idiot sometimes, ain’tcha? All due respect.”

  “She thinks it might be a stalker-type guy she knew down south.”

  “Scary. You going to the police?”

  “Yeah, I’ll add it to my report later. Get her to give them his name.”

  Tom nodded. “Be careful, boss.”

  “Hey, I almost totally forgot. That lamb that’s in with the twins? The mother ewe died last night over by the trough. I haven’t had time to get out there today. Would you mind?”

  “No problem. I’ll do it tonight before I leave,” said Tom.

  Cade took a badly needed shower and changed into street clothes.

  He couldn’t wait another minute to see her.

  The walk from his house and across the driveway to the cottage seemed the longest he’d ever taken. Women lined the porch, sitting on the swing, on the stairs, chatting and laughing. They stared at him again in that same way.

  Cade knew, in their minds, he was cast in the role of the cowboy. They were probably disappointed that he wasn’t wearing a six-shooter. He almost wished he was. Might give him a little more courage. His heart was beating so fast he could hear the blood rushing in his ears.

  Eliza’s. He had to admit the sign was tasteful. Small. No neon as far as he could tell. Just a wooden board with the name in script, no phone number or website listed. It was a good name, he supposed. The right name.

  “Ladies,” he said, as he started up the steps.

  Giggles were all he got in return. They looked like adults but sounded like teenagers.

  When had she bought the screen door? Had she installed it herself? It looked like an antique. He pulled it open.

  The cottage was completely different.

  It was warm, and had bright, yellow walls, bookshelves full of colorful fiber, red couches. A heavy wooden table was covered with skeins of yarn that five or six women were poring over.

  It looked homey, and beautiful. It looked like Eliza. And it looked like Abigail, too.

  Cade’s eyes took in the room at large, but he was really only looking for one thing: Abigail.

  She stood across the room, behind an old-fashioned register that was sitting on another long wooden table. Her hair had been pulled up and back somehow, leaving pieces of it hanging around her face. Her cheeks were bright pink, and she looked so…

  Happy.

  She looked happy.

  And then she raised her eyes and saw him, and that look went away. The color drained from her face. He could actually see her paling. The smile, which had been natural and real, turned forced. Polite.

  Cade felt awful. Her smile was polite, for a stranger. He had made himself a stranger to her. But he moved forward, his own smile plastered in place.

  “Abigail. It looks good.”

  The stricken smile straightened, and he watched her regain control. “Well, thanks. It’s not that much yet, but it will be.”

  “No, it looks great.”

  “Thanks again.” She turned back to the customer she’d been serving. “Here’s your receipt, and I expect you back soon to show me what you do with that. It’s a wonderful color for you.”

  The customer, an older woman with short gray hair wearing a heavily cabled blue sweater and motorcycle leathers, said, “I’m so glad you’re here. No more riding to San Francisco to feed the addiction. Best of luck to you.”

  Cade watched Abigail’s real smile come back. “Thanks so much.”

  The customer trotted away. The last group of women followed her outside. He heard them moving toward their cars. Thank God. Now maybe she’d talk to him.

  But she seemed to have no interest in doing so.

  He watched while she got out paper bags and stamped them with what looked like the same logo as on the outside sign. She didn’t look up.

  He reached one finger out and touched a bit of prepared fiber.

  “Soft,” he said, and immediately felt like an idiot. She didn’t look up. He heard, rather than saw, the room emptying behind him. The voices moved out to the porch, and he was grateful to them.

  “You scared my customers away.”

  “I didn’t mean to.”

  “I’m sure.” That same, thin, fake smile again. It wasn’t the smile she should be giving him.

  It was no one’s fault but his.

  “I’m sorry about last night.”

  “About dinner? You missed a good pasta, but I enjoyed it, and I had the leftovers for lunch, so it all worked out.”

  BANG. BANG. She stamped the paper bags with such force the register bounced on the wood.

  “I wanted to come over.”

  “Then you should have.”

  “I couldn’t.”

  She rolled her eyes and went on stamping. “You’re an adult. So am I. I was disappointed.” She looked at him, no smile this time. “But I’m over it now. I have
my business to run, and this sweet dog,” Abigail ruffled Clara’s ear. “That’s all I need.”

  “Again, I’m really sorry. I don’t know what my problem is. Was.”

  “Are you still apologizing about dinner or about accusing me of arson?”

  Cade felt a desperation like none he’d ever felt before. No words were going to fix this, were going to make her eyes light up like they had two nights ago.

  Abigail kept stamping her bags. Her breasts swayed ever so slightly under her shirt. In his mind, he saw the bare image of them, the way they had looked two nights ago. The way they had looked cupped in his palms. Trapped under his mouth.

  Cade moved to the left, then moved forward, so quickly that he had no time to plan, and she had no time to react. He stood behind the register with her, so close he could smell her perfume. He put both hands to her face and brought his mouth down on hers.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Of course, patience is only good to a point in knitting. A decision will have to be made, but you’ll know when it’s time to make the change that’s needed.

  —E.C.

  Without warning, he was kissing her.

  Abigail’s heart, which had been racing before he moved the counter, kicked so hard that she thought it might stop working at all.

  For one brief moment, she thought about kissing him back. For a moment she knew who he was and why he was kissing her.

  Then the fear kicked in.

  Abigail brought up her knee sharply into Cade’s groin. As he gasped, she swung her closed fist and punched him in the eye.

  Cade bent at the waist and then fell over onto the floor.

  What had she done? Oh, God, it was Cade. It wasn’t Samuel.

  But Cade shouldn’t have grabbed her like that.

  She dropped to the ground next to him. “I’m sorry! Are you okay?”

  Cade only groaned.

  “What the hell were you thinking?” she said.

  “I wasn’t,” he managed to say.

  A high-pitched voice pierced the room, “So there you both are! I’m so lucky, I wanted a chance at both of you. If you’re not too busy.”

  Abigail leaped away from Cade as if he’d burned her. Which, she thought, he had.