More Than Pancakes (The Maple Leaf Series Book 1)

by Christine DePetrillo

  “Right. Forty-five degree, downward angle.” Sage followed her sister out of the living room.

  “Ten degree, upward angle,” Rick hollered though he knew his cousins were busting his balls again.

  “Maple trees are the ones with the white bark, right?” Hope asked around a laugh.

  “No,” Sage said. “Maples have the pinecones.”

  “You know which ones are the maples!” Rick shouted. Shaking his head, he started on his book but looked up when Hope came back into the living room. She picked up the two pillows he’d thrown and stuffed them behind him, fluffing them a bit. She also moved his tea back where he could reach it. Dropping a light kiss on his cheek, she said, “See ya, Rick.”

  He hadn’t had to ask his cousins to finish the taps. They took one look at him last night when Aunt Joy brought him dinner, and they’d volunteered. The two of them could be doing a ton of other things today, but they were helping him out.

  Rick glared down the length of the couch at his casted ankle and rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. How fucking stupid.

  At least he had finally warmed up at some point during the night. He’d opted to stay on the couch. Just as comfortable as his bed, and it saved Aunt Joy the trouble of trying to help him to his bedroom, which she would have insisted on doing. She’d brought him extra blankets and a pillow from his bed. Rick half expected her to read him a bedtime story and tuck him in as she had during most of his childhood. Aunt Joy was a fantastic storyteller, and truthfully, he wouldn’t have minded a story last night to get his mind off the day’s events.

  Now hours stretched ahead of him. An entire day of being stuck on the couch with an ache throbbing in his ankle. He’d taken the wonder drugs, but they weren’t masking all the pain. Then again, Rick was more aware today than he had been yesterday. He’d had a full night to reflect on the idiocy of his actions and the resulting embarrassing consequences of running after a sled in snowshoes. With any luck, Hope and Sage wouldn’t bring this faux pas up at every turn.

  He closed the book and set it on the chest. After listening for a moment, he determined that Hope and Sage had collected the necessary equipment from the garage and were gone. He pulled off the blankets and eased his legs off the couch. He tapped his right foot against the hardwood floor, contemplating. Yes, the doctor said to stay off his ankle for the week, but surely that was a general statement. It didn’t apply to everyone who had a severely sprained ankle. Certainly some people needed less time than that. He’d made it to the bathroom a couple of times so far, albeit awkwardly and stubbing the big toe on his right foot. Twice. What harm could a trip to the kitchen cause?

  Rick gripped the end of the couch with one hand and reached for the cane leaning against the end table with his other hand. Summoning what little strength he could find, he rose to his feet, letting his weight rest mostly on his right leg. He gripped the cane in his left hand and prepared to step away from the couch.

  “Richard Michael Stannard, you get your ass back on that couch this instant!” Aunt Joy stormed into the living room as if she planned to tackle him if necessary.

  Rick’s head snapped up and he lost his balance. He fell between the couch and the chest, banging his elbow on the corner of the chest along the way. The floor smacked against his tailbone.

  Damn, hickory is a hard wood.

  Poe darted to him, pushing her nose into his face.

  “Shit,” he spat. “Poe, get out of here.” He shoved her, and she whimpered.

  “Oh, dear!” Aunt Joy rushed over and hooked her arms under his. She hoisted with all her might, but couldn’t budge Rick. “Sugar, even though you don’t look like it, you weigh more than a barn full of cows. Why do you have to be such a giant?” She sat on the edge of the couch as Rick lifted himself onto the cushion beside her.

  “Why do you have to plow in and scare the piss out of me?” He rubbed his elbow and used his right leg to keep Poe back.

  Aunt Joy clucked her tongue, and Poe trotted over to her. She gave the coyote a rubbing between the ears then coaxed her into the kitchen. She fussed with Poe’s food and water bowls—something Rick would have done first thing this morning if he had been able. When Aunt Joy came back to the living room, she repositioned his legs on the couch and propped his ankle on some pillows. “You’re not supposed to be walking around.”

  “I wasn’t ‘walking around.’ Maybe I was going to the bathroom.”

