How to Knit a Love Song

by Rachael Herron

  “He scared you? I’ll kick his ass myself. You should see how my Tai Bo has improved. And I’ll sic my lawyer on him, you give me the word. I’ve been paying that man too much, and he doesn’t have enough work.”

  “No, I mean, he shouldn’t have kissed me like that, but I was scared about the other guy. I overreacted.”

  “The other guy?”

  “That one I told you about. Samuel. He’s back. Actually, he just tried to run me off the road an hour ago. And I’m pretty sure he’s the one who torched Cade’s shack and started a grass fire on his property.” Abigail tried to keep her voice light, but it shook a little.

  Janet stopped smiling. “Honey, that’s serious.”

  “I know. I’m scared to death.”

  “Is Cade taking care of you? When you’re not fending off his advances?”

  Abigail sighed. Just thinking about Cade made her heart fall to her feet again. For the thousandth time today. “He thought I set the fire.”

  “Oh, yes, that’s just your style, isn’t it? I can see where he’d get that. I really am going to sic James on him. For something. You let me figure out what. He can go after that Samuel, too, for that matter. Have you filed a police report yet?”

  “Yeah. Fat lot of good that’ll do. The ranch is pretty secluded, and Cade and Tom aren’t always there. At least I have Clara.” Abigail looked out at Clara, leashed to a parking meter. She didn’t seem to be missing Abigail at all as she made friends with every passerby.

  Shirley brought menus to the table. “Hey, hon! Don’t leave without waving at the guys in back. They saw you walk by and they want to say hey to you.”

  “You mean they want to talk about the article,” said Abigail.

  “They’re dying to, hon. You punched him? Do you know how many girls in this town would have paid good money to see that? Coffee?”

  Abigail looked at Janet, who flipped the plastic menu over and then back again. “Let me order, Janet. We’ll have two glasses of wine and two waters. And we’ll each have a grilled-cheese sandwich with bacon. On sourdough. Extra pickles on the side. Oh, and fries.”

  Janet’s eyes widened, but she handed her menu to Shirley without protest. “Do you have a wine list, darling?”

  “You want red or white?”

  Janet gave a single nod. “White it is.”

  “Me, too,” said Abigail. Shirley smiled and went to hang up their order.

  “So you punched him, my sweet. Does that mean you love him?”

  Abigail laughed. “Is that what it usually means?”

  “In my house, always.”

  “Well, damn. It’s all Eliza’s fault.” Abigail paused, and then went on, “I do wonder if she put me there on purpose. For us to fall in love.”

  “Which you did.”

  “I did. He didn’t. Eliza got half of it right, at least. I am such an idiot.”

  “You’re not.”

  “I’m a moron. I went and fell in love, and he thinks I’m a pyromaniac.”

  Janet didn’t say anything. Then she smiled. “You know the last thing Eliza asked me to do, a week before she died? It was twofold, actually.”

  “What?”

  “If anything happened to her, she wanted me to not only watch over you, but to ask Cade’s employee to watch over you, too.”

  “She wanted Tom to keep an eye on me? Why? I never even see him. That doesn’t make sense.”

  “She wanted me to meet Tom.”

  “Oh, my God.”

  Janet laughed. “She set both of us up on blind dates.”

  “From the freakin’ grave.”

  “Oh, I loved that woman.”

  “Me, too,” said Abigail.

  Janet took Abigail’s hand and squeezed it.

  “Speaking of Tom,” said Abigail, “how goes your love life? Give me something good to think about.”

  “His boots have been under my bed a lot lately, you could say. And I’m loving it.”

  “Aargh. The boots that run around on Cade’s land.”

  “Okay, my darling. Let’s not think of him. Let’s think, instead, of all the lovely money you’re going to make on your next book.”

  “What next book? I haven’t been planning a thing.”

  “You’re Eliza’s ambassador now. Living in her cottage, living her dream. You know the knitters want that story. They want you to look out the window in the morning when you wake up and describe that landscape. They want you to write about what you’re thinking.”

  “I can’t write about that.”

  “Well, not that, exactly. Although a mention of getting some sexy lovin’ from her nephew—now, that would sell millions.”

  “Knitting gossip!”

  “Nothing better.”

  “You know I won’t.”

  “Oh, but wouldn’t it drive him crazy if you did?” Janet’s smile was wicked.

  “But the rest, the store part—oh, it’s been wonderful, Janet. I’m so busy during the day that I almost don’t have time to think about him. It’s only been what, almost a week and a half I’ve been open? I already have two different knitting groups who’ve asked if they can move their meeting place to my back room, and I’ve agreed. So that’s two big groups, coming every week. I have three retreats scheduled in the next two months. Their guilds take care of the hotels and food and everything, and I’m hiring teachers to help me. We’re going to use Eliza’s workbooks to design new takeoffs of her old ideas. I set up that little website last week, you saw it.”

  “It’s genius.”

  “And it’s already getting a ton of hits. All the knit-bloggers are talking about it. I think the UPS guy hates me. I don’t think he’d ever come down that road before, unless it was to bring a new harness or whatever it is stupid sheep ranchers need. Now I have him coming down the drive every day, bringing me more stock.”

  “That’s incredible. I’m so proud of you. Oh, and I think you should get a gun.”

  Landers, one of Cade’s rancher friends, passed by their table just as Janet abruptly changed the subject.

  “What?” said Abigail.

  “A gun?” asked Landers. “What kind you gonna get?”

  Janet looked at him. She cocked one perfect eyebrow in withering disdain. This normally stopped men in their tracks.

  But not Landers. “I think you should get a Glock. Unless it’s for hunting, of course, then you wouldn’t need a pistol. But if it’s to keep Cade from your door, a Glock’ll do the trick. Although you seem to protect yourself just fine.”

  “Move along, old man,” hissed Janet.

  He grinned and said, “Just offering my advice.” He touched his hat and exited.

  “This town is crazy,” said Janet.

  “You were here first,” said Abigail.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Protect your knitting like you’d protect anything else you love.

  —E.C.

  Cade hadn’t seen Tom yet this morning. While he waited for him to get back from the feed store, he thought about Abigail. Ostensibly, he was going over books in the office, but his pencil hadn’t moved in half an hour.

  It didn’t help that every time he thought of her he took another punch, this time to the solar plexus, or at least that’s where it felt like it was located.

  He’d been listening all morning, listening for anything out of the ordinary.

  But it had been quiet. Other than the knitters’ cars driving up to the store, no one had troubled the ranch.

  Why hadn’t he asked her more about the guy who was after her? He should have at least insisted that he get the man’s description, what he drove…If he was the person behind the torched shack, who knew what he might be up to? What if he tried to burn something else? Or hurt her?

  Cade would protect her.

  She’d never know that though, because he had a pretty good feeling she was never going to talk to him again, let alone trust him. How could she not know how he felt? How could she not feel it?


  But she couldn’t, and he wouldn’t be able to tell her, and even if he found the courage, she’d never believe him.

  He’d seen her truck leaving earlier. She hadn’t looked in his direction, probably hadn’t even seen him standing there, fixing a leaking pipe to one of the freestanding spigots.

  She’d looked gorgeous. Like always. His heart ached.

  Tom entered the office.

  “Nice shiner,” Tom said.

  “Looking good, huh? Feels good, too.”

  “You just sitting here pining?”

  “Screw you.”

  “Hey, I tried to find you earlier,” Tom said. “That ewe you told me about? The one by the trough, the mother of that ram lamb you saved?”

  “Yeah.” Cade resharpened his pencil. Again.

  “It took me until this morning to notice, since I first moved her last night after it was dark. She was killed, boss.”

  “Dammit! That’s just what I need. The coyotes are back?” He hated coyotes more than any other animal in the world.

  Tom’s face looked odd. “No. Not a coyote. Her throat was slit.”

  Cade didn’t understand. “What?”

  “I don’t know. I think it was with a knife, but the cut was jagged. Rough. It took a couple of tries, like the edge was blunt.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “When I went back out to where you found her to look around, I found something really weird.”

  Cade felt the hairs on his arms stand up. “What?”

  “Pink roses. Six pink roses on the ground.”

  Cade dropped the pencil and jammed his hat on his head. He raced out of the barn, running as fast as he could toward her cottage.

  He climbed the few steps to the porch. The “Closed for Lunch” sign was visible in the glass of the door. He remembered when she’d first let herself into the cottage for the very first time, and he’d seen her, just after she’d realized what she was up against. She’d looked like she was going to cry, and then she didn’t. He’d seen her then for the first time. Strong. Stubborn. Perfect.

  The porch swing moved in the breeze, as if someone had just stood up. Cade had watched her surreptitiously from his window that night as she sat right here, that awful night when he didn’t come to her. He should have. Cade would have given anything to have that night back: to have had dinner with her, to have loved her that night, to have saved the lamb together, to know he’d done the right thing for the woman he loved. To never have doubted her. To have protected her.

  Abigail wasn’t going anywhere. He should have known that. He should have trusted her.

  A single pink rose lay on the welcome mat.

  Cade heard Abigail’s voice in his head. That night, in the parlor, when she’d been scared. Him and his damn pink roses.

  Cade pressed his nose to the window that looked into the main room.

  Strewn about the room, on every surface, on top of yarn and books and chairs, were pink roses. There must have been hundreds of them.

  He’d find Samuel.

  He’d find Samuel, before Samuel found her.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  I’ve known what it’s like to hold my needles silently on my lap, unmoved to create. And I’ve known the liberation that came when I freed myself, when I trusted myself.

  —E.C.

  Outside Tillie’s, Abigail hugged Janet good-bye and went to get Clara where she’d left her tied at the side of the diner.

  The dog wasn’t there.

  For a long moment, Abigail considered this. Had she leashed her somewhere else? No, she’d been able to see her from where they were sitting. This was the right post. The leash was gone, too. Clara hadn’t accidentally slipped her collar. Someone must have untied her.

  “Clara?” Abigail ran to the end of the building and looked around the corner. Nothing.