  “Were you going to the bathroom?” Aunt Joy gave him the Stannard Stare—a look that said she’d know if he were lying.

  Rick shook his head.

  “Well, no use in making matters worse by gallivanting around the house, sugar. That ankle is good and busted, and if you don’t follow doctor’s orders, you’ll only pay for it later. You know that.” Aunt Joy stared at him for a long, solemn moment. He hated when she looked at him that way. As if she were picturing what a disaster he’d been after New York.

  “Stop it,” he said, his voice full of warning.

  “Well, get that pitiful look out of those blue eyes, kid. You’re made of tougher stuff than this.”

  Aunt Joy left the living room, but returned a few moments later carrying a canvas bag. “I brought you some books. Ones you haven’t read a million times, some word searches, and a deck of cards.” She tossed the cards onto his lap. “Play Solitaire. You’re good at games that don’t involve interaction with the rest of us humans. I’m going to make you some breakfast then head to the store.”

  She placed the bag beside the couch and left for the kitchen. Rick listened as she clanged silverware and bowls. He counted the blades on the ceiling fan hanging above him then picked up the deck of cards and threw it across the living room. The box exploded in a shower of spades, clubs, diamonds, and hearts. Poe scampered in to investigate the mess and bark at Rick.

  “Aw, shut up.” There had to be a way to be productive today. He couldn’t feel this useless all day. Not going to happen.

  He peeked in the bag at the books Aunt Joy had brought. A couple James Pattersons, a David McCauley, a Men’s Health magazine. Holy Hell. This was what he had been reduced to. A helpless pity case.

  Just like after New York. His heart pumped a little faster in his chest and he tried to rub away the feeling. This wasn’t going to happen again.

  “The oatmeal’s a little watery, but it’ll do.” Aunt Joy bustled in toting a tray, which she placed over Rick’s lap. She was right. The oatmeal was runny, but she’d arranged a strawberry, two blueberries, and a melon wedge to create a smiley face on the toast. He was about to smile at her attempt, but she grabbed him by the chin and wrenched his head so he had to look at her.

  “What’s wrong?” She focused on his eyes as if she were trying to read his mind.

  “Nothing.” He tried to shake his head free, but her grip was steel.

  “You’re vampire pale, Rick, and I don’t mean in that sexy, paranormal, undead way, like in those books Hope and Sage are always reading.” She pressed two fingers to his neck. “Jesus, sugar, your pulse is racing. What happened?”

  “Nothing,” he repeated.

  “You were thinking about New York, weren’t you? Would you go back if—”

  “You know I wouldn’t. I belong here. Vermont is my home.” He hoped saying it aloud would calm him. All he needed was the serenity of the woods and the simple life he’d carved out for himself here. Aside from his ankle, he’d been healthy as a horse—a strapping stallion—since his move back to Vermont. He planned on keeping it that way.

  Rick balled some of the blanket covering his legs into his fist. “I don’t like the city for many reasons. My… experience… was the universe’s way of letting me know this is where I should be.”

  “Seems a cosmic sticky note would have done the job easier: ‘Rick, stay with trees. Love, The Universe.’ Right?”

  He surprised himself by laughing. Only Aunt Joy could turn his mood around with her silly ways of looking at things.

  “Now that’s
a sound I like to hear.” Aunt Joy ruffled Rick’s blond hair. “I want to hear more of it, sugar.”

  “I’ll try.” And he would, for Aunt Joy. Not going to be easy. Not with a wrecked ankle and loads of time to sit and stew about nothing and everything.

  Chapter Four

  Rick opened his eyes to find Poe sprawled atop his arm, her head resting on his shoulder in bed. His hand had gone numb from the coyote’s weight, as if it were separate from his body. His ankle felt a little like that as well. As if it belonged to some other imbecile who didn’t know that running in snowshoes was a dumb idea.

  He’d stopped taking the pain medication two days ago, because he absolutely hated to add any new pills to his daily regimen. His ankle throbbed a bit, but sometimes feeling the pain was a good thing. Made him feel alive.

  “C’mon, Poe.” He reached over and nudged the mass of fur beside him. “Wake up, girl.” He poked her again, and she raised her furry head. Her golden eyes blinked sleepily, and her jaw opened in a huge coyote yawn. “Morning.” Rick rubbed her cheeks, and she let out little noises of approval.

  He sat up in bed and rested against the headboard. He hadn’t bothered to pull down the shades last night and now the sun streamed in through the bedroom windows. He closed the book still open on the other side of the bed and dropped it on the pile on his nightstand.

  “Why don’t we spend the morning in the store organizing the books, Poe?” That was a good sit-down activity. One his aunt wouldn’t yell at him for doing.

  Poe ruffed once and jumped off the bed. Her nails made soft scratchy taps on the floor as she trotted out of the bedroom and down the hall.

  Rick sat on the edge of the bed for a few moments, feeling the weight of the air cast on his leg. He stretched out his arms then rubbed at his tailbone, still bruised from his fall in the woods. Grabbing the cane he’d left hooked on the headboard, he shuffled to his closet and selected a pair of blue work jeans, a black thermal shirt, and a gray hooded sweatshirt. After letting his pajama pants drop to his ankles, he sat on the end of the bed and wrestled his jeans on over the air cast. The pant leg of his jeans bunched up above the cast and he considered cutting the denim. He didn’t own a ton of clothes, however, and couldn’t justify destroying a pair of jeans that still had many years left in them.

  He pulled on the thermal shirt over the white T-shirt he’d worn to bed. He had a fleeting memory of a long ago summertime when he used to wear only boxer shorts to bed.

  Not anymore. There were things that needed covering now.

  After cleaning up in the bathroom, Rick made his way to the kitchen where he had a quick bowl of cereal and a glass of orange juice. When he unlocked the store and walked inside, he was amazed at how much work his aunt and cousins had already done. The bakery case was gleaming, fresh paper doilies in place waiting for the confections Aunt Joy, Hope, and Sage would make. The barnwood floor had been swept and washed so, although scarred and dinged, it still appeared freshened. Rick even liked the new arrangement Hope had used on the few tables in the store now that he studied it. The shelves for the maple syrup had been repainted in a green that matched the wording on the new labels Hope had made. The words “Stannard Mountain Pure Vermont Maple Syrup” in green made a circle around an orangey-red maple leaf. A faint shadow of a purplish-blue mountain range ran behind the words and leaf.

  His aunt and cousins had worked twice as hard to make up for what he wasn’t able to do. He’d begged them to do something fun for themselves today before things picked up and the season got underway, which was right around the corner. He could tell by the air as he’d hobbled from his cabin to the store. The winter bite was gone. Soon the daytime temperatures would be warmer while the nights were still freezing. The sap would start flowing any day now.

  Rick pulled up a chair to the boxes of books Hope and Sage had left in the store by the display shelves. Poe took up residence on the floor beside him and sniffed all the corners of the closest box. He began loading the books on the shelves, turning some of the covers outward so customers could get a good look at them. He didn’t spend a lot of time in the store when customers were in there. He preferred a more behind the scenes involvement in the business and that was part of what had made him not so successful in New York. He liked dealing with the equipment, the actual trees, the land as well as the financial side. Running the business from the city had only allowed him to crunch the numbers and collect the profits. Maybe some folks liked that hands-off approach, but not Rick. He wanted to smell the melting winter, the blooming spring, and the boiling sap.

  As he continued stacking books, Poe padded to the door and woofed once at it.

  “No customers today, Poe. Not yet.”

  She barked again at the door and as she sat by it, a soft knock echoed in the store. Rick put down the books he had in his lap and limped to the nearest window. A Jeep he didn’t recognize was in front of the store along with footprints in the remaining patch of snow. The knock came again, but he couldn’t see who was at the door. He contemplated not answering as he often did when the phone rang, but figured it wouldn’t waste much time to explain the store wasn’t open yet.

  He ambled to the door, resting his hand on the tables as he passed by without the cane. As he neared the door, another knock sounded.

  “Okay, okay,” he said. “I’m coming.” He cursed his slowness and hoped he’d be rid of the cast soon. Not likely, judging by the ache, but a man could hope.