  “Clara!” She tried to suppress the feeling of panic. The worst-case scenario was that she’d have to get her back from the animal shelter. Any second, Clara would come lolloping out from under a parked car or something, trailing her leash.

  “Come on, Clara! I don’t have time for this!” Abigail went further around Tillie’s and peered into the back alley. “Clara!”

  A joyous woof greeted her, and Clara barreled her way out from behind a trash can.

  “There you are! You bad girl! What were you doing back here? You scared me!”

  “I could say the same about you.”

  The voice from behind her sent a spasm of icy fear down Abigail’s spine. She couldn’t turn around. But she had to.

  Samuel. He was well dressed, in a nice gray suit. He looked clean, healthy. He looked sane.

  “I’ve missed you. Standing over you at night isn’t quite the same. How’ve you been, my Abby?”

  Abigail shivered. “They’re looking for you, you know. They know about your warrant.”

  “They won’t find me, don’t worry. I phoned in a shots-fired call on the other side of town. That one-horse police department has every man on duty over there. I won’t take up much of your time. I know you have to get back to the ranch. But I’ve left you a little present, and I hope it will change your mind about how you feel about me. Maybe bring back some of those old feelings.”

  Abigail’s hands shook so much she could barely hold Clara’s leash. Clara growled softly, but made no move. “Did you burn something else? Not the cottage. Not the house!”

  “That fire was just to get your attention. You did a great job trying to put it out, by the way. I didn’t expect that rancher to get back so soon, and I knew slashing his friend’s tires would keep the other one out of trouble. I really wanted you to see what a big blast could do. I suppose you could call it a small, a very small, warning. I don’t like other men touching you. Just remember that. You’ve done well this week, keeping the rancher off you. You made me proud.”

  Abigail put the growling Clara between them, took the deepest breath she could, and screamed. She screamed for all she was worth, and then she took another breath and started again. Samuel turned and ran as doors along the alley were flung open. Two men rounded the corner at a run.

  “What’s wrong, lady?” one yelled.

  “Stop him! He stole my purse!” It was the only thing she could think of, but it worked to set the men into chase mode.

  Samuel got away, though. Again.

  Abigail spent yet another hour with the young officer, who tripped over his own apologies. “I mean, we thought we had shots fired, so we had to take that super seriously, you know?”

  “I know,” said Abigail, and signed the second report. She needed to get home. She needed to find what Samuel had left for her.

  She longed for Cade.

  In her truck, Abigail rolled the windows down and breathed the salt air as she drove along the coast. She headed inland, the radio playing quietly in the background.

  It wouldn’t be too bad. Right? Whatever it was Samuel had left. Even as she thought it, she didn’t believe it.

  How the hell was she supposed to get through this? She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t live here being as scared as she’d been in San Diego.

  Oh, God, she wanted Cade.

  But things were different now. Abigail was strong. She had her land. Her store. Her dream. She could and would protect what she had. She could do this herself.

  She had to do this herself.

  Abigail distracted herself by thinking about the opening chapters of the book she would write. Janet had been right—it was a great idea. Book. Think about the book.

  She’d start the book with driving onto the land, that moment when she first saw her legacy.

  The moment she’d seen the cowboy up on the ridge.

  Okay, she wouldn’t write about that part. She wouldn’t write about him.

  The road wound through yet another stand of eucalyptus. This was her favorite part of the twenty-five-minute drive back to the ranch, this narrow, swerving bit right before Mills Bridge and its huge curve
. This part, before, and the part after, in the live oaks, she loved that.

  But now, as she came up on the bridge, she slowed a little. She really hated the next part. There was a tanker truck in front of her, and what looked like a horse trailer behind her. She wanted plenty of room between all of them. People went too damn fast on this road.

  Cade went too fast on this road.

  No, think of the new book.

  She wanted photographs included in it. Pictures of Eliza at home on the ranch—she had a box of them stored somewhere. Lovely pictures of Eliza holding wool, knitting, guffawing at the camera as she always did. Photos of her sweaters, her socks, her mittens. Abigail could replicate the items, make the old sweaters in new colors, sit in the same place, show the students looking out at the same valley. Yes, people would like that.

  What was that tanker doing? Abigail was in the middle of the long bridge now. She gripped the steering wheel tighter. The tanker swerved a little as if to miss hitting an animal. Then it jerked itself back on course. Up ahead, coming from the other direction, a small car was passing a passenger van over the double yellow line.

  Abigail hit her brakes, softly at first, to get the attention of the horse trailer behind her, then harder. But in her rearview mirror, she could see another vehicle passing the horse trailer, dangerously, on the curve.

  A black SUV.

  It was Samuel.

  He passed the trailer and began closing the distance between them fast. He didn’t slow down at all.

  The small car coming at them in their lane seemed to realize it shouldn’t have tried to pass, but by then it was right next to the van. It braked, but it looked as though the van driver was panicking. It slowed as well, both of the vehicles now taking up both lanes.

  The tanker hit its brakes and rocked sideways violently.

  They reached the second curve of the long bridge. Abigail braked harder, and Samuel’s SUV almost hit her rear bumper.

  Time slowed down. As if it were a movie shot in slow motion, Abigail saw every detail.