  He reached the door and pulled it open. What was standing on the other side of it made him forget his own name.

  A woman. Not much shorter than him with reddish-blond hair that brushed her shoulders and curled about a face meant for makeup commercials. Her skin had a wonderful glow he’d never seen on any native Vermonter, and her eyes were blue-green jewels. Slim, black jeans spanned down two long, shapely legs and disappeared into brown, knee-high leather boots that belonged on a runway not on his partly muddy, partly snowy doorstep. The rust-colored dress coat that hung to her thighs also seemed out of place in this setting, but not out of place on her. The woman was perfection in that coat, and the cream-colored scarf she had looped around her neck fascinated Rick.

  Poe barked and the woman jumped. “Is that a coyote?” Her voice, soft yet assertive, matched her delicate mouth and intense eyes, but she looked as if she were ready to run for her vehicle.

  “Yeah, but she won’t hurt you. She’s been raised to think she’s a big hamster.” What is this woman doing here? Then the pieces fell into place in his mind. “You’re one of Hope or Sage’s friends, right?” That had to be it, but he didn’t remember ever seeing this one. He didn’t think he could forget her if he had seen her. God, she was tall.

  “No,” she said. “I don’t know Hope or Sage. I’m looking for whoever signed this.” She pulled an envelope out of her shoulder bag and rifled through it. While keeping a wary eye on Poe, she handed Rick one of the documents, and he scanned it quickly.

  “You’re looking for me then.” Why did that make something in his stomach tighten?

  “You’re the neighbor? You knew Gail Hinsdale?” A section of snow slid off the roof and landed in a pile about a foot away from the woman. She stumbled back and threw a glance all around her, almost dropping the envelope in the process.

  “Come in,” Rick said, though he hadn’t remembered consciously deciding to invite her inside.

  “Thank you.” She knocked the mud and snow off her boots and squeezed past him into the store. She smelled like grapefruit and coconut and sunshine. Like something far too exotic to be here with him. “Could you…” She motioned to Poe and made a shooing gesture with her gloved hand.

  “Sure. C’mon, Poe.” Rick smacked his thigh and shuffled toward the kitchen behind the pastry case. He pushed open the door and guided Poe in. She whimpered on the other side when she realized he’d locked the door.

  Poor girl. Rick felt like a big, fat meany.

  “I appreciate that. Wild animals unset
tle me.” The woman pulled off her leather gloves to reveal long, slim fingers with nails polished a deep crimson.

  “She’s not wild,” Rick said.

  “Right. Tell that to her teeth.” The woman dropped the envelope on one of the tables and unlooped the scarf to expose a slender neck. She turned in a tight circle to survey the store. What was she thinking? She obviously came from a place where the stores didn’t look like his.

  “You knew Gail Hinsdale?” She leveled her gaze on Rick, then flicked a glance down to his ankle. “Do you want to sit down?”

  “I think I’m supposed to ask you that.” He indicated the chair across from the one he currently had a death grip on.

  She slid the chair out and sat on it, but just on the edge, not like she meant to stay for any length of time. This saddened Rick, because for the first time in his life, he didn’t have the urge to get rid of company.

  He eased onto the opposite chair, and the muscles in his entire body relaxed as the pressure was taken off his ankle. The woman noticed.

  “What happened there?” She peeked under the table.

  “Snowshoeing incident.” He shrugged, determined not to explain any further though the woman waited a moment as if he might. “How is Gail? I haven’t seen her in a little while.”

  The woman’s lips twisted down at the corners, and Rick had this ridiculous urge to scoot over to her side of the table and… and do something.

  “Gail died.” Those piercing blue-green eyes grew watery. “My grandmother is gone.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Rick said. “She was real generous with allowing me to tap her trees. Nearly doubled my productivity.” He had reaped nothing but benefits from his arrangement with Gail Hinsdale. One of the smartest, healthiest business moves he’d ever made.

  “She left me the property.” The woman extended her hand. “I’m Lily Hinsdale.”

  Taking her hand in his and noting how cold her fingers were, he said, “Rick Stannard.” He looked at the envelope again. “Are you thinking of moving to the property?”